#that moment where lamb says you were his secretary what would you know

[thealdersgateoffice]

Ok but can we talk about Lamb in this scene, and Gary’s performance. What do you see in his face in the space of those few seconds after she gets her bag from the car, after he’s told her what Partner did, and leaves? Personally, in the first gif, I think we can see him grappling with what he’s just revealed to her, and I can see regret, and even guilt. There’s a moment where he’s thinking ‘Oh fuck, what have I done?’. Maybe a shred of disbelief that she’s actually going to walk 30 miles home by herself, and contemplation of going after her and telling her to get in the car. She knows some of it, and she’s gone: how will she react if he tells her the whole truth?

But in the second gif, it’s all gone in a snap. After that one look away, a very brief moment to steady himself, he looks back in her direction and the wall is back up. Fuck it. He accepts what’s just happened. She knows now - at least, knows some of it - and she’s made her choice. He needs to get back to Slough House and back to doing what he always does. Let her walk.

All that in about five seconds. Bravo Mr Oldman.

[babylooneytoonz]

mr. shelby's secretary [CEO AU]

[GIF by @maskingfragility]

— pairing: Modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

— summary : Prompt request 1) “Can you shut up for once in your life?” 2) “Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.” 3)“You’re insane,” “You love me,” “Not right now I don’t.” 4) "I think you might be my soulmate," as requested by @sighonahurricane and @screechingexpertpruneneck [ Hope you like it. I decided to club both the requests into one as the prompts were almost the same ones.🤍]

— warnings: none

[Masterlist]

You had been an exceptional student, all through school, then all through college and then had begun working for one of the most famous firms in London. Due to unforeseen circumstances, when your father passed away due to a terminal illness, you had to quit your job in London and move to Birmingham to take care of your mother.

Birmingham was an altogether different world, atleast as compared to London, but it was a good change for you. Even luckier for you was the fact that just weeks into moving to Birmingham City, you interviewed for a secretary position for CEO of Shelby Brothers LTD, Thomas Shelby and you had gotten the job.

You had been now working for him for over three months now, but the journey had definitely not been easy. You still remembered how your first day at work had been an absolute disaster. You had arrived on time, at 9 am. You still had an hour to go before Tommy entered his office at 10 am, and there were a few stacks of papers that you had to clear.

Before starting your work, you had decided to get yourself a mug of coffee to boost up your day but while you were at the pantry, sitting and sipping your coffee, your phone beeped. When you looked at the message, colour drained from your face.

Thomas Shelby had a meeting at 10, and thus, he had decided he would come in early, and he hadn't found you in your adjoining cabin, and neither were the papers from his room that he wanted gone were actually gone. The colour drained from your face when you saw his text— in three words did he write— get in here, ASAP.

The hearing that you received from Tommy that day, you doubted if you had retained your job after the first day, but strangely, Tommy didn't fire you. That was the only time you actually made him angry though and things slowly changed after that. Thomas Shelby began relying on you more and more as the days passed. He even took your opinions, or let you select the suits he was going to wear on events, without even expressing any doubt on you.

For Tommy, you were like a breath of fresh air in times he needed it the most. You were exceptionally good at your work, but what he liked secretly about you was the fact that you were good at handling him— be it his anger, that you took almost gracefully, without even bothering to spite him back. You listened to him scream and yell at you, but you never lost your own temper. Or be it the recognition of his tiny needs, like when he was in a dire need of coffee.

Tommy would be lying now if he said that he didn't need you; he was now completely dependant on you. Everyday, when he came to work, the first thing he looked at was your smiling face through the glass panels of your adjoining cabin, before he disappeared into his office, and there lay his mug of piping hot black coffee without sugar, and a sandwich, or pancakes, you knowing well aware that the man came to office on an empty stomach. He would call you into his cabin atleast fifty times in a day.

Few months into you working for Mr. Shelby, you were finally growing to despise the man less and less, and learn to get accustomed to his cold outer exterior, and get warmed up to the minutest reflections of the gentleness he hid inside of him.

Tommy was getting impatient, as he leaned against his mahogany desk, his shirt rolled up by the sleeves up to his elbows as he rested the elbows against the surface of the desk. A lit cigarette rested in his left hand, as he stared at the rain clogged glass window in his office. It was raining heavily, and he wondered if it was the weather that had you actually running almost two hours late when you never were late.

He swiped his palm over his face, worry gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He knew you weren't like that. In fact, you were one of the most punctual person he had actually met. He stood up, dabbing the lit end of the cigarette into his ashtray, before he grabbed his coat and walked out of his office. Mary, one of the employees who were friends with you, was outside, talking to one of the interns.

"Mary? Have you heard from [Y/N]? She isn't in yet," Tommy asked, and the woman turned, her eyes almost widening for Tommy seldom spoke to anyone in the office, unless required.

"Mr. Shelby, uh, sir, I don't know. I haven't seen her in today, I was also wondering—" she began, but before she could complete her sentence, impatient Tommy had cut her off.

"Mary, can you go through the company records and give me her address?"

"Definitely, Mr. Shelby," the woman drawled, as she hunched over her system, her fingers tapping against the keypad as she pulled out your address from the company records. She noted the address down on a slip of paper, and looked up at him, "Mr. Shelby, I can ask someone to check on her if you'd like? Maybe due to the weather, her car broke down."

"It's okay, Mary, I'm already headed out, just hand me the address," he impatiently threw out his palm, and the woman placed the parchment in his hands, knowing well as to not say anything else. Tommy turned around and slowly began walking out of the building towards the elevator and pressed the button.

The rains were not going to die down anytime soon, that was something that Tommy noted as he brought the car to a halt outside the address that Mary had handed him. He squinted his eyes, eyeing the plain looking building that stood in front of him, eyeing the first floor that you occupied. He wondered if you had already left for he couldn't see your car anywhere in sight.

Finally, he pulled out his umbrella from the back seat of the car, and stepped out into the lashing rains, dashing through the puddles towards your apartment where an elderly woman was at the door, shielded from the rains underneath the front porch.

"Can I help you?" The woman said in a kind voice, as she moved out of the way, and let Tommy fix himself underneath the porch to find a shelter from the rains.

"I'm looking for,uh, Miss [Y/N]. She works for me," Tommy muttered, under his breath.

"Oh, dear. You're Thomas Shelby? The CEO of Shelby Brothers LTD?" The woman's eyes began glistening with excitement and Tommy nodded, his eyebrows creasing into a hint of a frown. He wasn't here for a fangirl moment.

"Is she here?" Tommy's impatience was a good enough answer for the woman, who nodded and immediately informed him that you had already left for work over an hour ago.

This did nothing to cease the worry pooling inside of him. If you had already left for work, then why weren't you in office? He pulled out his phone, placing his palm on the screen as though shielding it from the woman's unwanted, prying eyes, hoping you had left him a message but you hadn't.

"Thank you," he finally muttered, as he ran out into the rain again, and this time, he didn't even bother using the umbrella, letting himself get drenched from the porch to the car.

Turning the ignition on, he slowly pulled the car on the road, and he started driving in a slow pace, his eyes on the road in front of him.

As if someone had been listening in on his thoughts secretly and had decided to act on it, Tommy brought the car to an abrupt half, applying the brakes. There you were, right in front of his eyes, and Tommy couldn't help but let himself smile warmly, after ages.

From what he could see, it was clear what had taken you so long. You had your heels in your hands, your body was drenched in the rain, your hair sticking to your face. Your knees had mud on it, but that didn't deter you from running about the muddy road, helping the elderlies out of the bus that had broken down.

He saw, as you took the shopping bags from one of the older men, and gave your arm to him that he took and you helped him step out of the abandoned vehicle, and you helped him cross the muddy road, where the tyres of the bus had gotten stuck.

He watched you for a few minutes, leaning back against the car seat, his hand flying to his wet hair. After a few seconds, he decided to quietly head back to the office, without even letting you know that he had seen you.

About an hour later, you rushed into your office. You had managed to head back home and change into a fresh set of clothing, and put your dead phone on charge. Now you were back, and your heart was strumming inside your chest with fear, you knew Tommy would be mad— very mad.

Slowly, you brought your fisted palm to his door and knocked twice.

"Come in," Tommy called out from the inside; he sounded much calmer than what you had expected him to be, and this made you frown. You had expected him to be snarling. Timidly, you made your way up to his desk, your fingers nervously toying with each other as you looked at him. He had his laptop in front of him, and his fingers skimmed over the keypad. He gave you one glance, and looked back at the screen once again. His ignorance made your heart churn.

"Mr. Shelby?" You asked.

"Yes, [Y/N]?" Tommy looked at you, through his round frames.

"Aren't you angry I'm late?" You blurted, mentally cursing yourself, silently.

He looked at you, amused. Your innocence made his heart flutter but he wasnt going to admit it anytime soon. He noticed your body posture, you were standing like a meek little lamb, afraid of him. He stood up from the leather chair he was sitting on and placed his glasses on his desk, before he moved around his desk to where you were. He then fixed himself directly in front of you and gave you a smile, "Why would I be angry? Go take an off today, [Y/N]. You deserve it."

You were confused by his sudden behaviour but you dared not complain, or question him lest he changed his mind. You gave him a haphazard smile as you dashed out of his office, weirded out by the change in his behaviour.

It was Saturday night, and it meant staying up late with a good Netflix series on, and some good bingewatching and munching on snacks for you. Your mother had already gone to bed, for she was an early sleeper. You had managed to sneak into the kitchen, and heat up the leftovers from lunch; the pasta your mum had prepared for you.

You turned your laptop on, letting it rest against your belly as you began browsing through the newest Netflix collection, trying to settle on a movie, when there was a buzz in your phone. You squinted your eyes when your phone started glowing. Your hand reached out as you grabbed it and began reading the SMS from your boss.

Thomas: be at Richard's at 7 in the eve. Got some really imp clients coming over. will be needing you to take the notes.

You frowned, there went your Sunday weekend plans down the drain; not that you had any solid plans, other than Netflix.

Sunday came by faster than you had imagined it to be, and you were standing in front of your wardrobe, weighing the different outfits that you had to fix a suitable one for the dinner at Richard's. Richard's was one of the posher restaurants, and you wanted to look your best, even if it was just business.

Finally, even though your bedroom looked like a typhoon had occurred inside your room, you were able to pick out a dress. It was just the right amount of professional, and casual. It was navy blue, the neck cut deep enough but yet, it wasn't trashy one bit. Once you had changed into it, you admired your form in the mirror, secretly content by the way it hung across your curves, ecen accentuating your curves. You couldn't help but secretly think of Thomas Shelby's reaction when he saw you in this dress.

You were startled when your phone started ringing, pulling you out of your not so in innocent thoughts about your own boss. When you saw his name flash on your lockscreen, you couldn't help but frown. Reluctantly, you tapped on the talk icon, flinging the phone to your ears, "Yes, Mr. Shelby?"

"Grey or black? Red tie or navy blue? I can't fucking decide what to wear. Why is it the fucking weekend [Y/N]. I don't fucking know what to wear," he sounded exasperated and worked up on the other side of the phone and you couldn't help but chuckle silently, silently enjoying this. You knew this would happen.

"The grey with the blue tie, Mr. Shelby, you can make any girl crazy in the grey tux of yours," you smiled, aimlessly drawing your fingers through your hair. You didn't know how you got that courage to openly flirt with him, but you didn't stop yourself from doing it. What suprised you was the fact that Tommy only let you do it. After a minute of silence, he hummed and you could hear him practically pull his tux off the hanger and he murmured, "the grey one it is then."

You kept the phone to your ear, not wanting to disconnect even though he wasn't speaking to you. Oddly enough, even in the silence that lingered on that call, you felt a sense on intimacy, something that you didn't want to let go off, as you grabbed your lipstick and using your free hand, began applying it delicately to your lips.

"What are you wearing?" Tommy's voice reached your ears, and you couldn't help but bite into the insides of your cheeks, feeling giddy in your chest.

"Navy blue dress I wore at the office party, Mr. Shelby. I can change if you want, it's a little too much, don't you think?" You nervously babbled.

"No, keep it on. It compliments my tie."

You smiled upon listening to his words, and just like that, without a parting, Tommy disconnected, sliding his phone into his pocket, his fingers toying with the fabric of his navy blue tie. Even if he was bent of wearing the red one silently, he was now going to switch to the blue one, just because you were wearing blue.

"Miss, do you have a reservation?" The manager asked you, and you smiled courteously.

"Yes, it should be under a Mr. Thomas Shelby?" You replied, and the man immediately nodded and his eyes began scanning through the contents of the register in front of him.

"Ah, you must be Miss [Y/N]. Please follow me, we are delighted to have you," he slowly turned away from you, and you began following him through the open air restaurant, where archaic white gazebos stood tall, adorned with fairy lights, and inside the gazebos were comfortable tables and dine in facilities.

Tommy was finally in sight. He was at the farthest gazebo that stood directly beside the narrow stream, that shone due to the moonlight falling on it.

It wasn't Tommy that captured your attention though, it was the woman dressed in a beautiful red evening dress, her perfectly toned legs covered in sheer black stockings. Her long black hair fell lusciously over her shoulders as she threw back her head and laughed at something Thomas probably said. What made you a tiny bit of jealous was the fact that the two of them looked like they were long time friends; Tommy rarely smiled, and especially never in the open.

You cleared your throat a little too loudly and Tommy turned towards you, and so did the woman in the red dress. You couldn't help but think how beautiful the woman was.

"Tatiana, this is my secretary [Y/N]. She will be going through the final papers and the other formalities," Tommy blinked, his palm ghosting the low of your back as he guided you into an empty chair and you sat down, smiling at Tatiana.

"[Y/N], this is my friend, and soon to be business partner, Tatiana Petrovna," You watched from the corner of your eye as Tommy leaned towards her and he placed his hand on her thigh. You grabbed the fabric of your dress, awkwardly balling the fabric along your fists, although shielded by the table.

The business meeting lasted for an hour, and by the time the three of you were done, half of the restaurant had gotten empty.

"It was a pleasure meeting you once again, Thomas, and even a greater pleasure doing business with you," she gave Tommy her hand and they shook it. You noted how the handshake lingered for a little longer than it was supposed to. Thomas stood up, but you kept seated, as you watched the woman turn away and began strutting down the garden path, towards a massive black SUV parked by the other side.

After a minute of silence, Tommy sighed and he sat down, his earlier jolly expression having dissipated into thin air. He pulled out a cigarette box from the pocket of his tux and brought it up to his lips, flicking you a quick glance.

"You alright?"

"Me? Oh I am more than alright, Mr. Shelby. It's a lovely night, and I'm sitting at one of the loveliest places in Birmingham, with such a lovely company," you deadpanned, giving him a stare down.

"You don't look happy to be here, love," he brought the lit cigarette to his lips, inhaling smoke from it as he eyed you carefully. One of the waiters stepped forward, clearing his throat and you saw that he had a bottle of wine in his hands. Tommy blinked and motioned to the waiter to fill up the glasses and once he had left, his fingers curled against his glass and he lifted it, taking a sip of it.

"Oh, Mr. Shelby, I am delighted to be here, don't you see that? Can we leave?" You arched forward, letting your elbows rest against the table, your glass of wine laying untouched.

Tommy parted his lips, as though he wanted to say something but before words came out, he pressed his lips shut and stood up, grabbing his coat that hung from the back of his chair, "Alright, I'll drop you home yeah? Come on."

Tommy and you quietly walked back to his car and you got into the passenger's seat as Tommy got into the drivers. He slowly pulled the car off the driveway and began driving towards your apartment.

You were still fuming; raging from the inside as you kept glancing at the silhouettes of the buildings passing you by.

"What is the matter with you, ey?" Tommy suddenly turned towards you, lowering the speed of the car and moving it to the side so he could slowly bring the vehicle to a halt.

"Nothing is. Can we please keep moving, Mr. Shelby? I don't have all night," you hissed venomously at him and he just ran his hand through his hair, exasperated. He didn't know what had gotten into you suddenly.

He suddenly reached for your arm and pulled you forcefully towards him, his eyes gazing into yours, "Will you answer me? What the fuck is the matter with you?"

"Oh, nothing's the matter with me, Mr. Shelby. I don't get why you had me over that wretched little romantic dinner as a third wheel when there weren't even enough notes to make," you blurted out the entire sentence in one go, firing the words at him so fast that it took him a minute to digest them.

"Wait, romantic?" He tilted his head slightly, and his index came to rest on his chin for a second before he sat back against the car seat again, "you think me and Tatiana..?"

"Don't spill your romantic or your sexual endeavours in front of me, Mr. Shelby, Im just a lowly secretary," you fumed, and Tommy couldn't help but feel his lips twitch in amusement at how adorably cute you looked when you were angry and jealous.

"Well, now to think of it, eh, we did have some good fucks a few years back," Tommy muttered, in a low voice. Although he knew this would most probably not end very well, but a devil inside of him was already rising, and your jealousy had given birth to a sudden desire in him to have you spill everything you felt for him to him.

You gasped, your jaw dropping as you turned to him, studying his face. Your hand flew to the car lock, and you unlocked it, immediately stepping out of the vehicle, and Tommy cursed under his breath when he realized that he had probably taken it too far. By the time, he stepped out after you, you had already drawn your phone out, and you were trying to book an Uber when he snatched your phone.

"Get into the fucking car, [Y/N]."

"Give me my phone back, Mr. Shelby, I am not in the mood to do this," you threw out your hand, nudging him to hand you your phone.

He was ready to give you back your phone but before he could, his thumb mistakenly pressed on to the power button, and your phone lit up, your cheeks turning a scarlet red when he saw your lockscreen that had his photo on it.

"Wait, am I your lockscreen?” he looked at you smugly, and you couldn't help but feel embarrassed at the sight of it. Great job done [Y/N].

"You weren't supposed to see that," you whispered, tonguing the insides on your cheeks, flustered.

This time he gave you a smile that was gentler than what he had ever given you. He handed you your phone back, and decided not to tease you about the lockscreen.

"Get into the car, [Y/N], please?" He looked into your eyes, his eyes beckoning yours to listen, and you groaned, nodding. He opened the car door for you once again, and quietly you sat down inside, crossing your arms over your chest.

It was as if he knew that you were in no mood to talk, because he didn't force you to. Quietly, he manoeuvred the vehicle through the cuts and turns and you let your head rest against the windowpane. Within seconds, you were drifting into a light sleep.

About ten minutes later, Tommy pled up on your driveway, but even the car coming to a halt wasn't enough to break your slumber. He slowly turned to look at you, and the sight of you was enough to melt his heart. Reluctantly he brought his shaky palm up to the side of your face as he pushed your hair off the side of it, his fingers gentle against you. You stirred slightly, your eyes fluttering awake as Tommy smiled to himself, whispering, "I think you might be my soulmate, eh, if there is a concept of one. I'd like to believe you're my fucking soulmate." It was so low, you couldn't hear any of it.

"We're here," he announced, louder and clearer this time and you took this as a hint to get the fuck out of his car.

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby, I'll see you at work tomorrow," hurriedly you got out of the car and before Tommy could utter another word, you ran down the side of the apartment towards the side staircase that led to your first floor apartment.

Tommy kept watching as you saw you cash up the flight of stairs, struggling to fish out your bunch of house keys from your purse. He watched as you unlocked the front door and stepped in, hurriedly slamming the door shut.

He kept sitting in the car, and finally turned the ignition on.

"Fuck," he cursed as he turned the ignition off, pulled the car keys out and got out of the car. With big steps, he strode towards the side staircase, from where you had just ran up a few seconds back and reached your doorstep, bringing himself to ring the bell. He waited nervously, tapping the wall awkwardly with his fingers until you opened the door.

He pushed himself inside the minute you opened the door, kicking the door shut behind him.

"Why are you here?" You bit back on your words, trembling slightly. He could see that your eyes were red and puffy, and that you had been crying.

"Were you crying love?" He asked, trying to reach for you. He grabbed your wrists, pulling you towards him.

"You're insane," you whispered, your eyes planted to his lips, but you dared not look up and look into his eyes.

Gently, he let go of your wrist, and instead, placed his palm on the low of your back to hold you steady in his arms, "You love me." He rasped, in a low voice that caused your lips to part.

"Not right now I don't, Mr. Shelby," you spat at him, feeling your eyes start getting cloudy again. To be fair, you were feeling stupid, and embarassed at yourself, for reacting this way, showing him how weak and vulnerable you were, but you couldn't help it. You couldn't stop thinking of Tatiana and Tommy, and the more you did, the more angrier you got. You looked away.

"Look at me, love," Tommy chastised you, placing his hand on the base of your chin as he tried lifting your face up, but you dodged his hand and glared at him,"You're not my boss in here, Mr. Shelby. This is my house."

He gave you a tight lipped smile, and his palm reached out to cup your face, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips. He parted his lips, and fluttered his eyes close, letting an exhale out, before fluttering his blues open again, "this fire within you will be the fucking death of me someday, woman." You curled your lips slightly, licking the insides of your mouth and your nostrils flared, "Shouldn't you be with your business partner? Shagging the fuck out of her? You seem to be at the wrong apartment."

Tommy growled, pushing you to the wall; his knee coming to press against the wall, between the space of your legs. His hands fixed on either side of your head, barring you from escaping.

"Can you shut up for once in your life? I did not fuck Tatiana, ever, yeah?" He looked down into your eyes, and you glared into his, wondering if he was lying.

"You.. didn't?"

"I didn't. And I don't intend to, in the future," he said, in his low husky voice. You fluttered your eyes shut and slowly, like a doe, lifted your face so your lips were now in line with his. You parted your lips, waiting for him to kiss you. He took the hint, a ghost of a smirk forming against his lips as he brought the distance to a close, his plump lips pressing against yours as he kissed you by the wall, "now let's not talk of her now yeah? I would rather spend my night in your bed than stand out here, talking about a woman that doesn't interest me."

"then what interests you?" You smirked.

"You do. You interest me, love."

Your cheeks hurt and your eyes leaked water; tears of happiness flew openly from your eyes. You were dressed in a beautiful black evening gown and your son, Charlie, held your palm, his eyes everywhere but on his father as he walked up to the podium to where the microphone was.

You knelt down gracefully, tickling your son lightly on his Adam's apple, and murmured, "Look, Charlie, your daddy is up there, would you look?"

"Dada!" Charlie babbled, and you hoisted him up and fixed him on your hip as your eyes met Tommy's and he gave you a nod, his eyes twinkling.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you all for coming. You see tonight, eh, is a very special night for me. And I am pleased to announce my endeavours first with you—" He found your eyes again, and you smiled at him, wondering what he was referring to. Ever since you found out you were pregnant with Charlie, two years back, you had decided to quit your job.

"I am pleased to announce [Y/N] and Charles Shelby Center for senior citizens," Tommy turned slightly so he could move out of the way and a huge projector began showing the architectural designs of a massive modern looking building on the screen.

Your heart swelled with pride as you watched your husband gracefully walk down the stairs. People came and greeted him, shaking hands with him, and he stopped momentarily to greet them back. You tickled Charlie's belly as you began striding towards where he was.

Tommy threw out his hand towards you and you gladly accepted, as he pulled you to his side, planting a quick kiss on Charlie's forehead. You lifted your neck up high and you and Tommy posed for a few pictures, and soon the cameras left you alone with him. He leaned closer to you and smiled, "Did you like it, love? I've been planning it since I saw you that day, four years back, helping out in the rain. You were beautiful. "

"You saw that, Tommy? Is that why you didn't even scold me for being late?" You gasped, and he smirked, nodding.

"No wonder I kept thinking that something was wrong with you, Mr. Shelby."

He suddenly turned around and his right arm came to rest on the low of your back as he pulled you to him. On one hip, you adjusted your son, who was now struggling to get into his daddy's arms; you placed your free hand on Tommy's chest and patted it before grabbing his tie, "If there was something bloody wrong with me, why would you still choose me as your husband and then gift me with a lovely boy?"

"Well, because, Mr. Shelby, I love you, and wouldn't trade our family for anything."

[darling-i-read-it]

The Wrath of the Lamb

3x13

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4.7k (this is officially the longest thing i’ve ever posted, i beat my own record three times with this series lmao)

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, guns, pregnancy, burning, canniablism, death, gore probably more idk 

Author’s Note: My very favorite thing about this rewrite is watching the show and seeing how those writers and creators took pieces of the original source material to create their own show and I took both the novels and the show and just did this. I am very very proud of this. I am so happy I decided to do it. I was going to make a substantial change to the ending but I honestly am hoping that one day, season 4 will happen and maybe I’ll stil be writing. Thank you all SO MUCH for getting this far. I am so happy we got to share this together and that this show is as good as it is. I hope I did it justice because this show is so complex. I hope that you all enjoy and thank you again. 

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary: Will orchestrates a plot involving Hannibal in hope of slaying Francis Dolarhyde; Bedelia is concerned for Will and the lives of those close to him.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​ @sweetgoodangel​

(not my gif) 

You looked in the small window of Reba’s hospital room. You were standing outside of it beside your husband, your hand tight around your upper arm. You were almost cradling yourself in a way. This reminded you of when you had come to visit Abigail, when she was still in the hospital. As your eyes went from the window to Will you were once again thrown to the reality of now. If it had been Abigail in that room you would have looked to see a shaking, sweating puppy dog Will Graham who was so unsure of the world around him. This Will was so different. His hair was done, his shirt ironed. You had ironed it. 

He met your eyes and you gave him a small nod. He opened the door and you let him go inside. You did not follow him. He had enough empathy to give Reba and he understood where she was standing. You and him understood. You had all loved a monster.

-

Will grabbed your arm gently. You and him stood in front of Hannibal’s cage. You had no doubt that Hannibal saw you somewhere else. But nonetheless, you allowed yourself to ease in his presence. A thing Will was once again learning to do.

“Ding-dong, the Dragon’s dead,” Will said. Hannibal raised an eyebrow. He looked between the two of you and his smile faded.

“Pity. I had such plans,” he promised. You believed that. “Are congratulations in order?” Will approached the other man, just against the glass wall. 

“I didn’t kill him. Neither did Y/N. Suicide.”

“I would have liked to kill him as well,” you muttered. Hannibal seemed disappointed at that.

“Then he wasn’t as strong as the Dragon after all,” Hannibal whispered. 

“He was trying to stop,” Will argued. You weren’t sure why Will was arguing for Francis. You hated that he was. He had hurt you. Francis had scared you. You didn’t mention it but you could feel that Hannibal caught the emotion

“I was rooting for you, Will. I figured you would adore killing the man who attacked your family, it’s such a shame. You came all this way and didn’t even get to kill anybody. Only consolation is Dr. Chilton.” Hannibal paused for affect. “Congratulations for the job you did on him. I admired it enormously. Did you do it together? Was the idea hatched in the duo?” You straightened your back. 

“No,” Will said simply. 

“What a cunning couple you are,” Hannibal said anyway. 

“Are you accusing us of something?” you questioned.

“Does the enemy inside you agree with the accusation? Even a little bit?” Hannibal questioned. 

“We came back to stop the Dragon. He’s stopped,” Will stated. 

“Your family was on his itinerary Will. You’re safe now, all three of you. You can go home again. If there’s any point?” Hannibal suggested. You gave him a look. 

“I like my life,” Will said but he did not sound convincing. 

“It won't’ be the same. You’ll see it’s not the same,” Hannibal promised. You stepped closer to the glass.

“I want it to be the same. Together, we will make it the same,” you promised.

“Mutual assurances you try to exchange in the dark and in the day will pass through some refraction, making them miss their mark. When life becomes maddeningly polite…” Hannibal thought about his words and made you both think about them as well. “...think about me. Think about me, don’t worry about me.” 

Will was ready to leave. You could feel it. 

“You turned yourself in so I would always know where you are. You’d only do that if we, together, rejected you.” Will put his hand on the nape of your back. “Good-bye Hannibal.” Will started to lead you out. 

“Will…” He turned. “Was it good to see me?” 

“Good? No.” 

Will walked out and you followed him. He kept going but you stopped as the doors behind you shut. Your mind reeled and he could see it. 

“I need my own goodbye,” you whispered. He gave you a long look. He knew that this was what you needed. He knew it was. Still though, he didn’t want it. He wanted to protest. 

“I’m going back to the motel. Meet me there?” You nodded. He walked down the hall. You could feel his tenseness but ignored it as you walked back into the room with Hannibal. He was clearly surprised to see you. 

“Was that not good-bye?” he questioned. You shrugged.

“That was Will’s good-bye. Not mine.” 

You walked in front of the glass and sat down. Hannibal did the same. You were arguably one of the only people he would sit down like that for. 

“I take for granted, on occasion, that you enjoyed my company,” you told him. You played with the hem of your pants. “I recognize, to a fault, that you would eat me if let out. You would eat my husband. You would eat my baby. But still…” You smiled, reminiscently. “I loved you.” 

He was pleased to hear this. He was so pleased.

“You never would have left him. Not even if I killed him in the kitchen,” he suggested. You thought about that for a moment. You thought back to that terrible day and felt it again.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“When you came in to interview for the secretary position I had already picked someone. I didn’t want to be rude, so I let you in.” He stopped. That was the end of his story.

“Why would you let me work for you?”

“Because I liked you. And as it turns out, we would have met eventually. Through Will.” You nodded.

“But it would have been different.” 

“Yes. Yes it would have.” You pressed your hand against the glass. He looked at it and he did not put his hand on yours. 

“Will is right. I turned myself in so you and he would always know where I am. Because you rejected me.” Your hand fell off the glass slowly.

“I deserved that.” 

You stood up and took a deep breath.

“Good-bye Hannibal.” 

-

You walked up to the hotel room and started to grab the key from your purse. You struggled for a moment but eventually found it. You slid it into the lock and unlocked it, walking inside. Your mind hung over Hannibal still when you were grabbed. You had just been able to see Francis coming at you enough to push him off, hitting his head. He ran out of the door and you followed him but eventually he went too far and you had to stop. You turned back to the room and ran back, your hand on your stomach as you breathed hard from adrenaline. 

Will sat in the chair, tied down. You rushed to him, locking the door behind you. 

You started to untie him.

“Who was that?” you asked. 

“The Red Dragon,” he breathed. You scoffed.

“Not dead then.”

“Clearly.” You got him out quickly.

“Are you alright?” you questioned. He nodded, rubbing his wrists. 

“Yeah. He didn’t hurt me much.” 

“What did he want?” 

You stared at each other. He didn’t need to tell you. You knew. 

-

Will, you and Jack Crawford stood in the hall leading to the morgue. 

“The obvious thing is to try to get him to come to us. Bait him with something he wants more than us,” Will said. Jack gave him a look.

“He’d be an idiot to go for it,” Jack muttered. 

“I know. Want to hear what the best bait would be?” you asked. Jack stared at you. You stared back at him.

“Not from you.”

“Hannibal would be the best bait,” Will said so that you didn’t have to. Jack shook his head.

“Why in God’s name would anybody want to meet Hannibal Lecter?”

“To kill him, Jack. The Dragon could absorb him that way, engulf him, become more than he is,” Will explained. It gave you a moment of just realizing that was how he used to speak about killers he didn’t know. 

“You sound pretty sure Will.”

“I’m not sure. Who’s sure? I’m not even sure Hannibal would draw the Dragon. I say it’s the best shot,” Will explained. 

“Set up how?” Jack asked.

“I would be hell to do, I know that. We’d take Hannibal into federal custody,” Will said. You gave him a look. 

“Because Y/N and Alana would never sit still for what you’re about to suggest?” You gave Jack a bitter role. 

“We fake an escape.” Will stared at you for a moment and Zeller called his name. “One moment.” He disappeared in the morgue that left you and Jack alone, annoyingly. 

“You’ll have both their lives in your hands,” you whispered. 

“Since when do you care about if Hannibal gets hurt under my care?” he questioned.

“Since now.” 

-

Bedelia did not look happy. You did not expect her to be happy either. You respected her bit of unhappiness. 

“We assign a moment to decision, to dignify the process as a timely result of rational and conscious thought. Yet what you propose is so thoughtless, I find it difficult to imagine that moment exists,” Bedelia said bitterly. You stood behind Will, walking around the room slowly. Will sat down across from her.

“Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They’re more often a lump than a sum.” Bedelia stood up, walked to where she kept the drinks and poured herself one. She offered one to you that she then realized you couldn’t drink. 

“However you think you’re going to manipulate this situation to your advantage, think again,” Bedelia said.

“There is no advantage. It’s all degrees of disadvantage,” you argued. Bedelia fixed on you and Will with a piercing stare. 

“‘Who holds the Devil, let him hold him well. He will hardly be caught a second time’.” 

“I don’t intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.” A flicker of alarm played in her eyes. 

“Can’t live with him. Can’t live without him. Is that what this is?” she asked, bitterly.

“I guess this is my Becoming,” Will suggested.

“I just tag along,” you whispered.

“Because you have two crazy men in absolute love with you,” she told you. Will stood up, straightening his jacket. He was done here.

“I’d pack my bags if I were you Bedelia. Meat’s back on the menu.” 

-

Alana looked annoyed. She sat in Jack’s office, a place you hated to the ends of the Earth. You messed with your hair a bit, leaning against the wall.

“Hannibal has tentatively agreed to the deal, as proposed,” Alana said.

“What will make him less tentative?” 

“He wants Will and Y/N to ask him.” She turned to him. “He wants you to say ‘please’.” You gave a bitter smile. So very like him.

“I’ll say ‘pretty please’,” Will said. He was preparing to speak to you. He knew what he had to bring up would not blow over right.

“We will have a stampede when people think Lecter is out,” Jack explained.

“Let them stampede. Authenticity. And let them think I helped Hannibal escape,” Will muttered.

“Authenticity?” 

“Someone has to be close. When the Dragon comes.” He turned to you. “And just one person.” For a moment, the other three people in that room let that sink in. It was a surprise even to Jack Crawford that Will would even suggest that he go somewhere without you. 

“Sorry?”

“You can’t come,” he repeated.

“No I heard you, I was letting you change your sentence.” 

“I don’t think you need to be there. You don’t.” You clenched your fist and looked away from him. You understood where he was coming from. There was no reason for you to be there. You would only be in the way and you had a child. It would be stupid.

But still.

Every piece of you wanted to be there with Will and Hannibal. You were always there with them. They were your boys. 

You shook your head slowly. 

“What do you suggest I do?” you asked. Will thought about that for a moment.

“Whatever you want.” You couldn’t look at him. He pulled a pocket knife out of his jacket pocket and handed it to you. You took it slowly but still looked away from him. “For if you need it.” You weren’t sure what that meant and you didn’t want to ask. 

-

You and Will walked into the room with Hannibal again. You had hoped to never have to see it again. He did not look surprised to see you this time.

“I thought you said your good-byes.”

“We’ve had one last good-bye between us.” Hannibal was tied up in a straight jacket. You hadn’t been this close to him for a while. You wanted to touch him but you held yourself back. 

“You didn’t just say good-bye, though, did you? That little extra bit at the end for you Will. It felt very final for both of you. I believe it’s called a ‘mic drop’. You dropped the mic, but here you are having to come back and pick it back up again,” Hannibal explained. There were nurses in there with you that stopped any kind of intimacy feeling you may have.

“I knew you would keep running if I kept chasing you. I knew you wanted me to know exactly where I could find you. When we needed you,” Will said.

“And you did,” Hannibal commented. 

“I need you, Hannibal,” you said. Will finished it off.

“Please.” 

-

Will stared at Hannibal in his cage. Even as Francis drove by, he stared at Hannibal. His mind became blurry. But still, he saw the outline of Hannibal’s face in the fog that was his mind as it crashed. People died. People were killed. 

Hannibal was let out. 

Will did not panic. He figured this would happen. He knew this would happen. 

When his mind regained his moment, he got up and stepped out of the broken car. Hannibal crossed to the police car as he took off his straight jacket. He opened the door and pulled the dead driver from the vehicle.

“What are you doing?” Will called.

“You know Will, you worry too much. You’d be so much more comfortable if you relaxed with yourself. Are you coming? He’s not going to kill us here. What he wants to do requires something a little more private.” Hannibal behind the wheel was an interesting scene. The side window was smashed, blood splashed across the inside of the windshield. Hannibal pulled up alongside Will, opened the passenger door and shoved a dead police officer out of the vehicle. He leaned over the seat.

“Going my way?” Will looked through the car door and then looked back down the road.

“You know it can’t just be the two of us,” Will said.

“It never was and never will be, just the two of us.” 

-

You sat in Jack’s office. Will’s pocket knife was in your hand tightly. You were getting a play by play that way which was the only reason you were truly there. You sat in a chair, head in one of your hands as you heard the voices go out and static. You looked up and Jack looked at you.

“What is that? What happened?” 

“Hold on.” He dialed a number.

There was an excruciatingly long moment in silence. You held your breath, biting your finger gently as you waited. Someone spoke on the other line. You couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

Then he hung up and looked at you. You stared back at him and waited.

“They were intercepted. We don’t know yet if there are any survivors.” You stared at him and he waited for that backlash. He was ready for it. But there was no anger that went over your face, instead it was just a small laugh. You shook your head and that laugh fell. 

He saw that face and he recognized the look in your eyes. 

“Do you remember the first judge of Will’s trial?” you asked quietly. 

“What?” 

“Do you. Remember. The first judge. In my husband's murder trial?” you asked again, louder this time. 

“Yeah. Hannibal killed him.” You widened your eyes and shook your head slowly.

“No. I did.”

He had no time to react. You opened the pocket knife and leaned across the desk, slashing his throat. 

-

You reached the motel room quickly after that. You pulled in at the same time you saw a car pull into the parking lot behind you. You got out of your car, hands still stained in Jack Crawford’s blood. The car slowed down beside you. You looked into it and the window rolled down, revealing Will in the passenger seat, Hannibal in the driver's seat.

You let out an audible sigh of relief. 

“Jack told me you were dead,” you said as you rushed to the window.

“Get in the back,” Will said gently. He went to grab your hand but stopped when he saw the blood. Hannibal noticed it at the same time. You did not address it, instead you got in the back of the car with them. 

Hannibal pulled out of the parking lot and away.

“The blood isn’t...the b-” Will started but you cut him off.

“No. I slit Jack Crawford’s throat,” you stated. Hannibal, pleasantly surprised, laughed. Will turned around to look at you. He didn’t look exactly surprised at you. More surprised at his lack of shock.

“About time,” Hannibal said. 

“Is he dead?” Will asked. You shrugged.

“I left before figuring that out.” 

You were so happy to be back beside the both of them. You just let out another sigh of relief.

-

You got out of the car and admired the scenery. It was such a Hannibal place, you weren’t even surprised. The sun setting, the cliff, the way the house stood on the Earth. So serendipitous. 

“The bluff is eroding. There was more land when I was here with Abigail. More land still when I was here with Miriam Lass,” Hannibal said. Will looked over the view and down the cliff a bit. Water, crashing. Gorgeous.

“Now you’re here with us,” Will said. 

“And the bluff is still eroding. You and I are suspended over the roiling Atlaninic. Soon all of this will be lost to sea,” Hannibal explained. You walked over to where Will lingered by the cliff. Hannibal walked away from you to find the key to the home. 

“This isn’t the right place for us to be,” he whispered.

“Yes it is,” you countered. 

“Running from the law with a child?”

“Sounds like something we would do and do well.” He looked over at you away from the view. 

“Let’s get your hands cleaned.” 

-

The sun set completely. The moon showed through the glass walls. You stared through the view and Will stood beside you, watching you watch your new life. He put his hand on your shoulder and you leaned into him as Hannibal walked into the room. Hannibal pulled a wine bottle from the rack and poured two glasses of wine. 

“I apologize that I cannot offer you any wine Y/N,” he said. You turned to him. Will’s hand dropped. 

“No worries.  I never liked it anyway,” you lied. Will took a glass. 

“You’re playing games with yourself in the dark of the moon,” Hannibal said, moving toward the window as well. “Wasn’t surprising that I heard from the Great Red Dragon. Was it surprising when you both heard from him?”

“Yes and no,” Will said. 

“Surprised me. I just wanted to sleep in my own bed,” you whispered. Hannibal smiled gently but that quickly fell off his features. 

“You intend to watch him kill me?” Hannibal questioned. You shook your head but Will spoke first.

“I intend to watch him change you.” Hannibal took that in, a sad smile on his face as he fingered the corkscrew. He saw it in his hands and wondered if he should kill you. Kill Will. Get it over with. Instead, he uses the tip to cut the seal on the wine bottle. 

“My compassion for you both is inconvenient,” Hannibal stated.

“If you’re partial to beef products, it’s inconvenient to be compassionate toward a cow,” Will muttered.

“Save yourself, kill them all?” Hannibal asked.

“I don’t know if we can save ourselves. And maybe that’s just fine,” you said. 

“No greater love hath man than to lay down his life for a friend’,” Hannibal recited. Will looked out the window and sensed the danger.

“He’s watching us now,” Will whispered. He looked at you and you looked back at him. You were staring at each other the second that the glass wall shattered, impaling Hannibal in the stomach. You turned quickly, moving toward Will subconsciously. Hannibal’s wine bottle dropped from his hand and a large red stain on his sweater blossomed with blood. Glass shards fell through the air and beyond them, the patio is just the black knight. In the darkness came Francis Dolarhyde.

Hannibal slid down to his knee. Blood pumping from the gunshot wound in his abdomen. Will grabbed you but Francis raised his gun to the two of you. 

“Don’t run. I’ll catch you.” Hannibal glanced down at his belly wound.

“Hello, Francis,” he said.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” he echoed. Francis pulled a tripod from his bag and tossed it to you before pointing the gun at your head. Will took the tripod from your hands and began to set it up. 

“I’m so happy you chose life, Francis. Suicide is the enemy.” 

“I had one rag of pride that Reba McClane gave me. It told me that suicide was a sorry end,” Francis explained.

“You were seized by a fantasy life with the brilliance and freshness and immediacy of childhood. It took you a step beyond alone.” Francis pulled out a 16-mm camera from his bag and handed it to you who fixed it on the tripod, still at gunpoint. 

“I’m going to film your death, Dr. Lecter, as dying, you meld with the strength of the Dragon.”

“It’s a glorious and rather discomfiting idea,” Hannibal muttered. You back away from the camera and he reached for the gun that was in his waistband. You wanted to reach for Will’s knife he had given you but hesitated. 

“Watching the film will be wonderful, but not as wonderful as the act itself.”

Before you even knew what was happening, a knife slammed in Will’s face. You screamed. Francis shot you in the stomach. You stumbled back and then moved forward again. Will fell through the broken wall you attacked Francis. You had enough strength to get him outside.

Francis lifted Will off the ground and Will stabbed him with the knife that was once in his cheek. As you found your own knife, Francis started to again fight Will. As you moved you saw Will rag-doll across the stones. Will’s blood spattered across the thick drops to the stone. He got to his hands and knees. You went to stab Francis again but he got to you first, slashing your side. It stunned you enough that you fell back on the stones beside your husband. 

Will pulled his gun out and Francis immediately disarmed him, tossing the gun over the bluff. You wanted to scream but nothing came out. Just as Francis went to slash him again Hannibal came out of the darkness. He tried to snap Franics neck but the man's neck was too strong and he swatted Hannibal away. 

The two of them staggered across the patio. You tried to get up and Will did as well. He tossed Hannibal off but you and Will were up again.

You started to use your knives on his legs, hoping to disarm him. Hannibal grabbed a hatchet that he found off to the side. He slammed it into Francis achilles tendon and then his knee. 

You, Will and Hannibal all stood now. Exhausted but equal. Francis bleeded from his wounds, leg destroyed. Hannibal staggered up to him and bit out Francis throat. He arched his back and blood fell all around him.

Eventually he fell and let out one last breath as he stared at Will in front of him. 

Dead. 

Will started to finally feel his wounds, as did you and Hannibal. He looked down at his hands which were drenched in red. 

“It really does look black in the moonlight,” he whispered. You didn’t know what he was talking about but you didn’t ask. You stumbled to Hannibal who caught you. In his other arm, Will stood. The three of you embraced, not quite hugging, not not hugging. 

You caught your breath together. The night was still otherwise. 

“See,” Hannibal breathed. You did not look up at him. Will’s head was against his chest. You were buried in his neck. You grabbed Will’s hand and he held it for dear life. “This is all I ever wanted for you,” he choked. “For all of us.” 

Hannibal sounded broken. 

You felt broken. 

Will looked broken.

You closed your eyes, brushing back the tears that you didn’t know were there. 

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. And you weren’t lying. Will stared at you and he genuinely felt that it was beautiful. He felt what you did. A single tear cut through the blood on his face and fell. 

You held onto him and Hannibal tightly. 

These were your boys. These were the people you had risked it all for. And you did not regret it for even a moment.

Hannibal let out a shaky breath and you felt the Earth underneath you move. You felt the ground and then you did not. 

Where you once stood was drenched in blood. It was illuminated by the moon. If someone was to stand there, despite there no longer being a living person standing there, they would feel the emotions that had left. That place was no longer still. It was breathing. 

The sea underneath it was breathing. It had engulfed three people who loved each other more than anyone had loved anyone. 

The waves crashed against the rocks, the only noise left in the dark of the night.

[katsukikitten]

Hi! 💋 What about a nsfw w/ bakugou where it’s Valentine’s & (quirkless) reader makes chocolates and leaves them at his work. However she forgets to leave her name so he throws them away thinking it’s from someone else. He tells her about the “anon” valentine and insults the gift.(Trying to show off his loyalty, the egoist). She cries and he,confused, goes to comfort her. When things get spicy he finds another gift under her dress. Bonus for 💕 lingerie & toys 🌹 rough Baku / quirk use 🍓cum.

Hello anon, HERE IS THE FINAL DAY OF THE EVENT. thank you to everyone who submitted. I may have energy for more I may not it really depends on my spastic ass. ENJOY!

Finally, after countless hours in the kitchen, it was done.

You step back admiring your work, the homemade box of chocolates has your own heart soaring, especially after you crafted your own molds. Intricate roses, peonies, and petunias stare back at you, petals painted in soft pastels of chocolates while the rest of the delicate square is either dark or all white chocolate.

This was one of the many times you were thankful your husband told you to stay home to work on your dream.

Your dream to be a test kitchen, to sell recipies, molds and chocolates. All sorts of things.

And it was helpful that your man was also willing to be your test subject most of the time. Today being Valentine's day was a bonus. You remove your apron, hanging it up by the kitchen door excitement thrumming through your blood as you smooth down his favorite dress you own.

The train ride seems to drag on for forever despite being only fifteen minutes away from the ominous building that scrapes the sky above you. Separating clouds as you spy his office window near the top floor.

"Stay out of my office got it?" His voice bites out to his secretary who is wearing an obnoxiously hoeish outfit. Bright red skin tight with a heart cut out over her breasts. Bakugou is annoyed with her normally what with her overly flirty behavior but is especially agitating today when he just wants to he home with you.

"Oh Bakugou-sama are you stepping to lunch. I could accompany..." Before she can even finish he looks over his shoulder with a deadly glare. So much so the flowers on your desk seem to wilt.

"No." A nasty bite before he angrily shoves popping hands in his pockets taking the stairs down in attempt to loosen his aching legs. He had been sitting at his office desk for far too long.

Just as the heavy door slams shut you step out of the elevator. Chocolates neatly placed in a white box with a cellophane window to display your hours upon hours of work.

"Ah Ai, you look lovely today." You smile, admiring her outfit as you walk towards your husband's office. She gives you a once over with cold judging eyes.

You either do not notice or do not care as you walk past her desk.

"Oh Bakugou-sama stepped out for lunch. You just missed him." She smiles cruelly only to be met by your obnoxiously bright smile that she hates.

"Perfect. Then he will come back to a surprise." You wink slipping through the door.

You notice a lot of flowers and chocolate in the trash can of his office as you make way to his desk. You make a silent reminder to yourself to lightly scold the hero.

He should at least wait a day, or hell give back out some of the stuff he recieved.

Still you neatly placed the box on his keyboard so he was sure to see it.

"Y/N? Have you had coffee yet? I've made you a mug to go." Ai pokes her head in with the paper cup in hand. You smile warmly at her, oblivious to her animosity as you grab on to the paper cup with joy.

You desperately needed caffeine. You greedily gulp at the warm liquid after saying your good byes as you headed home.

You dig through your purse for your keys to the front door spying a small pink envelop, eyes widening a bit.

"Shoot I forgot the card." You curse yourself. "Ah well I'm sure he'll know they're from me."

You set your purse on the entry table and notice a giant stuffed animal and dozens and dozens of roses on the dining room table.

A small note in his boyish handwriting sits by the vases.

*"Guess I just missed you babe. See you tonight."*

You smile until your cheeks hurt.

Hours pass as you soon begin to make the dinner of his dreams. Half way cleaning away your mess and neatly stacking chocolate orders for White day.

Bakugou alerts you that he is home by groaning at the door, slipping off his ever present combat boots.

"Smells good babe." He says wrapping strong arms around your waist, kissing on your neck.

"Mmhmmm." You hum, impatiently waiting for him to tell you how the chocolate was, "How was your day?"

"Ugh long. This holiday sucks." He kisses your throat again, "No offense babe."

You roll your eyes. For someone who thinks the holiday sucks he sure went out of his way to buy every last rose at the floral shop.

"It's just an excuse for people to buy shit and bother the fuck out if me with it." His voice darkens with agitation before he scoffs, "Like I came back to lunch to the shittiest chocolate I've ever seen. Little bitch flowers all painted and shit from some fucking random."

Your heart speeds in your chest as he continues.

"Left 'em right on my fucking keyboard as if they were more important than work." You turn to shove him off of you then. Tears streaming down your red cheeks as he blinks furiously. For the life of him he cannot tell why in the fuck you're crying.

"Baby what's wrong..." Scarlet eyes notice the molds first, how their art is vaguely familar, little white boxes stacked on the far counter. Then he notices the apron he got you is stained with colors of pinks, whites and browns.

It is then he realized that he fucked up.

"Oh baby...." He damns himself for being so callous.

"What did you do with them?!" Your voice cracks, trying hard to sound enraged but it falls flat. He bites his lip, hands smoothing over your forearms.

"I...I'm sorry. I had a skewed vision on your chocolate. I thought they were from the hoe who sits outside my office." He says quickly, "Had I known...I would have loved them. I really thought it was Ai trying to make an advance on me..."

He wipes the tears from your face, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead.

"You probably slaved over them all day, probably made my favorite spicy chocolate you make and I was an asshole and just trashed them...In trying to be loyal to you I hurt you..." His voice is feather soft as is his kiss on your forehead, then your cheeks and lips. He notices your dress beneath the apron that he removes slowly face contorting to lust as he drops the cloth to the floor.

He leans in slowly, running his teeth and tongue against your throat to which you moan.

"Bakugoooo." He loves the way you drag out his name, popping hands slip the zipper down your delicate back, "I..I'm still mad..."

"You don't sound mad." He says too cocky for his own good, "Isnt this helping?"

He pulls the dress to the floor, leaving you in nothing but black heels, a lace bra with little red bows in the middle and black lacy underwear. He turns you growling as he does, when he sees a matching red bow over your ass he leans down to bite a cheek.

You lightly yelp before he pushes you against the dining room table in the kitchen. Sloshing the flower water onto the set table.

"B..but dinner..." You groan as he massages you, untying the bows on your bra to slip his fingers over your nipples.

"Fuck dinner. I'm skipping to dessert." His voice is deadly as his popping back indicates his excitement, as does the hard thing in his dress pants that presses against your ass as he bites your shoulders. His words have your head floating as his finger nails scrape down your back before grabbing onto your hips tightly giving a playful thrust that causes a small moan.

Just the promise of what he is about to give has your core molten and he can tell as he pulls back. Hands slipping over slick thighs, spreading them apart.

He pulls down your underwear all the way down and when a butt plug is revealed to him he groans.

"Fuuuuck." He growls, watching you contract before he slides a finger up and down your sex, "So wet already."

"J...just for you." You pant when he reaches your needy clit, massaging it roughly setting a fast pace that threatens to have you screaming in a matter of moments. He watches you buck and squirm with a wolfish grin. He removes his hand earning a small whimper before he drops to his knees.

You are the only person he would fall to his knees for with out any sort of hesitation as his pink tongue lazily laps at your sex. Hands spreading your ass cheeks to get better access. His tongue runs stripes up your pussy, that clenches tightly with every swipe.

He laps at your core before placing his lips over your clit to give it a harsh suck.

"You must love being devoured by a wolf huh my needy lamb?"

You cry out as he continues to make a meal of you, your fingers tweaking your nipples for added stimulation.

"I...I'm clooooose." You whine as he moves his face away from your clit to plunge into your core a few times with a pointed tongue. Lapping all that he can.

"Good. Now cum on Sir's face." He growls, mouth back to your swollen clit, sucking harshly, grazing teeth and steady broad tongue has heat swelling in your chest, a light buzz in your head before it all goes quiet.

And like a sprung trap you cry out, convulsing as you ride out your high only for him to press further. Overstimulating you for another agonizingly blissful ten minutes as you lose count of how many times you've cum.

He slows to a loving pace before his fingers slide over your clit as he stands. You pant, tears forming in your eyes from an exhausted body and mind as your body slowly turns limp. Head swimming on an unseen high that has Bakugou smiling down at you, wiping your sweetness from his mouth with his sleeve.

"I'm not done with you yet, love." He says making quirk work of turning his belt into an impromptu set of handcuffs. He tightens them around your wrists giving them a tight tug. You jerk up some to which he slaps your ass.

"You okay bunty?" You nod unable to form words as he removes his pants. Stealing some of your slick to stroke himself with. He half wishes to keep you this way all night. Tied up, thighs soaked, fucked out with some drool falling from your lips.

The thought alone has him lust hungry and wanting to paint your back in the nicest of white.

Instead he finds himself teasing your clit again until you moan his name is a scream begging him to fuck you.

Your clenching cunt confirms your wishes before he plunges in busting his hips against yours as you finish your last high.

You pant beneath him, core gripping onto his length over and over that has him hungry to pull it from you again. One hand holds onto your belted hands while the other has a bruising grip on your hips. Your face is pressed agaisnt the table as are your breasts. He sets a brutal pace, pulling all the way out to his tip before plunging himself again, slamming against you with deadly precision. He pulls your arms closer to him, causing your upper body to come up some. Your nipples drag agaisnt the rough fabric of the dining table cloth earning an echoing moan.

"Fuck." He snaps, hand leaving your hip to slap your ass harshly, thrusting again and again, "You always take me so well. Your cunt is so needy for me."

He rut begins to turn sloppy and bruising as he bottoms out into you, now pushing your harshly on your back pressing you agaisnt the table. Thrusting hard enough that vases of flowers begin to knock over but that is the least of your worries.

Heat pools down your legs and in your stomach as you feel him twitch. Sending you to another high, loving nothing more than the thought to cause him to act to wild. So rough as he loses himself with popping hands that sting but never burn as his hands grip your skin. Your voice comes out in hoarse moans as you flex your pelvic muscles causing a moan to come from Bakugou. Another thrust over your sensitive g spot has you spiralling. Screaming again as he let's out a giant explosion from his back groaning as he buries himself deep inside you, filling you to the brim with hot seed. Sputtering until he stills, both of you panting, he removes the belt from your wrists, rubbing at the redness before carefully pushing them back to a more natural angle.

"I lo..." But the smoke alarm drowns him out, dinner burning on the stove. He waves his shirt over head to displace some of the billowing smoke as you remove the pan. Almost dropping it using too limp hands. He supports you, moving the pan and you to the sink. Warming a rag that he wipes you down with before kissing your neck.

"I love you." He murmurs into your throat and you smile, pulling him into your plush and bruised breasts.

"I love you too." You sing happily before he pushes out of your hug to give you a kiss and a cocky grin, he snatches you and a box of chocolate up as he carries you to the couch. He places the box into your hands before setting you to sit on top of him. He holds his mouth open, tongue outstretched that has you thinking of it against you moments ago.

"I'm dying for that chocolate baby." He says again, eyes twinkling happier than anything that you forgave him for being a big dumbass.

Next valentines day he won't throw away a single chocolate.

[artificialqueens]

Pretty in Pearls, Chapter 2 (Jankie) - Plastiquedoll

read on ao3 💄| previous chapters 

A/N: hi!  here’s a little update introducing part of the ensemble and the dynamics of this story! I don’t know how to write text messages in this format so this is the most you’ll get from me ✌️ so I hope you enjoy it & thanks for reading it <3

-2-

Jackie’s little tips and advice had made Jan’s life so much easier in so many ways she didn’t even hesitate when she stood up in front of the vending machine and pressed the Snicker’s number. After submitting her papers on time –she gained the favor of the head secretary by complimenting her necklace-, she arrived at class five minutes earlier and got to pick her seat, she met a few of her classmates -including a girl that matched her energy called Rock but they couldn’t get to talk much after the professor started the lesson- it was like things were starting to fall into place for her.

Except for one thing…

She heard laughter around the corner and she recognized it right away. When she peeked into it, she found Nathan talking to the same girl he was flirting with during lunch –the girl he had been talking about, for sure- she was even prettier up close with her short skirt and mascara on.

Her heart shrunk but this wasn’t the first time something like that happened. She wondered sometimes how many times a heart could be broken by the same person; people sometimes said that wounds and scars helped to create thicker skin -and maybe- that was the case for her. Even though, it always hurt like the first time.

They walked away together and Jan was left alone, unnoticed. She cleaned her teary eyes with the back of her palm and put a big smile on her face before getting into the copy room.

Jackie was finishing some big pile of copies for a boy and a girl was waiting in line with some papers in her hand. Maybe Jan would bother her, she seemed to have a lot of work to do. She was about to turn around when the brunette spotted her.

“Jan, hey.” Jackie’s face lit up the moment she saw the other girl.

“Hi!” She moved closer to the counter. “I just wanted to drop by to give you this.” Jan slid the candy bar over the surface.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have… I was joking.”

“It’s the least I can do, you’ve done a lot for me today and I really appreciate that.”

Jackie’s heart swelled.

“You can stay if you want to hang out, I’ll be done in a couple of minutes.” She handed the pile of copies to the boy and accepted the bill he gave her. She gestured to the other girl to move forward.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bug you.”

“You would keep me company and trust me, sometimes it’s needed.” She looked at the girl in front of her. “Simple, double?”

She shyly replied double and in less than three minutes, Jackie had her copies done.

“Have a nice day.” She then turned to Jan. “See, now it’s empty again and in other circumstances, I’d be on my phone so you’re the one making me a favor.”

“Okay.” Jan sounded relieved.

“You can come behind the counter it’s not like I have a vault full of cash or something, college students are broke.”

Jan seemed to be thrilled she could cross that limit, at least Jackie had chairs on that side of the room. The younger took a seat and since the chairs were tall she could let her feet hanging and swing them back and forward. In the meantime, Jackie unwrapped the chocolate bar and took a bite before browsing through one of her textbooks. Jan pulled out her map and some guides to access the virtual classroom as well, she needed to set it up from her phone.

Jackie peeped over. “Are you in the dorms?”

“Ah, yes! I moved in two days ago during the weekend. I’m still kind of lost there but…” She was about to say something else when someone walked into the copy room.

“Hey there, ladies…”

Jan was astonished because that woman was stunning with her braided hair, crop top, and tight jeans. She walked confidently toward the counter and pulled Jackie for a quick hug.

“Long time no see, Miss Cox. How was your break?”

“Hi Jaida, visiting the family, you know. By the way, you look so good.”

“I feel good.” She smiled at Jan. “And who do we have here? Hello, I’m Jaida.” She extended her hand.

Taking Heidi’s previous reaction into consideration, Jan shook it gentler. “Hi, I’m Jan. I don’t work here I’m just new.” She clarified.

“Oh, I see… freshman. There’s nothing to be afraid of we were all there before.” She smiled and held Jan’s hand for a moment giving her reassurance.

“Thank you.” Jan could cry any minute now and it would be the third time in the day.

“Now, some of us are having dinner at that new Thai place outside campus, are you in?” She looked at Jackie and then at Jan. “You can come too, of course.”

“Sure, I’ll be done in an hour and a half. Can I meet you there?” She turned to Jan.

“I really want to but I need to go to my dorm and settle down for a minute. I haven’t finished adjusting and I don’t even know my roommate yet.”

“Oh, you have one of the doubles.”

The younger nodded. “I’m at C dorms.”

“Wait, that’s where Nicky, Jaida’s girlfriend is, isn’t it?”

The other girl nodded. “I can text her if you want, she can show you around the installations.” She pulled out her phone. “Wait, I’ll call her, she hasn’t heard my lovely voice all day long…”

Jan chuckled.

Jaida pressed one number on speed dial.

“Babe…” She put the phone in her ear. “what do you mean who is it? Who do you think it is?” Her tone was playful. “Yeah, I’ll see you there after I’m done here. Did you have a nice day?… Oh, that’s great. Good for you. Listen, Jackie has a new friend here and she’s a freshman who happens to be in the same dorm you are, do you think you could help this little lost lamb?”

The younger pouted and Jackie just giggled.

“That’s perfect, I’ll tell her. You’re the best, babe. Love you.” She made some kiss noises and then hung up.

Jackie looked like she wanted to mock her but one glance from Jaida kept her from doing it.

“Nicky says she’s there right now, her dorm is C-10, next to the hallway. If you get lost look for a platinum blonde girl, gorgeous as hell, thick French accent…”

“Jaida is into foreign experiences.” Jackie explained and Jan had to hold her laughter.

“Listen you, Canadian bitch…” She threatened. “I’m trying to be nice here, don’t ruin it.”

“Jaida is in the same dorms as me, G dorms.” The brunette told her.

“You guys have singles?” She asked in disbelief, both girls nodded. “I wish I had a single.”

“Freshmen never get singles; part of the adaptation process or something like that. But don’t worry, having a roommate during your first year is a fruitful experience.” Jaida pointed out.

“Most of my classmates already met their roommates but there was a last-minute reassignment so I don’t know if I’ll meet mine today or tomorrow, next week…” Jan pouted again.

“On the bright side, you can experience having a single for another day.” Jackie patted her back.

“I have to go but I’ll see you later and I hope I see you around.” Jaida said at both girls after checking the time on her phone. “It was nice to meet you, Jan. Miss Cox…”

“Thank you so much.”

“See you in a bit.”

And with that, they were left alone again.

“I should go too.” Jan packed her things. “Jackie, I can’t stop telling you how much thankful I am… you’re awesome and I’ve known you for like a day but I already consider you my friend… Back in high school, I didn’t have many girlfriends so it is a big deal for me and now I’m oversharing I should probably shut up.”

Jackie chuckled. “It’s okay… I consider you a friend too.”

“Oh! I almost forgot, I don’t have your phone number…” She handed her phone with her hands like an offer. “Would it be okay if I text you and stuff?”

Jackie couldn’t handle this girl.

“Yeah, absolutely.” She typed her number and saved it as Jackie C. “C is for Cox or copy room, your pick.”

“That’s right, what’s with the girls calling you Miss Cox?”

“It’s an inside joke, they always make fun of me for being uptight… it was that or the alternative being «Anal girl».”

Jan almost choked and coughed a couple of times to hide it.

“You know, for being neat and organized.” Jackie was grinning.

“Right.” She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“I guess it’d have that reaction.” She laughed.

Jan was as red as a tomato.

“I better leave before I embarrass myself more…” She laughed nervously.

“See you later, Jan.”

“You most certainly will.” She said before leaving the copy room.

Jackie took a deep breath; she was screwed.

Jan returned to the building where her room was and dropped by Jaida’s girlfriend’s room before going back to her own. She knocked on the door on dorm C-10 as she remembered Jaida had said.

Not even two minutes later, a girl with wavy blonde hair and icy blue eyes opened the door. Nicky, as Jan assumed, was as stunning as her girlfriend. She was wearing a sleeveless turtleneck white crop top, skinny blue jeans with earrings that spelled «CHA» and «NEL», and stilettos. Jan had never seen someone with a makeup as impeccable as hers and for a moment she forgot she was supposed to say something.

Nicky raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, right! Hello neighbor, I’m Jan… Jaida spoke to you on the phone…”

“Jan.” She snapped her fingers. “Jackie’s friend.”

Her accent was very charming.

“I guess… yeah, that’s me.” She smiled, still kind of nervous.

“I was waiting for you, give me just a second, I need to finish my makeup.”

Wasn’t her makeup already perfect?

“You can come in if you please, you can sit on the bed meanwhile.”

“O-Okay, sure…”

Nicky’s room was nice -all dormitories had the same basic white melamine furniture consisting of a bed, a small desk and a set of drawers and doubles had two of each- but she had decorated the walls with framed magazine covers and polaroids of places in France; the bed was covered with a cream blanket that looked and felt expensive, the desk had a cute picture of Jaida and Nicky smiling at each other, there were makeup products scattered around and a laptop in a corner. She had a full-length mirror with which she kept retouching details of her highlighter.

However, Jan was more invested on the other side of the room which had bright colorful blankets and plushies on the bed, a blanket with a mandala painted hanging on the wall, a smiley face rug, a lava lamp on the desk, and the article she found more intriguing: a One Direction poster.

Nicky didn’t hear any noise so when she turned around and saw Jan staring at the colorful side of the room she explained to her. “My roommate.”

“I see…”

“Actually, she’s a freshman too, you should meet her later.”

“That would be fun.” Jan moved her feet unconsciously.

“So, how did you meet Jackie?” Nicky asked adding some gloss for the final touch.

“I literally met her today at the copy room. She helped me with a form and she’s been nothing but nice to me since then.”

Nicky hummed. “Ah…”

“Uhm… how long have you and Jaida been dating?” She asked trying to continue the small talk.

Nicky beamed at the mention of her girlfriend. “Our first anniversary is in a month.”

“Aw, congratulations. I met Jaida for like ten minutes but she spoke very dearly about you.”

“She may as well…” Nicky looked at Jan through the mirror reflection. “What about you? Are you dating someone?”

Jan blushed. “No… not right now… I’m single.” She said with a hint of disappointment in her voice.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find someone sooner than you think.”

Jan didn’t want to say that she already had someone in mind but the circumstances weren’t ideal for that…

“Alright, I’m ready. Shall we?” Nicky opened the door and Jan jumped out of the bed.

On their way through the hallways, Jan learned that Nicky was a fashion design sophomore, that she had moved from France five years ago with her family, and that she was very much in love with her girlfriend.

Nicky was also an excellent guide. She explained to Jan everything she needed to know about the dorms way better than the instructor in the morning. She showed her the laundry room –always bring the exact number of coins because that bitch swallows all the money and never gives change-, the communal lounge –we come here sometimes to binge-watch movies or TV shows, last year we spent thirteen hours watching Love Island- and finally the shared bathroom which Jan already knew but it was part of the tour –I don’t care what they say, always wear flip flops in the showers, trust me.

It was almost the time they had set for the dinner and Nicky was supposed to pick up Jaida and Jackie from their dorm.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” She asked when they were in front of Nicky’s room. Jan had already told her she wasn’t going but the blonde still inquired in case she had changed her mind.

Jan nodded. “I haven’t been in my room in all day and… as much as I’d love to go with you guys, I just need a moment to let everything sink and absorb this like a sponge.”

Nicky smiled at her. “Alright, but next time, you must come with us.”

Jan was happy, people would invite you once out of courtesy but twice was a sign they had a really good impression of her and it was mostly thanks to Jackie.

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.”

“Great. I’ll see you around, ma voisine.”

“I don’t know what you’ve just said but it sounded fancy so I’ll take it. Wait, let me see if I remember how to say it… Au revoir.”

“Ah, very good. Bye, Jan.”

“Bye… have fun!”

The first thing she noticed was that the door of her room was open. That could mean either she was getting robbed, evicted, or…

She peeped over the door frame, there were some boxes stacked in the middle but the opposite half of the room that didn’t belong to her was now personalized.

The bed on the left side had pink blankets, pillows, heart-shaped fur cushions, and a matching white fur rug next to it; the white desk was full of textbooks, makeup, and perfumes meanwhile the drawers seemed to be full with clothes now. A black and white picture of Barbra Streisand was hung above the bed, a Marilyn Monroe poster on one of the walls, and a star-shaped mirror with lightbulbs now enlightened the place.

Jan felt for a moment that she had been teleported to a different dimension –Barbie dollhouse, perhaps- because in comparison to her pretty standard side with striped white and blue sheets, organizers, and barely decorated walls, the other behalf looked like a Broadway dressing room. She regretted not buying those yellow Christmas lights she had told her mom were too much.

“Can I help you?” Someone made her turn around.

It was a girl with pastel pink hair, pretty green eyes and long lashes, lip gloss, a pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, slippers, and a box on her hands.

“I live here…” Jan attempted to say, still stunned by the presence of the other girl.

“Oh! So you’re Janice.”

“Yeah, I’m Jan, in the flesh…”

“I’m Rose, I’m your roommate… actually, I go by Rosé because I like to annoy people when they have to write the checkmark… and it also sounds elegant as fuck.”

“Nice.” She smiled. “Did you just get in?”

“Kind of, I guess the people from administration told you the rooms were being reassigned and everything with the dropouts and final counts. I was originally in the B dorms and then that changed but… I’m here now.”

“Oh my God, it must have been a burden to move from there to here…”

“Nah, it’s fine. My former roommate was a bitch so I’m glad I don’t have to share with her anymore. It’s a win for me.”

“I hope so… I’m not a bitch, I suppose…”

“You seem nice, we’ll get along.” She winked. “I’m sorry for the mess, by the way, I thought I was going to be done by now but I still have all these boxes sitting around.”

“Oh please, don’t. I’m sure it’s been stressful to move from there to here in a day.”

“You see, you’re already better than my last roommate.”

Jan smiled. “Let me help you with those.”

“Ah, please, don’t worry about it, there are just a few empty boxes I should take out.”

“I insist.” Jan didn’t wait for a response, she started picking boxes and putting them inside bigger boxes.

“Wait, let me change my shoes then.”

Once they were done collecting the boxes, Jan walked with Rosé downstairs, outside the building where the dumpsters and recycling bins were. On their way there, they started talking about where they were from, their families…

“…and then we moved from Houston again and now I’m here.”

“That’s so cool. So you’re the oldest of the three?”

“Shh, don’t say it aloud. But yes, I’m a big sister.”

“Aw, it sounds like you’re so close with your siblings… I only have one older brother but we don’t get along since we were kids. We barely interact during the holidays and birthdays.”

“That’s sad. I can’t imagine not having a good relationship with my siblings.”

“Yeah, we were like really competitive when we were younger and I was resentful because he always had it easier than me. I had to work twice harder to achieve the same things, you know?”

“Well, now you’re here on your own and you don’t need to compete with him to prove anything to anyone. You can be yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s a relief, I’m not going to lie.” She dropped the last box inside the recycling bin. “That’s it. We’re done here.”

“Hey, I have an idea. There’s a place nearby that sells the best pizza you’ll ever taste around campus. What do you say if we get one and go back to the lounge upstairs to know each other better since we’re stuck together?”

“Sounds perfect, yeah.”

Maybe her day had started a little off but it had been going uphill since the moment she met Jackie. Speaking of which, she should’ve texted her or something to thank her again.

“Wait, I’m just going to text a friend if you don’t mind and then we can get on our way.”

“Go ahead.”

She unlocked her phone and typed a quick message for Jackie C.

To Jackie C.: Hi Jackie, this is Jan! I just wanted to thank you again for being so kind to me since the very first moment we’ve met. I really appreciate it and I hope we can continue being friends this year! Anyway, I just met my roommate and we’re getting pizza for dinner, yay! :D

After pressing send, she followed Rosé’s lead.

They talked some more on their way to the pizza place, Rosé was a theatre major –clearly- and a sophomore like Nicky, she also sang –Jan would discover later on that Rosé liked to sing everything and even made some songs that sounded like jingles- and danced; she promised Jan she would show her some steps someday. Then they changed the subject to Jan’s day and she told the pink-haired girl everything about the chaotic mess that had been her morning, her schedules, professors, classmates…

It was very easy to talk with Rosé, they clicked right away and maybe it was because she was an older sister to her siblings but she made Jan feel like she had gained a sister on her roommate –even when it was soon to say it.

They ordered a pizza with extra cheese, walked back to the dorms with the smoky box and sat on one of the sofas of the lounge rooms –there just a couple more girls watching TV or doing homework so they had the place for themselves basically-, finally, Jan decided to open up and talk about her impossible crush on her best friend. Rosé listened carefully to each word.

“God, I wish we had some wine here… but tomorrow’s school day or whatever. Please, continue.”

“That’s it…? I haven’t done anything and I don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

“What?!” There was cheese on the corner of her mouth but she wiped it quickly. “Are you joking? What’s stopping you from chasing the guy of your dreams?”

“The fact that he doesn’t see me at all… he’s always with some other girl who’s prettier than me.”

“Baby, what are you saying right now? You’re gorgeous.” Rosé held her hands firmly. “Jan, I’m not saying this because you’re my roommate but you’re a lovely person and if he doesn’t want to be with you it’s his lost… one hundred percent.”

“Thank you.” Jan sobbed. “Are all the girls here this nice?”

“My former roommate certainly doesn’t fall in the category.” They chuckled.

“It’s only… I’m never around girls this much and you and Jackie and…”

“Jackie? Who’s Jackie?”

“Oh, Jackie is a friend… she said it’s okay if I call her a friend. In any case, she’s the girl that works in the copy room and she helped me right away with my papers and had lunch with me when I was upset about Nathan… she’s really great.”

“Wait, I might know her from the copy room. I don’t mean to contradict you but she always gave me «don’t come too close or I’ll kill you» vibes, but maybe it’s just me.”

“No… it can’t be, maybe you’re mistaking her for someone else.”

Jackie ignored everyone’s inquisitive stares and pretended to read the menu.

Jaida, Nicky, and Heidi were waiting for her to say something meanwhile Widow had no clue what was going on.

After the waiter took their order, the menu-shield she had was gone and her friends were still eager to know what was on her mind.

“What?” She finally broke the silence.

“So this girl Jan… she’s a real sweetheart.” Nicky casually commented while drumming with her long acrylic nails on the table.

“She is… She’s also very straight so don’t even try it.”

They all protested and grumbled.

“Wait, who’s Jan?” Widow finally dared to ask.

“To my knowledge,” Heidi began. “She’s a freshman from New Jersey that plays baseball.”

“And Jackie looks at her as if she had hung the stairs in the sky.” Jaida pointed out, exposing the brunette.

“Oop-” Heidi eloquently added.

“That’s not true.” She objected. “Don’t believe a word from what they say, Widow. The girl was lost and I helped her out, that’s it. She also happens to be friendly so we had lunch together.”

“Didn’t you gain a reputation for being this severe resting-bitch-face girl from the copy room?”

“Yeah, because otherwise, freshmen stick to you like ants to honey. Look at Heidi, I was nice to her once last year and now she’s here permanently.”

“Hey!” The girl complained.

“But you let her be behind the counter,” Jaida called out. “you don’t let anyone do that.”

“You don’t even let us do that.” Nicky continued.

“You can walk across the counter?” A very confused Heidi asked. “Is that allowed?”

Widow who didn’t say anything observed how everything went down while sipping her drink, amused.

“Listen, all of you, Jan is straight, repeat it and memorize it. She’s in love with some baseball player named Nathan she met when she was ten and she probably has already picked a wedding dress and the name for their children so I don’t see the point of this… suggestive… conversation.”

They remained silent, just at that moment their food arrived.

Jackie was starving but before she could taste the first bite, her phone vibrated inside her purse.

It was from an unknown number but it was the text message she had been waiting for.

From Unknown Number: Hi Jackie, this is Jan! I just wanted to thank you again for being so kind to me since the very first moment we’ve met. I really appreciate it and I hope we can continue being friends this year! Anyway, I just met my roommate and we’re getting pizza for dinner, yay! :D

Oh, thank goodness her roommate was nice.

As soon as she read her name, a smile grew on her face and didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is that her?” Widow asked Heidi who was sitting next to Jackie.

Heidi tried to snoop over her phone and carefully nodded in affirmation.

Jackie glared at them.

“She’s just saying thank you.”

“I’m not concerned about the content of the message, it’s the reaction you had to it.” Jaida looked at her friend in the eye. “Jackie, you’re one of my closest friends, I just don’t want you to get hurt for liking a straight girl.”

“You don’t need to worry about it; I’m not going to catch feelings for her.”

Her friend squinted. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you save her name?”

“Excuse me?”

“On your phone. Is it Jan or is it Jan plus some cutesy emoji?”

“What’s that have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do.”

The brunette rolled her eyes “I just saved it as Jan. Like I have you all listed. Happy? Can we eat? I’m hungry.”

“Okay…” Jaida cut the slack. “I’ll take it.”

“You had me saved as «Heidi freshman» for over a year.”

“And now you’re «Heidi sophomore».”

To Jan 🐻: I’m glad I was helpful today and it’s so great to hear your roommate is actually nice. Know you can text me whenever you want or come to hang out with me to the copy room :)

[mymelodyheart]

Highland Destiny Chapter 3 ~The Meeting~

James Fraser knew he was doomed when he realised he couldn't shake off the image of the Sassenach. What he thought of as a fleeting attraction had become an obsession that plagued his dreams and waking life.  He couldn't stop thinking about her. It's as if when their eyes locked for a brief moment, the stars aligned only to be scrambled again like some cruel joke. Jamie knew it was no longer a matter of choice - he had to find her.

It was a baffling notion that she could simply vanish from the face of the earth without a trace. He made enquiries in and around Inverness and not one of his contacts, emergency institutions nor were any of his friends were able to assist. His last hope in finding the elusive English woman was Mother Hildegarde from St. Agnes, and he planned to visit her later in the hospital. Surely she would know something considering the mystery woman was sleeping under her roof. 

Christ Sassenach, where are ye??

..........

It was early Monday morning, and Jamie was jogging back to the distillery. He sprinted the last half-mile in the hope that the exertion would diminish the frustration he was feeling. By the time he reached Frisealach Compound, he had worked up quite a sweat and his secretary, Laoghaire MacKenzie was waiting with a towel in her hand as he came through the door.

"Good morning to ye Jamie, enjoyed yer run?" He was greeted by a beautiful, blonde girl with too much make-up on and a dazzling smile. "I was watching ye from the window running like a mad-man, so I ken ye'd be here soon. I took the towel from your sports bag. Did ye spend the night in the office?" She approached Jamie purposely.

"Aye, and thank ye." Not offering any further explanations, he ignored the seductive look from his secretary and took the towel from her. "Don't ye have anything better to do?" Jamie asked, mildly annoyed and slightly out of breath from running all the way to the fifth floor.  

Disregarding the hint of sarcasm, Laoghaire smiled sweetly, "You have some messages, and I left them on your desk. Also, Murtagh called to remind you about the general meeting at 10 today." She reached out to Jamie for the towel. "Here, let me dry your back... ye're soaking."

"That'll be it Laoghaire, thank you." Ignoring her antics, he quickly made his way to his office, shutting the door firmly. 

Christ, I need to do something about that woman! 

Jamie quickly made a few business calls and arrangements with the bank to donate £50,000 towards the St. Agnes Orphanage's restoration. Next, he grabbed his sports bag and keys and headed back out again. 

"See you later. I'm going home to change, and then I'll be at the station for the rest of the morning. Anything important just passed it on to Rupert." 

Before Laoghaire could utter a word or react, Jamie was gone.

..........

Claire's first weekend in Inverness started off with a bang, literally. She belatedly discovered that the fire was caused by an exploding furnace. Fortunately, there were no fatalities, and everyone in the orphanage that night made it to safety.

Following the events of that Friday night, Claire made a new friend in the form of Tom Christie, the junior doctor from the paramedic team. She learned that he was employed at the Royal Northern Infirmary, where Joe had taken his residency job. With nowhere else to go after the fire, Tom helped her locate Uncle Lamb's cottage and carried her suitcases into her new home. She was thankful that only a handful of her possessions perished in the blaze as most of her belongings remained in the car when she arrived at St. Agnes. 

Claire spent the next two days unpacking, shopping, catching up with her best friend, Joe and visiting Mother Hildegarde in the hospital. Likewise, she visited some of the orphans and nuns injured in the fire. Worried about their plight, she was reassured by a nurse that the orphans were rehomed temporarily across the Highlands until St. Agnes is restored. This was comforting news! 

The remainder of her Sunday was spent at home unwinding and was pleasantly surprised when Tom popped in for a quick visit bearing a bunch of flowers and a basket of preserves from his sister's shop.

"Ach, it's nothing. Just a wee house warming gift and my way of saying thank ye for helping the other night," Tom explained, after giving Claire a quick awkward hug.

What a sweet gesture, Claire later thought as she got ready for bed. With that in mind, she dozed off, feeling confident that all will be well. And that night she dreamt of Frank whispering to her, "Yes darling, all will definitely be well. Hush now and sleep."

..........

Monday morning, Claire got up early to get a good head start at work. She had been previously instructed by a Mrs Henderson to come before 10 am in time for a joint general meeting between Scottish Ambulance Service and the Inverness Fire Department. Mr Fitzgibbons, the Head Fire Officer, wanted her to meet the whole team, including the volunteers with whom she will be working closely with in the future.

"Easy day on Monday Ms Beauchamp. I'm tae inform ye that yer first day will be familiarising yersel' with your surroundings and colleagues unless of course, we have some emergency. Yer official first day of work will be Wednesday when Mr McCoy goes on holiday so that will give ye plenty of time to organise yersel'," A woman explained over the phone. 

That's no brain surgery! Pretty straight-forward enough, Claire thought. 

But Monday didn't turn out to be as straight-forward. First, Claire's unruly locks refused to cooperate, so she tied it in the messy bun. Then her car keys were misplaced and spent 15 minutes looking for them. Then halfway to the Fire Station, her car over-heated and had to wait for roadside assistance to take it away for repair. Luckily enough, Tom was driving by and happily gave her a lift to the station before heading for work.

Claire arrived at 9:55 am to be exact. She thanked Tom and hurriedly made her way through the station. To her dismay, Claire realised the meeting had started. She followed the sound of the voice, addressing a room, and it led her to the back of the building. 

Right at the very end of the corridor, Claire saw an open door and peeked through. There were approximately 30 men assembled around the tables arranged in U-shape. At the head of the gathering, was a brown-haired man with a thick beard, doing a roll call. She surmised that it must be Mr Fitzgibbons.

Before stepping in, Claire checked her attire: everyday blue jeans, a white shirt, black leather jacket and white sneakers. She smoothed her hair and realised not much can be done. That will have to do Beauchamp... nothing fancy, just like one of the guys.

"Beauchamp!" the voice called out. The men in the room glanced around to determine who Beauchamp was. No answer. Meanwhile, Claire was unaware her name was called. She was too preoccupied smoothing her curly locks as she stood out of view from behind the door.

"Beauchamp, are ye here?!" the voice called out for the second time, this time almost shouting.

Claire finally heard her name called. Come on Beauchamp you can do this! She took big deep breaths and stepped into the room. "I'm right here," she announced loudly if not a bit croaky.

Almost all the men gave a start, chairs making squeaking and screeching sounds caused by a sudden movement of turning when a feminine voice answered.   Sweet Mother of Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!   There was a long silence, and a wide-eyed Claire stood frozen on the spot as she absorbed the room's shocked countenance. Appreciative stares, wolf-whistles and "oooohhhs-and-aaaahhhs" ensued after what seems like an eternity of speechlessness much to Claire's disconcertion. She wanted to back away out through the door and run.

"Hey Hugh, is the lady my belated stag-do pressie?" a voice shouted from the back. The room howled with laughter. Cor blimey, we have a jester in the house...just absolutely fucking great!

Ignoring the comic and the boisterous reaction, Claire gathered as much bravado she can muster and took a few more deep breaths. Aware every eye in the room was on her, she squared her shoulders and spoke, "Good morning, everyone, I'm Claire Beauchamp." Clearing her throat, she continued, "I'm terribly sorry that I'm late...my car broke down on my way here." 

The room calmed down when she spoke, and there were shuffles and murmurs, as the men turned to listen. Thereupon, a man with the beard walked over to her and extended his hand. "Hello Claire, I'm Murtagh Fitzgibbons. Call me, Murtagh. And, erm, welcome to Inverness and welcome to our team." His arms made an extensive motion to the room.

Claire took the extended hand, but before she could say a word, Murtagh, said, "Take a seat." Awkward! 

Somewhat still flustered and annoyed, Claire looked around for an empty chair. In her peripheral vision, a very tall man with auburn hair stood up and pulled out a seat next to him. "Hey Claire, over here," Ginger gestured to the vacancy next to him with sweeping arms. She spun in his direction and glanced up. Her gaze locked with a very amused pair of familiar, blue eyes.  Oh my stars and garters, it's the bloody Scot!

Reluctantly, Claire made her way to the offered seat and nodded. "Thank you!" She flashed a vain effort of her best smile, hoping to conceal her agitations.  

Before Claire could sit, suddenly, Ginger's hand extended towards her. "Hello, Sassenach! I'm James Fraser, or ye can call me Jamie if ye wish." Ah, Ginger has a name!  She peered up at the grinning face. "Listen, lass, dinna mind these loons - they may look scary, but truly, we're all a friendly bunch here," Jamie explained in the way of an apology, loud enough for everyone to hear. 

Standing next to Jamie, Claire felt petite with her 5'7 height.  Her eyes were almost at the same level as the hollow base of his throat. Up close, she couldn't help but be very aware of the broad expanse of his shoulders as her gaze involuntarily drifted to his collarbones and, damn,  he smelled like he just came out of the shower. He was wearing a white shirt that clung to him like a second skin and stretched precariously tight across his well-muscled chest. Avoiding his gaze, Claire quickly shook his hand, but as their hands touched, she felt an electric jolt bolt through her body in waves and swirls. Attempting to ignore the unsettling sensations, she responded, "Hi, nice to meet you too." Then she glanced up and saw Jamie staring too intently for her own comfort.

"Oy Fraser, smooth move" one of the men shouted, making Claire snap out from her reverie. The whole room erupted in laughter. Oh, crikey, here we go again!

"Aye, ye can learn a thing or two on how to be a gentleman," Jamie countered back laughing and threw a crushed paper at the direction of the joker.

Another joined in the teasing, "Gentleman my arse! The Frasers are just tae quick when it comes to pretty lasses. Ye're yer father's son, Jamie lad. My da tol' me how yer da, Brian stole the Mckenzie lass right under my uncle's nose!"

Everyone roared with laughter, and even the dour-looking Murtagh found the outburst hilarious. More banter and hilarity ensued.

Grateful for the distraction, Claire hurriedly sat down. She said "Thank you," again to Jamie and felt rather stupid for doing so. She lowered her head to hide the heat creeping up her face, as she busied herself, arranging her satchel on the table and taking out a pen and notepad.

"Right, that's enough. Everyone wheesht! So, are we all quite done here yet?" Murtagh hollered, "If so, let's get on with it. Aye?" Although the laughter ceased, you can still hear a few sniggering here and there. 

Calm restored, Murtagh proceeded with the meeting. Drawing his attention again!  back to Claire, much to her dismay, he asked, "Right, Beauchamp, which one is it officially, Randall or Beauchamp? I have several papers here with two different names."

Claire's face turned crimson. "It's Beauchamp. Randall is my late husband's name. Oh and by the way, just call me Claire."

Jamie nudged her arms lightly with his elbow, and he whispered with a cocked eyebrow, "Sorcha!" followed by a feeble attempt at a wink. Claire frowned, not understanding and she mouthed Shush at Jamie. 

"Verra weel, Claire Beauchamp it is. Or simply Claire" Murtagh declared. Flipping through more papers, Murtagh added, "Oh hang on a minute, I omitted to inform ye lads. It's actually Dr Beauchamp. She is joining the paramedic team for a year while she is on sabbatical. And if I were ye, ye better be in yer best behaviour. I hear Dr Beauchamp is quite handy with the scalpel, her being a neurosurgeon and all."

That revelation was followed by laughter, impressed nods, Jamie patting her hand, and more wolf whistles, much to Claire's chagrin. All she could do in response was offer a weak smile and shrug.

Murtagh smiled at her and continued, "Moving along..." Oh, sour-face can smile after all!

Even though the proceedings had moved on to other matters, Claire had difficulty focusing. She couldn't decide whether to blame it on Jamie's closeness or on the boisterous banter from earlier. Her concentration was further disrupted as Jamie scooted closer, his knees brushing against hers. He tapped her on the elbow with a pen and whispered, "Hey Sassenach, so ye're a Neurosurgeon, eh?"

She nodded, her eyes fixed on Murtagh. Jamie clearing his throat, spoke again in a low voice. "Hey Sassenach, did ye recognise me from Friday night...ye ken, the fire at St. Agnes? 'Twas me who carried ye out when ye fainted."

Claire quickly glanced sideways to say something but got diverted at the sight of bulging muscles of his forearm as he leaned close, both elbows pitched on the table. The view made her mind wander afresh to imagining how Jamie would look like without his shirt. The thought made her swallow a lump forming in her throat. Catching herself, she shook her head, as if the mere act of doing so would dismiss all silly thoughts. Determined more than ever, Claire redoubled her effort to solely focus on Murtagh.

Unperturbed by her lack of response, Jamie nudged her knees with his. "Well?" he urged." Did ye or did ye not?"

"Shush ..." She gave Jamie a warning look and feigned annoyance, but to no avail. It only made him scoot his chair closer until both their arms were grazing. 

Claire realised Jamie wasn't about to give up. So she looked at him with the sternest expression she can muster, pointed a pen towards Murtagh and mouthed to him, Later ok? Eventually, he conceded and acknowledged with a nod. Relieved, Claire mouthed thank you and was rewarded with the most beautiful smile she's ever seen upon any man's face. Oh, sweet Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, the man's bloody gorgeous. Defeated, Claire gave in to this renewed distraction and daydreamed leaning forward to kiss the indentation on Jamie's chin.

The meeting lasted for two hours, and the only thing Claire could think of was her growing attraction towards Jamie. And little did she know, he was in the same predicament.

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (12/?)

AO3

Cady waits until she’s on the bus home before she lets the smile drop from her face. Her cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much, and they’re not the only thing that hurt.

She wants to not have a problem with this. More than anything. She wants to pretend that she can’t see any difference, or that she’s not affected by this. But she is, and she feels terrible for it. That’s why she spent so much time preparing herself for it. While Janis spent her first night in hospital, she was spending hours researching, calculating the possibility of her hair falling out and coming to the conclusion that the odds were stalked against her. That was the first time she had truly hated math. But Janis’ hair was going to fall out, and so Cady had tried to prepare for it as much as she could; telling herself over and over again that Janis’ looks don’t matter, trying not to spend too long looking at her head. She had even started searching up pictures of cancer patients and looking at them. Not in a creepy way, or at least she had hoped it wasn’t creepy, just to prepare herself for the inevitable.

But as it turns out, nothing could have prepared her for seeing Janis without her hair. The hair she loved running her fingers through and braiding and playing with. The hair that was one of the first things she had noticed about her; a dual-coloured lion’s mane.

She wishes that the first thing she had thought when she saw those photos was ‘I hope Janis is okay’. That she had first thought about her, rather than her own feelings. Rather than what actually happened; her phone almost falling from her hands, her struggling to catch her breath. She wishes and wishes she were perfectly fine with this, and that she and Janis were going on like nothing was happening.

She’s not, and she must be the worst person in the world.

“Hi, Binti,” her mom greets as she steps into the kitchen, her cheeks still cold from outside. She’s at the counter, pan on the stove and veggies being chopped. Or they were. They’ve taken a backseat as her mom looks at her, all wide eyes and downturned mouth. “How’s Janis?”

“She’s fine,” she replies. She pulls her jacket tighter around her as a lump forms in her throat. “You know. Fine as she can be.” The image of Janis crumpling in on herself in the park flashes through her mind and she tenses. As does the image of her poor, hairless head. “She’s okay.”

“Oh, that poor girl,” her mom sighs. Cady nods, her lips tightly closed and her arms crossed over her chest, fingers digging into her jacket. Her mom leaves the dinner aside and approaches her, placing her own hands on her shoulders. Are you okay?”

“Me?” she echoes. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because this is difficult for you,” her mom goes on. You can say that again, she thinks. “And I just think you should be able to talk to us.”

Cady winces at that. She knows her mom is probably thinking about last year; when she kept everything from her, lied to them, became something she wasn’t. If she wasn’t feeling shitty about herself before, she sure as hell is now.

“Well, I’m fine,” she says. “You know, given the circumstances.” She swallows thickly. “I miss her. I miss having her in school and stuff.”

“Oh, I know baby.” Her mom folds her in a tight hug, letting Cady rest her chin on her shoulder. There, in that brief moment of privacy, Cady can feel as much as she needs to. It’s a rush, but it’s a relieving one. “I know how much she means to you. I know it kills you not seeing her.”

Kills her not seeing her. Also kills her seeing her. But she’s not getting into that now. She can’t. The former hurts far more than the latter does, though.

“Hey, what’s for dinner?” Cady asks, blinking her tears away before they get serious. Her mom eyes her, knowing she’s holding something back, but she doesn’t press her.

“Oh, I got this lamb curry recipe from a magazine,” she explains. “Thought I’d give it a shot. Here, tell me what you think…”

She hands Cady a spoon and lets her taste it.

“Oh that’s good, Mom,” she says. “Need any help?”

“Oh, that’d be lovely sweetheart,” her mom chirps. “Well, we’re nearly done, but if you could keep an eye on that rice-”

As they finish up dinner and start serving it out, Cady diverts the subject to work, listening attentively to her mom talking about her latest lecture series, telling her all about the different species of fish in Kenya, reminding her of those times they spent near rivers cataloguing them when she was small. It’s a subject that Cady is genuinely fascinated by; anything involving animals or Kenya is. While most teenagers probably couldn’t care less about the work their parents do, hearing her mom’s stories about teaching at Northwestern or her dad’s latest research excites Cady in a way few other things can. So she gives them her full attention and refuses to let her mind go anywhere else.

She runs up to her room after dinner, hoping she can pick up where she left off. When Janis and Damian showed up, they had actually interrupted her homework. She made an exception for them, obviously, but now it’s back to the grind. She’s done her research on her dream schools and she dares say she could rival her father in that regard, and the grades they’re demanding are tough. Really tough, even with her AP classes. She’s kept on top of everything so far this year, never dipping below a 90 in calculus, but she’s only a month in.

And it’s not just grades that colleges are concerning themselves with. They’re all eager for extra curriculars. At least the Mathletes provide a good basis for that-

“Oh, crap,” she mutters. She opens a drawer and pulls out her Mathlete folder, looking through the schedule she had made for it. She sighs when she sees she’s more or less on top of that too, although she makes a note in her planner to make a start on training the freshman teams for their competition in November.

“Okay,” she says. She pulls her hair into a ponytail and leans back in her chair. She has it all under control, really. Between Mathletes and tutoring, she’s taken on as much as she can right now. She has thought of volunteering behind the scenes in the musical, partly to hang out with Damian, but also because they must need the extra hands, what with Janis being unavailable.

She suddenly sits forward again, hunched over her work. Her cold fingers pick at her nails, tearing pieces off and letting them drop on the carpet. She squirms in the chair, suddenly too restless to sit still. The numbers on the pages and lines in her notes become meaningless to her, her mind overrun with Janis and Janis and cancer and Janis and her hair and Janis.

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes tight.

“We’re not doing that,” she whispers.

She shakes her head and pulls her textbook towards her, her breathing getting slower and deeper, her go to tactic to straighten her mind out. She makes a start on the chapter, her eyes going back to the beginning again and again until she can focus properly, pushing her worries to the corner of her mind. Janis always says her art calms her worries, helps her forget the world, and Damian says the same for theatre.

People can say what they like, but math has always been Cady’s art.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Going back to the hospital is always going to be tough and Janis has resigned herself to that. Her weeks at home are still far from perfect, but if she’s going to be half-comatose, she can at least do it in her bed with her dog. At least she doesn’t have to wait until the end of the week for her friends to come around. Every time she goes back to the hospital, she’s reminded that this isn’t over, even if another two weeks are behind her. She gets to spend another two weeks with an IV in her arm and watching the people she loves through a phone screen. No matter how nice the staff try to make her stay it’s a reminder of what’s still happening to her.

So yeah, going back to the hospital is hard. But this week, with this recent development, it’s even harder.

She lets her mom hold her bag as they ride up in the elevator, Janis staring straight ahead of her and hoping for it to suddenly break. She used to be terrified of that happening, but this is a new reality and the swiftness with which it moves only makes her more nervous.

It’s not that she’s worried about anyone judging her. Hell, most of the people here would be in a position to do that and the others would be going against their jobs if they did. It’s not ridicule she’s worried about; it’s the opposite. All that unconditional, unwavering, inescapable love and support. She’s never been good with emotions, her style of communication isn’t suited to everyone, and that’s doubled when it comes to hospital stuff. People fawning all over her, asking if she’s okay, wanting every detail of her life. It’s almost even worse than ridicule. At least if they were being intentional assholes she’d have an actual valid reason to dislike it. But no, this is nothing more than her being stupidly awkward about everything.

“You okay?” her mom asks when the elevator comes to a stop. Maybe her wish is coming true, or not, since the floor number is sitting in bright red letters on the wall. Janis nods and releases her teeth’s hold on her cheek.

“Fine,” she says. Her mom nods, disbelief written over her face, and presses the button to open the doors. She steps out and Janis takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and follows her.

The lobby isn’t any more or less busy than it was last time. There’s more staff than patients; doctors and nurses running around in white coats and uniforms carrying forms or pushing carts around, the secretary sipping coffee and typing at twice the average human speed. The rising sun gleams through the open windows on the far side, turning the grey floors dull gold. Just like normal.

Janis pulls her beanie down further over her head and turns in the direction of her room, ready to run practically, when-

“Ah, Janis.”

Fuck.

Doctor Wiley approaches her and her mom, his pace quick and purposeful. His arms even swing in time with his steps, like he’s been choreographed. He comes over and shakes her mom’s hand, the exchange awkward with the two bags she’s holding, and hers as well. There’s a smile on his face but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, nor does it hold its usual irrepressible cheer.

“I thought you two would be arriving around now.”

“How’d you even recognise me?” she asks. “I got a bit of a haircut.” It’s kind of a mean question, but her filter doesn’t work at this hour and she could use a little enjoyment. He laughs at it though, so it can’t be too bad.

“Funny. But those boots are indistinguishable,” he tells her. She huffs a laugh at that but it’s gone in an instant and they fall into a tight, uncomfortable silence. Janis stuffs her hands in her pockets and shifts from one foot to the other, looking over at her mom in the childish belief that she’ll know what to do. She’s just as helpless as Janis is, Dr Wiley having trapped them both without intending to. She hears doors opening down the hall and sneaks a look up at the clock. Patients are waking up around now, meaning the amount of people in this lobby is going to double. She has half a mind to directly ask what he wants before he opens his mouth, saving them both an awkward exchange.

“Why don’t we talk in Janis’ room?” he asks. “Just want to see how your week’s gone.”

So they go down, and Janis takes a seat on her bed and lets her mom drop her bag down below her feet. Her stomach twists uneasily throughout it all and a nervous sweat makes its way down her back as the doctor finally enters and, as usual, shuts the door behind him.

“So,” he begins.

“My hair’s gone,” she says. The words escape her mouth before she can stop herself and her surprise at herself is the same as her mom’s. She only shrugs at her and swings her feet in the air. Pretending to be casual seems easier than trying to be serious. “That’s the biggest development.”

“Yes,” Wiley says thinly. He straightens up, his eyes avoiding Janis, and for the first time she’s struck with the idea that this is probably no picnic for him too, no matter how many people he’s had to do this for. “How did that happen? Did you shave it yourself?”

“Yes, she did,” her mom answers. She takes her hand and rubs her thumb across the back of it. Janis squeezes it back, giving her a smile.

“Did you help her with it?”

“No.” There’s a hint of laughter in her mom’s voice. Not mocking though. She almost sounds proud. Proud of her? For what? “When I say herself, I mean she did it herself. Alex and I got a bit of a surprise.”

“As did our dog,” Janis adds. “He’s used to being the only one shedding in the house.”

“I’m sure you all did,” Wiley says. He pulls over one of the chairs and sits close to her, his eyes serious behind his glasses. “You probably don’t need me to tell you this, but this is one of the most difficult parts of this process for so many people.” She nods stiffly. “And you probably also know, there are several support systems in place.” She nods again; she could probably recite those support systems from memory. “It may be good to talk about this with people who understand what it’s like.”

“Like other patients?” she asks. She remembers one thing she was told about: a group therapy session with the other kids on the ward. She had struggled to completely dismiss it already and now, after a week of staring at her bald head in the mirror, she worries she might be cracking.

“Maybe. Or some one-on-one counselling,” Wiley explains. “You’ll have met the people to talk to about that. I’m just strictly here for the medical side of things.”

“Typical medical school student,” Janis responds flatly. “Cold and emotionless robot.”

“That’s me,” he replies. “So, how was this week, physically? Any nausea, aches, pains?”

“Um, something like that,” Janis says. “Just you know, felt sick. Uh, I couldn’t eat much some days. Legs hurt. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Well,” he answers with a sympathetic smile. “That’s all fine and normal.”

Janis hums. She’s at a point where feeling sick is normal. Great.

They finish up soon, going over her week and Wiley telling her that he’ll schedule another appointment for her to check up on her weight and her other vitals. She tries not to tense at that. It’s not like her weight is an insecurity of hers, but she’s not thrilled at the idea of weighing herself either.

“Hey, Jan, I’m just going to go have a quick word with Doctor Wiley,” her mom says suddenly, just as he’s opening the door. “You know, adult stuff.”

“Mom, you know where my mind goes when you say, ‘adult stuff’,” she replies.

“You going to be okay here on your own?” she asks, like Janis hadn’t said anything. At her side, Janis’ hand curls into a fist. She’d bet all the money she has that she’s going to tell Doctor Wiley about her little fainting spell in the park. If she had it her way, she’d tell her not to, insist it wasn’t that bad like she did that night. But she can’t have it her way and if it’ll give her mom some peace of mind, fine. Besides, maybe telling her doctor isn’t the worst plan in the world.

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” she says with a resigned sigh.  “I’m going to go hang out in the longue anyway.”

“Okay, kid. I’ll meet you back here.”

She’s barely down the hall when she regrets her decision. Her hands stuffed in her pockets, she turns and looks back at the door, tightly shit, a solid barrier shutting her away from the conversation that is about her. She won’t press it, but she’s annoyed by it. Being whispered about behind your back is never fun, no matter what the subject matter is.

But there’s nothing she can do about it now unless she wants to make a scene, and she can’t hover in the corridor forever, so she turns and marches down the hall, keeping her eyes on the ground and only looking up to smile at nurses. A couple of the one’s she’s familiar with pass her and they kindly avoid the subject of her hair loss, instead cheerily bidding her good morning.

The longue is actually empty when she gets in. The hands on the clock aren’t even at eight yet, so she guesses everyone else is still asleep, or in early morning treatments.

She crosses over to the so-called ‘art shelf’, wrestles out a drawing pad and picks up a Halloween bucket full of pencils. They’re not as good as her own tools, but they’re all safe in her bag in her room, so she’ll make do rather than interrupt. She settles herself in the chair, her feet dangling over the edge and the paper resting on her legs.

It’s actually pretty calming in here alone. Not like it’s overly chaotic normally, it’s always kind of mellow, but it’s quite easy for her to lose herself now. The weak autumn sun is higher now, the leaves on a tree outside creating patterns on the carpets and the voices behind her are a peaceful, quiet kind of backing track for her to draw against. Her pencil moves gracefully across the page and forms the shapes she sees in her mind. She’s had this idea for a few days but never really had the motivation to draw it. It must have been longer than she thought, going without drawing properly. The pencil feels weak and she has to take a moment to give her hand a little shake out at points to get herself back. But she’s missed this, missed the freedom that art gives her. Freedom to create, to escape to her own worlds. Every time, even when everyone and everything failed her, she’s had her art to fall back on.

She’s more emotional than she should be as she sees it hasn’t failed her yet.

Even with the imperfect pencils, she carries on, going over the line she’s created. The outline of her IV is covered in black, the lines thicker than she’d wanted initially with the blunt pencil. Ideally, she’d go over them in fine pen, but the thick lines actually kind of work. Ivy wraps around the pole, coloured in a deep green with little red thorns jagging out from it and piercing the medicine bag. The details are smudged and undefined, these pencils weren’t made for this, but the fully formed drawing is taking shape in front of her and that’s what matters to her.

Besides, she can perfect it later.

She’s not aware of how much time has gone by until she hears footsteps behind her, followed by a familiar squeak. Maddie is hovering in the doorway, a nurse behind her holding her IV, and the clock showing that well over half an hour has passed with her drawing.

“Hey kid,” she greets, pushing herself up and tucking her legs beneath her, more for the nurse’s benefit than Maddie’s.

“Janis! You’re back!” she states as she runs over and plops herself down in the armchair beside her. Her eyes move up to Janis’ head, a question dancing in them but her lips staying silent.

“Hi sweetheart,” her nurse asks. Janis hasn’t seen her around before, or if she has she’s not been around much. Maybe a student, she guesses, going by how young she is and how intensely she’s focussed on the IV. “This your friend, Maddie?”

“Yup,” she answers. “Is it cool if I do my drip in here? And if I turn on the TV?”

“Go ahead, kid,” she says, flipping over the page. Maddie leans over the arm of her chair with wide eyes and Janis chuckles warmly before turning the page around for her. “What do we think?”

“Woah,” she breathes. “That’s so good!”

“Any critiques? Bad colouring? Bad use of space? Awkward shading?”

“Nope, nope and nope,” Maddie insists. “It’s perfect. Look, Maia, isn’t it?”

“Oh hey,” Maia adds, looking at it for a split second before re-focussing. “That’s cool. So you’re an artist.”

“I dabble,” she sighs, twirling the pencil between her fingers and turning the page over.

“So I take it you’re doing that photo project that Maddie’s doing?” she asks.

There it is again. Out of everything she’s heard about in here, that’s the one that’s come up the most and it’s the one that’s stood in her mind the most. Maybe because, well, it is kind of up her street. And since it is… well, why not?

“Yeah, I am,” she says. It feels odd, committing to something like this. But hey, it could be fun.

“It’s meant to be really good,” Maia goes on as she pulls out an IV. “You two probably know all about it, but it’s some fancy art college that’s providing the materials for it. And a professor from there’s overseeing it.”

Janis averts her eyes when Maddie rolls up her sleeves, though she can’t ignore the other girl’s small grunt as the needle goes in. There’s already a little bruise on her own arm. And Maddie’s been here two, three times as long as she has.

“Okay, that’s you set up for an hour and a half,” Maia announces. “I’ll be back in half an hour to check up on you, okay? And here’s your juice and your breakfast.”

“Thanks. See you later, Maia,” Maddie says, her voice the same as it would be if she was leaving to go to school. Maia pats Maddie’s head and tells Janis how nice it was to meet her before heading off, Maddie’s eyes following her in a way Janis knows all too well. Poor girl.

“What?” she asks when she hears Janis’ chuckle.

“Oh, nothing,” she sings. “You just seem awfully fond of Maia.” The way her little cheeks flame pink tell her all she needs to know. Nothing will come of this, of course, it’s a puppy infatuation, but that doesn’t make it any less cute. Janis remembers her first crush of that sort. Remembers how she, just as Maddie is now, vehemently denied it to anyone who asked. “Don’t worry kid. I won’t tell.”

“Okay,” she says quietly as she flicks on the TV. She looks down at the remote and lets out a pained sigh. “She’s just so pretty.”

“I know kid,” Janis replies. “I know the struggle.” They sit in companionable silence, Maddie focussing on the daytime TV and Janis doodling whatever comes to mind across the page, dragons, mermaids, flowers, puppies. It’s random nonsense, but it’s the artistic equivalent of going on a jog, she supposes.

As she draws, she keeps sneaking glances over at Maddie. A lot of things struck her when they first met, and one she’s sad to say was the lack of hair. Not that there’s nothing beyond that, but she noticed it first and it stuck. And despite all her wishes and hopes, it happened to her too.

“Hey, Maddie?” Her throat feels like sandpaper. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

She clenches the pencil so tightly in her hand that her knuckles turn white.

“When did you lose your hair?”

“Oh.” Janis winces immediately.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to-”

“No, it’s okay,” she says. She turns around to face her, her fingers fidgeting in front of her and her eyes looking at her only to look away immediately. “It was a month ago. Kind of. It started coming out pretty early.”

“In clumps, right?” she asks.

“Yeah. Big, scary clumps. I thought they looked like spiders.” Janis chuckles out of courtesy, but there’s no humour in it. “I wouldn’t shave it though. Everyone told me I had to but… I just couldn’t, you know.” She hears her swallow before she adds “I was too scared.”

Janis nods. She tries to picture it, this little kid scared shitless being told to shave her head. With nothing and no-one to save her. She doesn’t want to cry, knowing how she’d feel if she were in that position, but it gets her. She wishes she could wrap that girl in a hug and tell her she was okay.

“I gave in eventually,” she says. “So much of it was gone anyway. At that point I just wanted it over with.”

“That’s how I felt,” Janis adds. “Like… it was either it or me.”

“Did your mom or dad help you?” Maddie asks.

“No. I didn’t really tell them I was doing it.” She shrugs. “I didn’t plan it. Just sort of happened, I guess.”

“Woah.” Maddie’s hand rubs the back of her neck, a sorrowful expression on her face. “It feels weird doesn’t it?”

“Weird is an understatement,” Janis mumbles. As they sit in companionable silence, Janis doesn’t take her eyes off Maddie. Soon she gets up and pushes her chair closer until it’s touching hers. She brightens at that and curls up even more.

“People keep asking me if I miss my hair,” she tells her after a while. “I don’t answer them. It’s a stupid question.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s more to it. Far more than she should be. “Of course I do.”

“Yeah. I paid 50 for that dye job,” Janis says.

“I can’t wait to look normal again,” Maddie says.

Janis starts at that. It’s a horrible thing to have to say, or for someone to think, but the worst part is she can’t disagree with it. She doesn’t know if she’ll feel completely okay until her hair starts growing back. Her first impulse is to say, “me too”. Or the less tactful “mood”. But she pushes it away because that’s not what Maddie needs to hear. While she’s a disaster, she’s not bringing this girl down with her.

So what does she do? She can’t fall back on her own tricks. That may well only make it worse. So she does the only thing she can, ask herself ‘What Would Damian Do In This Scenario’. He’d make her feel better without sugar coating the reality. So she’ll do that. Be Damian for Maddie.

“Well… that may be true,” she begins. “And it royally sucks ass.” She’s not good at this. “But… just think of how happy we’ll be when that finally happens.” Really, really not good at this. God how does he do this all the time? Especially with her.

It quickly occurs to her that this little trick is so much easier when she’s trying to pick herself up. Picking other people up is harder. It’s mainly why she rarely does it. It also occurs to her that she doesn’t know what Damian would say if he were her. Thank God, he’s never been through this. So she can’t know what he’d say. All she can do is reach inside herself and try to pull out something to help the both of them.

“And you know, at least we’re all normal in here.”

She sees realisation dawn on Maddie’s face and lets out a breath.

“I guess there is no normal in here,” Maddie adds, but it’s without the defeated tone. The opposite in fact. She the smile on her face is relieved and most importantly, real. Janis is relieved as well, and the feeling floods her chest, but there’s something else in there, something kind of unfamiliar and pretty exciting.

Maybe she’s actually quite good at this.

                                                                                                      ******

Days later, Janis is lounging in her bed, half-waking up from a spontaneous nap. She props her head up on her elbow and scrolls through Twitter, Purrlock sitting on her shoulder. She told her mom that she just woke up like that and she’s too comfortable to move him. And maybe because he wanted a good view of her phone.

She avoids Instagram like it’s the plague. Her hairless selfie is by far the most popular photo on her page, which annoys her in more ways than one. She didn’t even put hashtags on it, and yet it’s gotten more likes and comments than artwork that she put hours of work into. And selfies where she actually looks good. She has half a mind to respond to the supportive-pitying comments saying “thanks, check out my art and tell your friends I will be available for commission soon”. She only hasn’t because she can’t help but feel like using her cancer for clout is low even by her standards.

Regina is amongst those who left a comment.  According to her she ‘looks like a boss’, and Janis has since spent hours of her time looking for the catch. There always is one with her but she’s now hidden it extremely well. Janis is determined to find it, like a pirate looking for a weird kind of treasure. People can call her paranoid all they want, but she knows better. She knows Regina better than probably anyone at that whole school.

Those are just some of the reasons she avoids Instagram, as well as Facebook. At least on Tumblr, the vast majority of her followers have no idea who she is. To them she’s just an art blog, and that’s why she can’t find it in her to delete that app. Plus, there’s something about the humour that’s comforting.

She’s halfway reading one of those tag yourself games when she gets a text. She wants to dismiss it, too tired for any kind if interaction, but the name on it makes her do a double take.

“Hi! How are you doing? Would it be okay if I came over some time? I haven’t really seen you in forever. I’d really like to. Just let me know if you want to and when you can-Gretchen.”

Gretchen. Gretchen Weiners. First Karen popping in to visit and now Gretchen? She’s collected two out of three Plastics. And hell, given that Regina popped round to her house a while back, she’s kind of gotten them all.

Gretchen is a complicated case for her. She sits right in between Karen and Regina in the Plastics for her. She’s not stupid like Karen. She had to know that what Regina was doing to her was wrong. But while she had the brains to know it, she didn’t have the backbone and Janis can’t not understand with that. But she can’t just forgive and forget either, not completely. And while they have found themselves actually getting along pretty well since Spring Fling, some days Janis can’t shake the feeling that it’s entirely contingent on Regina. That if Regina turns, Gretchen is right there with her. Besides, she always saw their friendship as more surface level than anything else. It was fine by her; they just wouldn’t have any spark together without a third party there.

So Gretchen texting her like this is unexpected to say the least. Especially offering to come over. Alone, it would seem.

Her mind is going through every possible bad outcome, meanwhile her fingers are typing out a response that reads ‘Hey. I’m not exactly going anywhere but Cady and Damian come over on Fridays, so that might be out. I’m also pretty out of it on Monday. But hey any other day you want to come over, that’s cool.’

She has the self-control to pause and read it over again she sends it. As far as she can tell there’s nothing completely wrong with it. Heck she even went out of her way to warn her about when her worst day is. Although as she reads it a third time, that sentence suddenly seems way too open for Gretchen, so she quickly changes it to ‘pretty busy’.

She presses send that time and watches as her message becomes a small blue bubble. So she just committed to hanging out with Gretchen Weiners. In her hospital room. Gretchen responds asking about Saturday, and while she considers backing out, she agrees. Gretchen responds with some heart emojis and that she can’t wait to see her. It’s a sweet message and it makes Janis’ stomach turn.

“What the heck have I done?” she asks out loud.

                                                                                               *****

She mentions it to Cady and Damian when they come around on Friday. She has to since it’s pretty much the only piece of news she has other than “they got new vending machines”. They both think it’s a great idea, which does make Janis feel better about the whole thing. Especially Cady. The way her whole face lights up when she tells her actually makes it feel worth it, whatever the outcome is.  

That’s what she tells herself on Saturday morning when she gets up. She wriggles out of bed and checks the clock on her phone. Half an hour before her first round is due. She doesn’t feel like breakfast, nor does she feel like getting out of her pyjamas. She guesses Gretchen will understand that much anyway. Even she can’t expect Janis to look perfect given the circumstances. But that bring up another problem, one she had stupidly not considered up until right now, when she catches sight of herself in the mirror.

Gretchen hasn’t seen her like this.

Well, she has. The whole school has, that’s kind of the point. But she hasn’t seen her like this. Not in the same way Damian and Cady have, face-to-face, where she’ll try to avert her eyes from it and make polite conversation. Even with her cute little beanie, it’s likely to be a tough one. And given that it’s Gretchen, it might be ten times worse. Not her fault, and Janis can’t say she wouldn’t do the same if she was in her position, but that doesn’t make it any less exasperating for her. Suddenly the one thing she wants to do is text Gretchen and back out, but her stupid pride holds her back. Digging a bigger hole is a risk she doesn’t want to take. All she can do is wait and hope that either a) Gretchen backs out, b) there’s a terrible medical emergency pertaining to her and Gretchen can’t come over, or c) it’s at least over quickly.

Options A and B sadly don’t happen. For once her body seems to be working semi-well and right on schedule he gets a text from Gretchen saying that she’s in the lobby. Her mom took that as her cue to leave and go hang out with the other cancer moms, reminding her to call her if she needs her. And since her mom will definitely not lie about a medical emergency for her, all she can do is sit with the consequences of her own actions. And debate throwing herself out the window, which she shuts down fairly quickly. She doesn’t want to put the nurses through that.

She pretends to be reading when Gretchen comes in, softly knocking on the door. She looks nice; her hair is in some half-up, half-down thing she could never master even if she needed to and she wears a bright yellow top tucked into a blue skirt. Between the block colours and the smile on her face, Janis realises how much she could fit in here. Give her a lanyard and put her in the longue and the volunteers would take her in immediately.

“Hi, Janis,” she greets.

“Hey Gretch.” She puts down her magazine and swings her legs over the side of the bed, nodding at her. “Come on in. Welcome to Casa Janis. Hey, can you close the door?”

“Oh sure.” She comes over but sits down in the visitor’s chair rather than on the bed. Janis can’t decide if that’s better or worse. She’s already small, especially when compared to Janis, but she looks impossibly tiny now. Janis can’t even enjoy not feeling like the smallest person in the room for once. “So how are you doing?”

“Oh you know,” she shrugs. “Powering through it all.” A soft, sympathetic look creases Gretchen’s face. “I’m doing good, Gretch. How are you doing?”

“Oh me?” she asks. “Uh, I’m pretty good. I mean, school’s okay so far. I mean… I’m on the committee for planning the Halloween fair this year.”

“You are? That’s cool.” She could never picture Gretchen on the committee for anything, but now that she thinks about it, she does have a keen eye for detail. Not to mention she knows how to plan an event, although those skills weren’t forged in the best circumstances. “So what are you guys doing?”

“Oh.” Her tone is so casual compared to the excited glint in her eyes and the way her mouth turns up at the corners. She knows a suppressed smile when she sees one. “Um, your basic Halloween stuff. You know, uh apple bobbing. Scary stories. The same thing they do every year.”

“Uh-huh.” Gretchen opens her mouth, the beginning of her own question just coming out, but Janis holds her hand out to her, nodding to the empty space beside her. “Come on. You know I love that Halloween fair. And if I have to miss it, you need to give me every little detail of it.”

“Oh,” is all she responds with.

“Come on,” she says after she hesitates. “I need to make sure it’s all up to standard. I’m very protective of that fair.”

“Okay,” she says. She scrambles up beside her, her feet even farther from the floor. “Oh wow, this is comfortable.”

“Yeah, they take good care of us in here.” She nudges her with her bony elbow. “So come on. The fair, what have you guys got planned?”

“Well…” She begins. “We got Drama and English to collaborate on the scary stories this year. It’s actually pretty cool, they collected all these folktales from different cultures. And they wanted to do some classic horror stuff as well. So some of the sophomore drama kids are acting them out.” She counts them out on her fingers. “We’ve got one group doing Dracula, one doing Jekyll and Hyde and one doing Frankenstein. Oh, Damian’s helping direct them and he agreed to read out a few stories. He’s really good at it.”

“He would be,” she says.

“Okay so we have that in one corner, then we have the apple bobbing beside that. Then we got a lot of stalls lined up after it. Some of them are doing arts and crafts stuff, I don’t really know the specifics, then we’ve got another one selling treats and baked goods and stuff. I just let them handle that. Oh!” She grabs her arm only to drop it in the next second, but her smile stays bright on her face. “So then there’s the haunted house! We actually looked at a lot of the old ones, like the one you worked on!”

“Well, I am an artiste.”

“I know,” she says softly. “So what we did is we-well, I say we, I mean the art students. Not me, I couldn’t do that. But they took it and they ran with the literature theme. So we’ve got everyone in these really cool old vintage outfits looking like ghosts walking around the halls. And they’re letting us use a smoke machine!”

“I never got a smoke machine!” she interrupts indignantly. “How come you guys get to use it?”

“I planned out the budget,” Gretchen explains. “Cady helped me with the numbers a bit. I worked out that if we shopped at thrift stores and stuff for costumes and got the school more involved, we had more money for effects! Plus they gave us a bit more because it’s a good cause.”

She freezes the minute the words leave her mouth, regret all over her face. Janis doesn’t get it for a while and she can’t say if the chemo has made her brain lag or if she’s just that out of the loop. But quickly gets a suspicion.

“Good cause?”

“Um, yeah.” Gretchen fixes her hair, sliding pins further in and twirling the end around her fingers. Her feet swing farther and faster below them. “Um, the committee agreed pretty early that we should um… we should use it raise money for cancer research.” She shrugs weakly. “We just thought it would have been nice to do.”

“Yeah.” She clears her throat. She might not have an IV in her arm, nor is she knocked out, but she feels acutely aware of her cancer. Even without looking at herself. She can feel the way her blood is abnormal, feel the medicine slithering through her veins. The lost weight on her arms, the lack of weight on her head.

She’s a charity case now. Events she can’t even go to are planned around her.

“Janis?” Gretchen asks, her voice so quiet it’s practically a whisper. “Are you okay?” Before she can answer, Gretchen lets out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if I should tell you or not. Damian was worried how you’d react to it.”

“Gretchen. It’s okay.” She shakes her head. “I’m actually kind of touched.” It’s the truth, despite how weak it makes her feel. So many people backing her up, it’s hard not to like it. She just wishes this didn’t have to happen for her to feel it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replies. “And they think they might make it like that every year. Like every year they pick a new cause to donate to.”

“That’s awesome, Gretch.” They sit in comfortable, light silence for a while until Janis finds something. “So how’s everyone else? How’s Karen.”

And that’s when Gretchen’s cheeks turn bright pink, and it’s the most entertaining thing Janis has seen in a long while. Cady’s filled her in on Gretchen and Karen, how pretty much everyone knows about them and they’re none the wiser. Cady said that they might just still be friends, but Damian shook his head. According to him anyone who spends even five minutes in their company can see it. So she has two different hypothesis and she’s just testing them out.

“Um, Karen’s great,” she says. “Really great. Didn’t she come see you a few weeks ago?” She doesn’t mention how Janis puked her guts out that day; either Karen didn’t tell her or she’s being delicate. Either way is more than good with her.

“Yep. She brought muffins. They were really good.”

“Oh, yeah she’s really good at baking now.” The glowing pride on her face could be seen from space.

“It was real sweet of her,” she says fondly. Despite how badly that day ended, she’s glad it happened. “Hey, I saw you two were at her house last weekend.” Gretchen’s cheeks turn even pinker and Janis almost feels bad. “Anything special?”

“Oh yeah, that was nothing. We um, we just went and watched movies in her house. Had a pyjama day, you know.” Gretchen toys with a bracelet on her wrist; a silver chain with a baby pink gemstone in the shape of a heart. Her face is a familiar kind of soft, and Janis realises it’s the kind of soft that she gets when she thinks about Cady. They’re either together or someone has a serious, serious crush. “Karen’s really good. We’re really good.” Then she looks up at Janis and her eyes are brighter than Broadway marquees.

“We’re actually dating now!” she says.

“No!” she gasps. She doesn’t have a B in drama for nothing. “Since when?”

“Just since August,” she replies. “We actually just had our two month anniversary just then.”

“Aww.”

“Yeah. We went got sundaes and went to the movies. It was super romantic.” There’s even a hint of a giggle in Gretchen’s voice. The bloom of first love and all that.

“It sounds it.”

“Does it?” she asks. “Sorry. I just don’t know romance very well. I mean, we’re not you and Cady.”

“Me and Cady?” Janis echoes.

“Well, yeah. I mean you two are kind of the it couple when it comes to romance.”

“Really?” she asks proudly. “We never really thought about it like that.”

“You two just seem so… happy with each other,” she says. “Not that me and Karen aren’t happy, we totally are. I just hope we stay that way. That we have a relationship like you and Cady.”

“Woah there.” She holds up her hand to stop Gretchen in her tracks. “Me and Cady are far from perfect. Especially now.” She presses her fist into her palm, chewing the inside of her cheek, unsure what version of events she should give. “I mean… I almost didn’t even tell her I had cancer.” Gretchen’s mouth falls open a little at that. “No relationship is perfect, Gretch. Don’t try to model me and Caddy. You and Karen do you and Karen.”

“Do Me and Karen,” she repeats softly.

“Yeah. You know, move at your own pace. Be happy with each other.” Gretchen nods, her mouth moving like she’s making mental notes.

“Thanks, Janis.”

“Well, not to brag, but Cady and I have been together for seven whole months.” Half a year, she realises. Half a year she’s been with Cady. They never celebrated little anniversaries like Karen and Gretchen, but six months was just a month ago. And neither one realised. “So I’m a bit of an expert.”

“Yeah you are,” Gretchen chuckles.

Gretchen has to leave a little while later and Janis even has the manners (and energy) to walk her to the elevator. She gives her a quick hug before she leaves and though Janis braces herself, it’s nowhere near as awkward as she thought it would be. In fact, while she might be little, she packs a lot into it.

“I’ll see you soon,” she tells her. “Is that cool with you?”

“My hospital room is your hospital room,” she says warmly. Gretchen gives her another smile, one that’s bright and sincere, before disappearing into the lift. The last thing Janis sees of her is a little tiny wave.

Her mom is back in the room when she gets there, straightening up her sheets, and a fresh looking donut sits on her tray table. Rainbow sprinkles and white icing, just as she likes them.

“How’s Gretchen?” she asks.

“She’s good.” She climbs onto the bed and picks up her book. She must have been smiling or something because her mom then asks what the face is for. She hesitates, but she’d almost certainly tell her mom this if they were at home and besides, she can’t keep it to herself. “Well, Karen and Gretchen are sort of….” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You know.”

“Oh they aren’t,” her mom says. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She leans forward and tears off a part of the donut.

“Did not expect that.” Janis simply shrugs. She’s not going to sit and act like she ‘always knew’ but at the same time, she’s not entirely surprised. If nothing else, they did always think they’d be a cute fit. “Well, good for them.”

“Yeah,” she replies, tearing the donut again. “Good for them. You want a bit?”

“Oh I’m fine, hon.” Janis frowns. It’s more than just a treat and she knows it.

“Gretchen was talking about the Halloween fair,” she goes on. “She’s on the committee for organising it this year. Apparently it’s going to be quite the affair.”

Apparently, she just can’t hide anything today because her mom rubs her back and groans in sympathy with her.

“I’m sorry kid. I know how much you love going to that fair.”

“Well there’s always next year.” She keeps quiet about the money being raised though. No doubt her mom would love that, but still. Some things she just doesn’t want to talk about. She’s about to change the subject when her mom opens her mouth again, and nothing can prepare her for what she says. “And well, who knows? Maybe here we can work something out and allow you to go.”

“Wait, for real?” Janis asks. Hope sparks up in her chest and she immediately tries to dampen it down.

“Well, maybe,” her mom says. “I was just talking to Dr Wiley and he did say you don’t have to be in the hospital 24/7. Obviously we don’t want a repeat of Saturday-”

“Okay, why didn’t this conversation come up weeks ago when I was climbing the walls?” she asks, although she isn’t mad. She can’t be.

“Because you were just starting out,” she explains. “And you still kind of are. But he did say being out in the fresh air might do you some good. I’d have my reservations about it-”

“Oh please, please do not have any reservations,” she says. Hell, she practically begs. She does everything but grab her mom’s legs.

“But if you felt up to it on the day, and Dr Wiley didn’t see a problem with it, then I don’t see why you couldn’t go around the fair for an hour, maybe.”

An inhuman noise escapes her mouth, something akin to a shriek, but the kind middle school girls use when they hear about their favourite boyband coming to town.

“As long as you don’t overwork yourself.”

“Mom, I will do nothing but eat my veggies and sleep until the fair,” she promises.

“Okay,” her mom chuckles, running her fingers over her knuckles. “What time’s your next round?”

“Oh um, an hour,” she says. They go about their own business. Well, her mom does anyway, picking up her magazine and showing Janis the parts she’d like. Janis opens up her laptop and whacks on something to keep herself entertained, but the idea of going to the fair blocks out anything else.

Going to the Halloween fair. Being with all her friends. Seeing people from school. It almost doesn’t feel real. Scratch that, it definitely doesn’t feel real. And amongst that surreal feeling is worry. Worry that something will come up, someone will say no, and she’ll have to watch the fair through her Instagram feed. It’s the main reason she doesn’t go rushing to Damian with the news. Because what if the moment she does, Dr Wiley pops his head around the door and tells her she can never leave here, ever?

Breathe, she tells herself. Her plans are in the universe’s hands. All she can do is sit back, cross her fingers, and pray no-one says no.

[peremadeleine]

The Empathetic Dog Thief, Episode 1

Alternative titles: “Will: Deer Hunter and Dog Dad,” “Crimes Against Costuming,” “What Year Is It: A Crime Drama”

Armed with a gin & tonic and one sleepy cat, I finally gave the NBC show another shot.

I didn’t know Will had a superpower. Cool...?

How come he’s play-acting the murderer, though? Just because he can think like a killer doesn’t mean he needs to be reenacting it himself. That’s just confusing for the audience?? The way they did it in the Red Dragon movie was still effective without coming off as “aw, Will’s playing serial killer”

“This is my design” what

Plaid shirt and striped tie, truly a costuming sin. I didn’t love Will’s “modern wild west” costume vibes in Red Dragon, but it was better than this.

Don’t pretend that Jack and Will don’t know each other. Hate that.

Do look forward to hearing how many different ways people can pronounce “Graham” though.

Oh boy, why does Crawford push Will’s glasses up on his face while murmuring “hey” softly like a lover?? They’re strangers. That was mighty uncomfortable.

is he just assuming Will is on the spectrum? Right after they met???

and then Will confirms, but wait, he just has an “active imagination”?

STAY IN YOUR LANE

at least in canon Crawford doesn’t take advantage of people on the gd spectrum, and he spins it as being for the good of the victims. jfc.

“based on the characters by Thomas Harris”

Of course all the victims in the first episode are going to be women

“it’s not about all of these girls, it’s about one of them”--seven minutes in and they’re already ripping off Silence.

“he’s like Willy Wonka. every girl he takes is a candy bar.” no. nO.

“I mean, I would. Wouldn’t you?” no Will, Crawford’s a douchebag, not a murderous psychopath.

8 minutes in, me: WHERE’S THE TITLE CHARACTER THIS IS B O R I N G

“Why is it now a crime scene?” Because Will says so and he’s his own forensic team, apparently. Next question.

Also apparently he only owns red plaid-print shirts. Huh.

Lol Will has empathy for everyone but a grieving father confronted with his daughter’s dead body???

I don’t like the way Crawford is speaking to Will one bit. It’s supposed to be sensitive, but it comes off as condescending and mollycoddling. Ew. That is SO not Jack Crawford.

"You wrote the standard monograph on time of death by insect activity"?!?

so Will IS his own forensic team. Weird flex, but okay.

Antler velvet. Christ, HERE WE GO.

“You not real FBI?” Rip-off of Silence #2!

“You unstable?” Stop coming at Will, Jesus!

Will is a serial dognapper. SIX DOGS. Maybe, maybe, people in this neighborhood are missing their gd dogs, you monster.

none of them are even UGLY dogs

Will’s also drinking tho. One point for Gryffindor.

Oh, another plaid shirt. At least this one’s got a nice pattern. And isn’t red.

The bathroom is painted red, tho. What is it with Fuller and red walls?

Hugh Dancy’s American accent slips when he tries to like...emote. Yikes.

Strangulation is neither quick nor merciful.

A forensic specialist who wears her long-ass dark hair loose down her back and shoulders in the lab should be FIRED.

Implied “we covet what we see every day” scene: Silence Rip-Off #3

nineteen minutes in, me: W H E R E  I S  H A N N I B A L this is false marketing

Okay, I actually kind of like the “okay, I can cover him 80%” scene. Crawford’s real good at fucking up people’s lives in order to save lives.

twenty-one minutes in, me: HANNIBAL’S HERE THANK CHRIST

will probably regret this thought later

it’s okay, Hans. I, too, hate the career choices that have led me to this point.

the fact that he has tissues by HIS chair in his office is fuckin’ hilarious, what a douche, I love him

same, tho

The costumes and sets and cars are all screaming 70s/80s. But smartphones!

I’m watching this pretty late so my volume is a bit low and I cannot understand 70% of Hannibal’s dialogue, uh oh

Hannibal is supposed to be short so I don’t think this little “oh Crawford confused the short weepy patient with Hannibal” bit is that cute...I’ve always felt like Mads was poorly cast for that reason, among others. Oh well.

I take it all back:

HIS FACE

“No secretary?” “She was predisposed to romantic whims.” Not sure whether I like this line because Hannibal’s the one acting on whimsy or if it makes me cringe because of the way they’re dismissing Hannibal’s former secretary. Hmm.

“Are these yours, doctor?” a) Duh and b) Silence Rip-Off #4

Why the fuck does Crawford think he can just examine Hannibal’s papers? Like?????????

no wonder he hates your rude ass, Jack

HANNIBAL WHY IS WOUND MAN LYING ON YOUR DESK YOU PRECIOUS IDIOT

“Very interesting, even for a layman” Wow, unexpected Red Dragon rip-off (by the Red Dragon adaptation) #1

this whole scene is made of cringe HELP

why is Hannibal dressed in his Easter Sunday suit

Tattlecrimes.com. I’M SPEECHLESS at the stupidity of that.

tabloids are, in fact, still a thing in the Year of Our Lord 2013

No way is Hannibal fucking Lecter going to drink the swill that probably is Jack Crawford’s coffee, as if.

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Yes, Hannibal is the only character who should be canonically coming at anyone like this. (But also poor Will.)

But Will, at least look in his direction while he’s talking to you? I also don’t love eye contact...it’s rude not to even look at a person, though.

Hannibal finally used a contraction! He’s human after all. (This is a common Fanfic-Writing-of-Hannibal problem. I used to have it, too. You think to emulate him you have to write lofty, staid dialogue. But we’re talking about Hannibal the Punmaster General here.)

“This cannibal you have him getting to know” I’m sorry, who said anything about cannibals???

Stop incriminating yourself Hannibal honestly

Wait, is the implication that the victim whose lungs were taken is Hannibal’s? I hope not, because what would he be doing in Minnesota, and since when did Hannibal cut people up alive (Krendler notwithstanding--he’s a special case), especially women????? He’s a Monster(TM), but not a fucking sadist.

Will’s wardrobe also contains gingham!

no really, when did they determine that the serial killer was a cannibal?? did I sleep through that part?

“have Dr. Lecter draw up a psychological profile” bitch, please. Dr. Lecter doesn’t work for Crawford.

I don’t like hearing/watching people eat, especially in quiet moments. That’s going to become a problem in this show, isn’t it?

Will’s dream dear is fucking awful CGI. Wow.

That brown blazer--Hannibal would never.

EVERYTHING about Hannibal that should be black--his clothes and his hair--is brown here. It’s...weird.

to quote @random-emerald-thoughts​, “my homocidal boy aint about that tawny bullshit”

Hannibal Lecter: food snob--that’s canon. 

Don’t like this dialogue, though. And Hannibal bringing anyone he just met food in glorified Tupperware rings very false.

“Uncle Jack” what the fuck

Wow, Fuller jumped directly into the teacup thing right from the start. Yikes. He clearly didn’t understand it. (Clarice isn’t the teacup, bro. The teacup represents time, and disorder, and will it ever be reversed?)

Lots of weird metaphors in this episode overall, though none as bad as the Willy Wonka thing.

Why is Hannibal in Minnesota? Is he a crime-scene investigator now? Is he on the FBI payroll? Doesn’t he have patients with appointments to keep? Social obligations? I HAVE QUESTIONS.

He’s not a priss or a germaphobe. DISLIKE.

Do like the phone call. Just fuckin’ carelessly with people’s lives for the fun of it, that’s our Hannibal.

FBI? Are you FBI, Will?

He shouldn’t have been issued that sidearm if he can’t hold it steady.

One shot would have been plenty. Maybe two. Jfc, the reason Clarice shot Gumb so many times was because he was going to shoot her. Hobbs had a knife, which he dropped, and he was incapacitated by the first/second shot. Silence Rip-Off #5

How the fuck is he still alive and talking?! Will plugged him about eight times!

Call the police, Hannibal, or the ambulance, or take off your jacket and provide first aid to this girl. You’re a doctor!

It really is like he wants to be arrested or something.

And then he gets to ride in the ambulance?? Just Because?

Overall, it was...not very good, imo, poorly paced, very poorly written, with acting that jumped wildly from “very good” to “awful,” sometimes from the same actors. Intense cringe throughout a lot of the script. Ripped off Silence of the Lambs, a superior movie about many of the same characters, way too many times. Will is boring and I don’t care about him, but then I also don’t care about canon Will. And I still think Mads Mikkelsen was poorly cast as Hannibal...the costumes aren’t doing him any favors, either. We’ll see if he can bring me around.

Some moments of genuine humor that I appreciated, though, and some nods to the canon that I grudgingly appreciated, too, including Hannibal being a dick and Jack Crawford fucking up people’s lives.

Hopefully if you made it this far into my observations you got a kick out of them. I probably won’t go into this much detail for every episode, but I do intend to try to watch at least all of Season 1.

Painful as it might be.

[isitgintimeyet]

Letting Go

Eight years is a long time. Enough time to forget, move on, start anew... 

Except that sometimes it isn’t.

This story is inspired by my favourite Jane Austen novel ‘Persuasion’. Its a bit of a slow burn with a bit of angst and bit of fluff.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and thanks to @happytoobservenolongerdistant for the encouragement.

So, very nervously posting- hope you enjoy x

1. And So It Goes

So I would choose to be with you.

That’s if the choice were mine to make.

But you can make decisions too,

and you can have this heart to break

Billy Joel

Eight years ago

“Claire, love, please remember, I am no’ walking away from ye.”

“Well, that's what it feels like.”

“I have tae go, ye ken that. It’s ma family’s survival, it’s the future of Lallybroch. This contract we have wi’ the breeding stables in Kentucky, I have tae do it…  I have tae go. But I'm askin’ ye tae come with me.”

“You’re asking me to give up the dream I’ve had since I was a little girl, to be a doctor, a surgeon.”

“There must be hospitals in Kentucky where ye can continue that dream, wi’ me.”

“But none with the reputation that Glasgow has. It’s pioneering work here, and Dr. Hildegard says…”

“So it’s Dr. Hildegard as has persuaded ye on this then. She should keep her mouth shut and let ye decide for yourself.”

“I am deciding for myself. Can’t I stay here and we try to make it work long distance?”

“That’s no’ goin’ tae work and ye ken that. Ye work all the hours ye can. How often would ye be able tae visit me? If I visited ye, how much time would ye spend away from the hospital? Nah, Claire, I want ye tae come wi’ me… us together.”

“Jamie, I want us together too, but I want my dream as well, Dr. Hildegard says it’s my calling. Don’t make me choose, please.”

“Aye, weel, I reckon ye’ve already chosen. It’s funny ye want tae be a cardiologist, fixin’ people’s hearts, because Claire, I tell ye, ye’ve just broken mine.”

*************

Present Day

“Uncle Lamb, Uncle Lamb?” Claire dropped her car keys in the bowl on the hall table and shrugged off her coat. “Are you in?”

She walked down the hallway, the sound of her heels on the chequered floor tiles echoing in the silence. Quickly scanning each room as she passed by, she continued a one-sided conversation with her unusually silent uncle. “Has the post been today? Where is it? Did my copy of The Lancet arrive?”

Finally arriving at the door to her Uncle’s study, she knocked gently before entering. The scene that greeted her was familiar, unchanged since she was a child. The large, dark, wooden desk was strewn with a forest’s worth of paper, fixed in place by a haphazard assortment of stones, belt buckles and ancient bowls, and lit by a single desk light. The old leather chair turned away from the desk to face the window overlooking the back garden.

A garden of this size was a rarity in the suburbs of Glasgow, and Claire had to admit, was sorely in need of some tender, loving care -- Claire being short on time and Lamb short on inclination. But she had always loved the view from this window, as had her uncle.

One of her first memories, following the deaths of her parents, was quietly creeping into this study, desperately looking for assurance that her uncle was there, yet trying not to disturb him. Her ninja skills being unrefined at age five, Lamb had heard her and immediately swept her into his arms, settling her in his lap as he sat and turned the chair to face the window.

“See there, Claire,” he had whispered to her. “Over there, that’s where we’ll put a swing, if you’d like. I want you to be happy here. This is your home, too.”

The swing, much used, was still there, now rusted and wobbly with weeds breaking through the wood-chip ground cover beneath.

The desk seemed more untidy than usual, a layer of envelopes and official looking letters covering its surface. Uncle Lamb was sitting facing the window. He swung back to face Claire.

“Hello, Uncle. Have you got my copy of The Lancet? There’s an interesting article on a non-surgical approach to mesenteric vascular disease…”

Claire looked at him and stopped. His eyes were red rimmed and watery. “Lamb, what is it?”

She rushed round the desk and crouched beside him. “Are you ok?”

He pointed at the papers on his desk and sighed. “The bank, the credit card companies…”

Claire focused on the collection of letters in front of her, statements and demands from an assortment of financial institutions, some of them dated months ago.

“Uncle, what are these? I don’t understand. Why haven’t you talked to me about these before?”

Lamb cast his eyes down to his hands, fingers nervously worrying his cuticles. “I don’t know… I thought I could sort it out… that you’d never need to know. But the bills just kept coming, and the amounts kept getting bigger. I didn’t want to burden you with it. I should have been able to cope. But now, I’m worried… I don’t know how to get out of this.”

Claire was silent for a moment, doing some rough mental calculations. It seemed to add up to quite a sizeable amount, certainly more than was evidenced by her uncle’s usual lifestyle. She didn’t want to embarrass him more than he obviously was, but she needed to understand.

“Uncle, how did this happen? I’m sorry, but that’s a fair amount of money to have spent so quickly.”

“The field trip last summer, that six week dig in Turkey. That’s where it started.”

“But I thought those expenses were covered by the university. Not funded out of your own pocket?”

“Well, you know the universities at the moment, cutting back on everything nonessential. Apparently research into cairn burials around the Black Sea is not relevant enough for today’s modern universities. The funding they gave me was a pittance… practically an insult.” Lamb spoke bitterly. “How can learning about what has made us who we are not be relevant? What did I always tell you, Claire?”

“A people who do not know their history are fated to repeat it.” Claire answered automatically, years of visiting historical sites with her uncle had drilled this into her brain.

“Exactly! You understand, Claire. And there is more to be done over there, that trip just set the groundwork. I’m sure that…” Lamb’s eyes brightened at the thought of future archaeological digs.

One of her Uncle’s many endearing qualities had always been an otherworldliness that focussed his mind on the significance of the past at the expense of the trivia of his present. Claire had never minded having to shoulder the responsibilities for their ‘trivial present’, leaving Lamb free to explore the ‘significant past’. Even now, part of her longed to be able to take this financial predicament away from him, leaving him to dream and plan for his next expedition.

But, she had to be practical. Lamb had to set aside any thoughts of future trips until this financial problem in his trivial present had been dealt with. And Claire thought she had just the solution.

“Uncle, no, please.” Claire interrupted. “I’m sorry but you can’t be thinking about that at the moment. We have to sort this out. You are going to have to sell this house.”

Lamb was immediately jolted from dreams of the past back to the present. He stared at Claire, aghast at this suggestion. “Sell the house? I couldn’t do that! This is our home.”

Claire cleared her throat and paused for a second before she spoke again. Her medical training had taught her to view objectively, taking all emotion out of her surgical procedures. And surely that’s what this is, she told herself, another surgical intervention -- quick, clean strokes to sever the bonds and leave everything repaired good as new.

“Lamb, you know as well as I do, this house is too big for us. We’re rattling around in here, and half the rooms we never even go in. How many people still live in great big Edwardian villas like this? You only have to look down this road, most of these houses are converted into flats. I’m sure a property developer would give us a good price and you could get something smaller. And it’s high time I got my own place. A flat close to work would be great.”

“Claire, I can’t sell this place. It’s where you grew up. It’s what I want to pass on to you, your inheritance. No, I won’t do it. There must be another way.”

*************

Claire settled herself in the battered chair reserved for visitors to the office and waited for Mrs. Fitzgibbons to return with the promised cup of tea. Glenna Fitzgibbons (widely known as ‘Mrs. Fitz’), had been her Uncle’s secretary at the university for many years and knew him better than anyone apart from Claire herself. Claire hoped that she might be able to use her considerable influence to persuade Lamb to sell the house.

Mrs. Fitz bustled into the office with a tray filled with what seemed to be a full afternoon tea. Settling behind her desk, she poured two cups of tea from her favourite novelty thatched cottage teapot, added milk from the matching jug and passed a cup  to Claire, along with a scone liberally spread with butter and jam.

“I canna bide the notion of jes’ dippin’ a teabag in a mug of hot water, ye ken. A cup of tea, properly brewed, mind, can fix anything. So, pet, tell me, how are ye? And what’s mitherin’ ye? I ken there’s something goin’ on.”

Claire sipped her tea. “Oh, Mrs. Fitz, I’m so worried. Has my uncle spoken to you about his current financial situation?”

“No, that he hasna, but from the look on yer face, I’m guessin’ that’s what’s on yer mind. Talk tae me, how can I help?”

“Well, he’s been hiding it from me, but that last trip he did to Turkey, he practically had to fund it himself and it’s wiped him out financially. He owes so much now, the only way I can see out of it is to sell the house, but he refuses. I was hoping maybe you could talk to him, change his mind?”

Just the act of talking to Mrs. Fitz made Claire feel a bit better. She couldn’t remember how many times growing up she had sat in this office while Mrs. Fitz had shared pots of tea, advice and great big all-enveloping hugs. There was a time, in her teens, when Claire had asked her advice on everything, looking for a female, almost motherly view that Lamb, much as he loved her, was unable to provide.

Once into her twenties, although their bond remained strong, the need for this advice waned. Although, Claire sometimes wondered how different her life would be had she sought out Mrs. Fitz eight years ago rather than relying on another’s counsel.

Claire passed over a piece of paper with her rough calculations on it. Mrs. Fitz studied it intently.

“I’m thinkin’ there may be a way round this. How about if we could convince Lamb he didna have tae sell, but could rent the house out for a couple of years and then use that money tae pay off what he owes. The university has some accommodation for faculty members at a peppercorn rent but what about ye? Where would that leave ye?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve been thinking for a while, it’s time I got a place on my own. This is just forcing me to make the move.”

Claire took the paper back and folded it before placing it carefully in her handbag. “I know the funding from the university wasn’t great, but this amount looks really high…  I don’t know, has anything changed?”

Mrs. Fitz pursed her lips and remained silent for a moment before responding. “Aye… Malva… his latest grad student. She went on that trip with him.”

Claire was taken aback. “No… surely not… you don’t think…”

“Och, nay, I dinna mean that. But she was determined tae go on that trip wi’ him, and somehow convinced him. And the equipment… for years yer uncle hasna changed his equipment, now, suddenly nothing but the best state of the art imagin’ equipment will do. And a drone, he’s bought a drone. Now I’m no’ one tae point the finger, but all this started when she began tae work wi’ him. Mark ma words, she’s tryin’ tae make a name fer herself here at the university… and at yer Uncle’s expense”

And with that, Mrs. Fitz sat back and furiously began to munch her scone.

[aswithasunbeam]

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: Alexander has a very long, very terrible day. With a sick child, a spilled bottle of ink, a bad attack of nausea in the middle of a very official cabinet meeting, it could hardly have been worse. But the loving support of his General, his wife, and his son might just turn things around. __ A sweet, fluffy hamliza sickfic

The morning was not off to an auspicious start.

Alexander had woken up later than usual and had to rush through dressing, which wasn’t ideal on a day he had a cabinet meeting. He was still standing in the doorway of his bedroom, finishing off the knot in his cravat, when Jamie padded up to him. One look at the little boy told him he was about to be called upon to perform one of the worst of his parenting duties.

“I don’t feel good, Papa,” Jamie muttered.

“Come here, son,” he said with forced calm as he herded the boy into the room. He tried to hurry him towards the chamber pot, but it was already too late. Jamie paused at the threshold of the room, turned, and managed to throw up directly onto his father. And then he began to wail.

Alexander was still standing in place, frozen with shock, when Eliza came running in moments later. “Oh, it’s all right, baby. Come here. It’s all right,” she cooed, opening her arms. Jamie flew into her embrace, still crying.

Alexander looked down at his best suit despairingly. He was already late. Mentally running through his other available clothes, he tried to think what else would be appropriate for a meeting with President Washington.

“You’ll probably want to change, sweetheart,” Eliza commented unhelpfully. He looked up at her and glared when he saw her fighting a smirk.

“Is something about this amusing?” he snapped.

She immediately pasted on a look of faux-solemnity and shook her head. “No.”

He growled quietly and marched back to his dressing room. His blue coat would have to do, he decided. He was shrugging it on over his fresh shirt, waistcoat and breeches when he sensed eyes on him. Turning, he found Eliza watching from the doorway.

“It like this one better,” she said, eyes raking over him appreciatively.

“The gray fits better, and the material is a finer quality.”

Eliza stepped towards him and smoothed her hands over his shoulders. “Maybe. But you look good in blue.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure the President will be duly impressed.”

“Ah,” she said. “So that’s what has you in such a foul humor this morning—you have a meeting with Mr. Jefferson today.”

He very nearly snapped at her that he was not in a foul humor, before he realized just how ridiculous that was. He huffed a small laugh; somehow, she could always drive him from his black moods. “I’m sorry. Is Jamie all right?”

“I think so. I tucked him back into bed. He’s asking for you, though. Would you look in on him before you leave?”

“Of course.” His custom was to stay with the children when they were unwell. Unfortunately, with his current workload, he simply couldn’t take a day off.

“How are you feeling, my little lamb?” he asked as he stepped into the boys’ room a few minutes later. He sat on the bed, and Jamie clambered straight into his lap.

“Sing, Papa,” the boy demanded.

Alexander smiled and started to sing his son’s favorite lullaby, rocking him gently. He repeated it again, and then again. Still, Jamie’s dark eyes stayed stubbornly open, staring at him. “I need to go to work now, my dear fellow. Mama’s going to sit with you, all right?” he said finally, kissing the boy’s sweaty brow.

“No!” Jamie cried, gripping him tightly. “I want you!”

“Sweetheart,” Eliza tried to soothe him, running her hand over Jamie’s back. He jerked away from her violently, scrambling to hang on to his father.

“No! I want Papa! Papa!” he howled.

“Just go, honey,” Eliza whispered after several more minutes of this. “Don’t worry. I’ll calm him down.”

He left the house to the sounds of his little son screaming for him.

**

He was mopping up an entire bottle’s worth of ink from his lap when Oliver Wolcott knocked on his door two hours later. His luck didn’t seem to be improving. Thankfully, the ink stain wouldn’t show on his black breeches, though he had no doubt the ink had leaked through to stain his white shirt and likely his skin as well. The papers he’d been pouring over all morning were entirely ruined.

“You seem to be having a difficult day, Mr. Secretary,” Wolcott said diplomatically.

He had to deliberately swallow down the urge to whimper in response. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.”

Wolcott smiled at him. “Well, perhaps I can improve it somewhat. My darling wife delivered some fresh cherry tarts to my office. Knowing your particular liking for cherries, I thought I’d bring you one.”

Wolcott held out a small tea plate bearing a good sized pastry. What appeared to be perfectly baked, golden-brown, flaky crust was broken only by the red dot of cherry jam in the center. On any other day the offer would have placed him a such a good mood that even Thomas Jefferson could not have ruined it.

However, as he looked at that delectable treat, he felt his stomach turn, nausea surging forth from nowhere. He squeezed his eyes shut, and didn’t bother fighting his urge to whimper this time.

**

Alexander’s stomach lurched sourly. The close, hot air of the President’s office was doing little to aid the nausea that had been plaguing him for hours. The sensation was coming in waves, receding to the back of his mind and then rearing up all the worse minutes later, leaving him sweating and pale.

“How can we turn our backs on our greatest ally?” Jefferson fired out, sitting forward in his chair. “Why should we hesitate in helping our friends to preserve a relationship with a country that treated us so terribly? That uses us abysmally, even now?”

The nausea was surging up again. He could feel saliva pooling in his mouth as he forced himself to take deep, even breaths. His hand rose to cover his mouth, as though blocking the exit would keep his stomach where it was supposed to be.

“England is our most important trade partner, Mr. Jefferson. And courting a war with her not a decade after the last would not be wise,” Washington said calmly.

Alexander found himself glad that the president was of one mind with him on this. If he’d had to open his mouth to voice the same thought, he wasn’t entirely sure what would have come out. He adjusted uncomfortably in his seat and wished he were anywhere else.

“Trade partner,” Jefferson scoffed. “When they aren’t simply seizing our goods and our men. Is anything being done to counteract that?”

Both men turned to look at him. That was unfortunate. He’d managed to skirt the past half hour without saying anything. His stomach lurched again. Keeping his mouth covered with his palm, he nodded his head vaguely. “Yes.”

“Oh, well, good then,” Jefferson rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair regally.

For a moment, Alexander imagined leaning forward and losing his stomach right on Jefferson’s shoes. The satisfaction would almost be worth the humiliation.

“Mr. Hamilton, what are your thoughts on this?” Washington was scrutinizing him now.

For one glorious moment, he thought the nausea was ebbing. If he could answer Washington now, he may get through the rest of the meeting without embarrassing himself. He moved his hand, opened his mouth, and then felt his stomach rising at the back of his throat.

He swallowed convulsively and stood.

“Excuse me,” he managed to mutter before swiftly fleeing the office, bursting through the front doors and throwing himself into the nearest side alley.

He gagged and coughed and choked for several horrible minutes. The stress on his body forced tears into his eyes, and he was barely holding himself up against the rough brick of the government building. Where was it even coming from? He hadn’t eaten all day.

A hand on his back caused him to tense painfully. He couldn’t turn his head to look at his new companion, so he opted to keep his head down and pray that it was a ruffian here to end his misery with a knife to the chest. As he sagged down towards his own puddle of sick, strong hands took his weight, holding him up.

“Just breathe. You’re all right, son.” A calm, soothing tone from a gruff, commanding voice.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Alexander prayed for the earth to open up and swallow him.

God did not comply.

“You could have mentioned you were unwell, my boy. Although the look on Mr. Jefferson’s face when he realized how close you’d come to vomiting on him was rather priceless.”

Alexander choked on a laugh, dry heaved, then pushed himself up so he could lean against the wall. Washington’s hand was still on his shoulder.

“My apologies, sir,” he managed.

Washington shook his head, hushing him. His free hand rose to touch his forehead, testing for fever. “Just relax, son. Take a moment.”

“I feel a little better now, sir, truly.”

Washington nodded. “You don’t feel warm, just a tad clammy. You should go home and get some rest.”

“I’m sure I’ll be better presently. I wouldn’t want to worry Eliza.” She would worry if he turned up in the middle of the day feeling ill. With five children to look after and Jamie ill as well, she had her hands full enough as it was.

“I say let Mrs. Hamilton fuss over you a bit,” Washington said, his lip twitching upwards. “It would do you a world of good.”

“But sir, the meeting—”

Washington waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll reconvene later, when you’re well. Go home, son.”

His cheeks reddened even more, and he opened his mouth to argue again.

With a voice full of fatherly fondness, Washington insisted, “Go home.”

**

“You’re home early,” Eliza commented when he walked through the door. She came through to the foyer from the parlor where she had been overseeing Angelica’s piano practice, if his daughter’s repetitive scales were anything to go by.

He walked straight to her and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She returned it easily, rubbing his back gently. After a few silent moments, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Bad day,” he muttered. “I vomited. In front of President Washington.”

“What?”

“I vomited in front of the President. I almost vomited on the Secretary of State. And I was too nauseated to eat a cherry tart that was Wolcott delivered to my office.”

Eliza gave a snort, and he felt her begin to shake with laughter in his arms.

He pulled away from her and whined, “It’s not funny.”

“It’s not,” she agreed, still laughing. “Especially not the fact that you sound the most distressed about the cherry tart.”

He felt himself beginning to smile despite himself, and a laugh bubbled up a moment later.

Her laughter died down after a moment, and she caressed his cheek with a fond expression. “My poor darling. Are you still feeling unwell?”

“Less so than earlier. I’m still a little queasy,” he admitted.

She kissed his cheek. “Let’s get you into bed, then, shall we?”

As she ushered him upstairs, he turned his head to ask, “Is Jamie feeling better?”

She nodded. “He hasn’t been sick again, and he hasn’t felt warm at all. I think he’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

Alexander smiled at the first good news he’d heard today. He stopped into the boys’ room when he made it upstairs. Jamie was sitting up in bed with a picture book in his lap, and his little eyes went wide with delight when he saw his father walk in. “Papa!”

He bent down to pick up the little boy, who clung around his neck like a monkey. “Would you like to come rest in my bed for a little while?”

Jamie nodded enthusiastically.

Eliza rubbed the boy’s back to get his attention. “You must be very well behaved, sweetheart. Papa feels ill today, too.”  

“You do?” Jamie asked, looking up at him with surprise.

He nodded.

“I’ll take care of you, Papa,” Jamie announced, clinging to him with renewed force.

Alexander smiled. “You will?”

Jamie nodded against him.

“Well, then, I’m sure to be better in no time.”

He moved into his bedroom and placed his son on the bed, then went into his closet to change. The bottom of the shirt was stained a deep black from the accident with the ink earlier, and sure enough his legs had large black streaks across them. He used the ruined shirt to wipe the worst of the stain away, although he’d need a thorough scrub to remove the ink entirely. Later, he promised himself.

Eliza peeked her head in as he was pulling on his night shirt and laughed at him again when she saw his legs. “How did you even do that?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged helplessly. “It was just a very long, bad day.”

She leaned in to kiss him and then urged him to get into bed. “I need to check on the boys, but then I’ll bring you up some tea. Would you like a book to read?”

He named a title he’d been reading when time allowed, and Eliza promised to bring it up for him. Jamie was already nodding off as Alexander settled down under the covers and wrapped his arms around his little boy. Jamie snuggled up against him.

He closed his eyes, dozing lightly.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad day after all.

[cinnamonbundit]

Sharky x Reader

CHAPTER 1

This takes place like 2 months after the prologue that I wrote. The resistance has reclaimed all regions in Hope County except for Joseph’s compound. Dep is resting up in one of the abandoned houses in Hope County, after her encounter with John. //Sharky and Dep have definitely boned several times.//

Words: 1115

Don’t move

Ah, perfection

Say yes..

Dep! Shit, Dep, wake up!

With a gasp, you jolted up in the bed. A thin layer of sweat covered your body as a result of yet another nightmare. As you tried to get up from your spot, you realized there were arms restricting you causing you to momentarily panic. “Babe, please calm down.” You heard a soft voice from behind you. “You’re okay now.” 

OH, it’s just Sharky. You’re ok...you’re ok. 

He soothingly strokes your back while you try and steady your labored breathing. You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you felt him wipe the tears from your cheeks. “I hate to see you like this, Dep,” he sighed. You both sat in silence like that for away until you heard a soft sniffle in your ear. “...Sharky, are you crying?”

“What!? Pssh..I’m not crying you’re crying!” He said defensively, while feverishly wiping the stray tears. You turned around in his arms to hold his face in your hand. “I’ll be fine, Sharky. You don’t have to worry about me” He exhaled softly and locked eyes with you.

“It’s just,” he started before closing his eyes and releasing another breath to prepare himself for what he was about to say, “you know I care about you, shorty, and I hate that you got dragged into this crazy peggie shit. If we all would’ve just dealt with this shit when the freaks first showed up, you wouldn’t have had to come here, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be balling your eyes out every night because of what those assholes did to you. And-” His maundering was cut short, when you placed your hand over his mouth to silence him before he kept rambling on until noon.

“Sharky, hush please. You can’t think about the what-ifs because we can’t change the fact that it happened, babe.” You shifted to straddle his waist, and as if on instinct he wrapped his arms around your torso and rested his head against your chest to bring you as close as possible. “You know... I think I got a what if for you that will literally terrify you from the thought of it.” You cleared your throat for the dramatics. “If I never was forced to come arrest Joseph, I never would’ve met you, dummy.” You finished softly while caressing the back of his head. “And let’s be honest you’d be totally lost without me.”

Sharky released a soft chuckle before replying, “Maybe you’re right.” To which you playfully gasped at.

“Maybe? Who’s the one who taught you how to use a washing machine again? Aaand the one who has absolutely saved your ass from your own fire fueled stunts? Oh, and als-”

Now, it was your turn to be silenced, as he covered your lips with his. You responded immediately and grabbed both sides of his face, giggling softly as his beard tickled your chin. He tugged gently on your lower lip with his teeth gaining a soft gasp from you. You released a soft whine, as he ended the kiss by pulling away. “Baby, hush please.” He rasped out mimicking your earlier statement before moving his lips to your neck, pressing soft kisses as he went. Sharky never failed at making you feel like a giddy teenager again, and you absolutely loved every second of it. He removed his lips from you and caressed the sides of your face, before slowly moving you back to your spot on the bed. 

“Alright, as much as I would love to continue this, you gotta get some rest, Shorty. I’m gonna go hop in the shower real quick, but I’ll let Booms in so you’re not by yourself.” He softly pressed a kiss to your forehead, before grabbing his clothes and letting Boomer into the room.

“Hey, Boomie, c’mere boy.” You said while patting the space where Sharky once was. The playful dog excitedly bounced onto the bed before snuggling his way next to you, resting his head on your torso. You rubbed the dog’s head until you slowly drifted off to sleep.

~~~~Third Person POV~~~~

Sharky watched the whole encounter with a soft smile on his face before turning out of the room and leaving the door open just a smidge, so Boomer could exit as he pleased. God knows the last time he shut Boomer in their room it was an absolute disaster. Let’s just say the smell was stuck in the room for days no matter how much you scrubbed the floors.

Just as he was about to enter the downstairs bathroom, he heard Dep’s walkie crackle to life. Sharky walked leisurely over to the kitchen counter, where her walkie resided, expecting it to just be the sheriff or Eli asking how she’d been or how they needed her help again since apparently she was the only person capable of doing anything in this town. He picked up the walkie and pressed down on the talk button. “You’ve reached the Deputy’s residence this is her sexy secretary speaking.” He awaited the response of one of the men only to be greeted by a different, but very familiar voice that made Sharky’s blood boil.

“Charlamagne.. tell my lamb that I will find her friends and there will be retribution for her acts of violence against my family.”

Sharky had a brief moment of panic. Their peaceful time together was only gonna last so long. He knew they would have to deal with Joseph sooner rather than later, but.. she wasn’t ready. No, no, maybe he was the one who wasn’t ready. There was no way Joseph would go out without a fight. They would have to fight. But what if someone got hurt? What if dep got hurt? 

He didn’t want to risk it. He just needed a little more time, and then he would tell her about Joseph’s threat. He wanted-no needed to give her a couple more moments of peace, a break from this fucked up family drama that she had been forced into. Sharky collected himself then cleared his throat. “Why don’t you fuck off, Broseph?” He said before smashing the walkie on the counter, hoping he hadn’t woken her from her resting place upstairs. 

It was selfish to keep her to himself for a little while longer. He knew that, but was it so wrong to hope that someone else would just deal with Joseph for them. Why did it have to be her that the Seed’s fucked with the most? The sweet, goofy deputy, who he lov-, woah there Sharky. He had never really cared for someone like he cared for you, but maybe it was too soon. He couldn’t risk scaring you off by being a lovestruck idiot. He just couldn’t handle losing you by any means. Lost in thought he absent mindedly began picking up the remains of the walkie-talkie. Just a few more days...just a few more days.

A/N Hey I finally posted this. Lemme know if anybody else wants to be tagged. 

Tags: @naromoreau @anzellla

[jumpingkeito]

Damn Him

Title: Damn Him

Pairing: Nakajima Yuto/Reader

Genre: Drabble

Rating: PG-16

Warnings: some cursing and mentions of sex

***

There's two types of people in this world. The innocent and the evil. At least that's what you thought, until you met him. The innocent demon, you had dubbed him. A confusing, mess of a human. You thought you had had the world all figured out and in walks this charming man with a sweet smile on his face and the eyes of a person whose seen to much.

He said his name was Nakajima Yuto. Damn him, you thought. Damn him and his perfect little face and the way his eyes would crinkle. Damn him and his stupid wide ass smirk. Damn his sexy body and the way he'd look at you like a lollipop then turn to someone else with a halo floating above his head. Nakajima Yuto walked into your life and ruined everything.

You knew which type of person you were in this world: evil. You'd do anything to get your way to the top, and you didn't have to be nice. Why be nice to people who'll eventually be below you? You were attractive, and knew how to bend people to meet your will. And you were going to get that promotion. You were going to become chief of the department if it took you hald your life to get it. Once you got that position, you thought, everything will be easier for you. You'd just have to secure it. Easier said than done. So you scheduled a meeting with the boss.

"I understand you are pushing for a promotion as department chief?" your boss asked you, face stoic and void of any expression.

"Yes sir. I am aiming for that position. I have reasons to believe that with me in charge, we can propel this company further. " you nodded. You'd just have to break through that stone exterior of his and then everything would be smooth sailing.

"You aren't wrong about that. Your track record is amazing. However there is one problem."

A problem? There shouldn't be any problems. You should have this in the bag.

"Ms. Lia, send him in please." your boss rang his secretary. Him? Who is him?

A man walked in, and you felt his gaze bore into you as he walked past and took the seat next to you.

"This is Nakajima Yuto. He's my nephew. And he is also aiming for that position."

What. The. Fuck.

Nakajima Yuto turned to you and offered his hand to you.

"It's so nice to meet you! You're legendary around this building you know? You're an incredible worker, so this is such an honor to me." he shook your hand vigorously. You felt yourself smirk internally. Ah, an innocent one. He was the boss' nephew and around your age. Plus, he was fairly attractive. It wouldn't be bad to work your magic on him. He could prove very useful. Except in a split second his expression changed, and suddenly he had narrow eyes and a smirk that threatened to devour you and your entire career in one bite.

"Pleasure is mine, Nakajima sir." you said, tightening your grip to match his now evil demeanor.

"The two of you will be in the same department and working together to tackle the oil project. Although it'll be a group effort, only one will be selected for this position. So work hard both of you. And, Yuto? No favoritism." your boss said. Nakajima nodded, and the two of you were dismissed.

As soon as you both were alone you grabbed him by the arm.

"What's your deal?" you hissed, ready to step on him and crush him. He whirled around with that same demon-like expression.

"I just want the position as much as you." he said, before his innocent lamb smile appeared again.

"So let's work together and help complete the oil project as well as we can!" He patted your shoulder, before walking away. You felt your fists clench before storming away.

***

"Hah. Sounds like you've met your match." Yamada chuckled as you angrily retold him the day's events. You drew a puff from a cigarette, exhaling with much annoyance.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, glaring.

"Acts sweet, is secretly evil." Yamada chuckled.

"Not secretly evil. Is evil." you corrected him, before snuffing out the cigarette. You got a headache just thinking about that tall stupid man.

"Another round?" Yamada asked, hand ready to call the bartender over.

"Why the hell not?" you nodded, before downing a shot to forget about that stupid Nakajima Yuto.

Except you couldn't. It was like he had taken control of your mind so that he was on it 24/7. Sometimes you even wished you could switch brains with someone to avoid even thinking about his name ever again. And the worst part of all this?

He was an amazing worker. You've never met someone who could match your pace so smoothly. The oil project was going well, and everything seemed hunky dory. You thought you were guaranteed that position but the more you saw him work the more doubts that filled your brain.

"Shit." you muttered as you put your head down on the railing of the balcony on one of your office's floor. You were so close to getting that position that it pissed you off. So quickly you pulled out a cigarette to call yourself down.

"Smoking isn't a good thing you know, Ms. Perfect." a voice sounded. You knew exactly who that was.

"What the hell do you want Nakajima?" you asked, not bothering to lift your head up and face him.

"Uncle-- I mean boss wants to meet us in half an hour. He didn't say why." Nakajima said. That got your attention. You raised your head.

"Half an hour?" you clarified.

"Half an hour." he confirmed, before leaving.

***

"Ah, sit you two. This'll be fairly quick." your boss gestured to his chairs, and the two of you sat.

"Is something wrong sir?" you asked, heart secretly beating erratically.

"On the contrary, things are amazing! The two of you make such an amazing pair. The oil project went so well, that the company is requesting an extension." you and Nakajima exchanged excited glances, before you realized you had just shared a happy moment with your enemy and so you turned your head away.

"And so, because the project seems to be expanding into a hopefully large scale and permanent thing, we decided to give the both of you a department dedicated to running this project. The two of you will lead it."

You were stunned. You didn't know how to react. On one side you were beyond thrilled, after all you had just gotten everything you've hoped for. But on the other side, you realized you had to share your hopes and dreams with the innocent demon man.

The two of you left and went to sit in your new shared office, not talking to each other. You admired how nice it was to have your own space. You noted a nice faint musky smell, before realizing it was Nakajima's cologne and frowning. Suddenly, Nakajima broke the silence.

"So... We'll be permanently together, maybe we should get along?" he suggested. You snorted.

"You're joking right." as soon as you looked up your realized how close he was to you.

"Uh, personal space much?" you commented with sarcasm dripping from your tone. But he didn't budge. It was there where you realized how nice his skin was and how he had this scar on his upper lip or how you could sometimes see muscles rippling through his work shirt. And you got hungry. You swallowed, tongue flipping out to lick your lips. Well damn, you were now lusting over the man who is your enemy.

"I suppose we should get along." you whispered, and he toon your arm and whisked you away to a place where he made you see stars from above.

***

"Damn you, Yuto." you said when he handed you an important document but ruined it with highly suggestive handwritten words on the top. He even signed it, as if he was proud of crudely talking about sex in the workplace and wanted to announce to the world how dumb and immature their department leader was.

"You know, you should stop cursing. It's not very elegant." he said, eyebrows wiggling.

"Fuck you." you spat, throwing the document back at him. He laughed, catching it with ease.

"Love you too!"

Damn him for being so good at making you mad.

Damn him for being so good in bed.

Damn him for being so good at making you smile.

[thorne93]

Curious Conundrum (Part 31)

Prompt: You’re John Watson’s sister. One day you decide to visit your brother for lunch, only to meet the infamous Mr. Holmes…

Word Count: 1682

Warnings: language, flirtation, sexual innuendos (maybe? idfk), murder/crime/case related stuff, angst, jealousy…

Notes: Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong Not only did she beta, but I literally couldn’t have written half these scenes without her help. She contributed majorly, even wrote some parts of scenes. I am forever in her debt.

Also, this starts AFTER Season 2, episode 1. I don’t follow all the episodes, but it does follow the timeline and hit some major events : )

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |  Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 |

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the early spring, your beautiful niece Rosie was born. John and Mary asked that you and Sherlock be the godparents. You nearly jumped at the thought, something Sherlock didn’t quite understand but was honored, nonetheless.

All was still not entirely settled around the lives of the Holmes and the Watsons as it seemed someone was trying to dredge up Mary’s past. Six busted Margaret Thatcher busts made that clear. Eventually, Mary realized her past was catching up with her so she left. In her letter to John, she tried to make it apparent that she was not running, she was temporarily relocating.

Eventually, John and Sherlock found her. Easy, considering the three of you had talked about approaching her. John suggested the tracker. Sherlock had it fashioned, installed, and then confronted her. She went on the lamb that night.

But then they located her and convinced her to come back home. That still left the puzzle as to why Ajay thought Mary had betrayed him and the rest of AGRA. Sherlock had worked it out and sent texts to John and Mary, to which he called you.

“Y/N, I need you to meet me at the London aquarium. Take the service entrance.”

“Why?”

“Vivian Norbury. She’s behind it all.”

“Not Smallwood?”

“No. It’s Norbury, the secretary. Nobody expects it but--”

“But they hear and see everything,” you finished.

“Precisely.”

“Wait, but why the service entrance?”

“I am going to find her there, at her favorite spot. Her office just told me about it. I think she’s bold enough to double cross the British government and a group of highly trained assassins, she’s bold enough to bring a gun to her exposition.”

“Let’s just call Lestrade,” you said.

“No, he’ll never make it. She knows we’re onto her. She’ll flee, he’ll be too late. I’m almost there.”

By now you had hailed a cab, and were climbing in.

“Okay, fine, service entrance. Then what?”

“Wait. She’s going to want to tell me why she did it all. I’ll stall her for as long as I can until the police do arrive. In case she tries to run or kill us, I need you there. Tell no one you’re coming.”

“Okay.”

You did as you were told and when you arrived, you took the service doors. You tried to find your way through the maze of windowless walls and cold corridors. Eventually, you came out at far end of the hall, and looked to your left, seeing an old woman holding a gun.

In the shadows, you tiptoe down the corridor, until you were just outside the room.

“Maybe I can still surprise you,” she said and she pulled her gun up, aiming it.

“Now come on, be sensible,” Lestrade’s voice carried.

You peeked around the corner to see just who she was pointing at, and it was mainly trained on Sherlock and Mary.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said and you knew she was about to shoot. This woman was cornered like a wounded, wild animal.

Nothing went through your head except saving Mary and Sherlock. No afterthought. No hesitation. No weighing the options. You knew there would be no time for that. The moment you ran from your hiding place in the shadows, was the moment she fired her weapon.

A loud bang hit your ears first. Then you noticed you’d been propelled into Sherlock’s arms. At first, you wondered if you had tripped on your way over to him, but then the sting in your lower back started to settle in. Then that sting turned to a strong burning, concentrated sensation in your body.

Sherlock grabbed you, holding you tight as you became dead weight in his arms. Mary gasped as her eyes grew wide. She helped Sherlock try and ease you down to the ground.

“Call an ambulance,” she ordered as she turned to Lestrade and his team.

“Sherlock?” you said, wincing in pain.

“I’m here. I’m right here,” he assured as he took your hand, his face a flurry of emotions.

“Hiding in the service entrance was a stupid idea,” you remarked.

“Sherlock, she’s bleeding a lot,” Mary noted quietly.

“I know,” he said through clenched teeth.

A second later, John showed up.

“Y/N? Y/N!” he exclaimed when he realized you’d been hit. “Let me through!” he barked at everyone, and everyone obliged except Sherlock. He couldn’t move an inch.

“Oh god, she’s been shot,” he murmured. “Alright, Y/N, I need to roll you to your stomach to stop some of the bleeding.”

“Okay, doc,” you teased, trying not to show too much discomfort. He helped you roll over to your stomach and then he peeled up your shirt to look at the wound. “No exit wound. Alright. Where is the bloody ambulance!” John shouted as he turned around.

“John, I… I feel cold,” you stated. “Is that normal?”

“Yes, that’s perfectly normal,” he said, lying to you as he pulled off his jacket and draped it over you. You were going into shock and he needed to stop it, now.

Before you knew what was really happening, paramedics had arrived and they were getting you secured onto a stretcher. They said only one person could ride with you. In this case, you wanted your brother. You trusted him, and you knew he would be a nervous wreck if he wasn’t in there with you. And if anything went wrong, it was another pair of medical hands on board. Mary followed in her car with Sherlock.

You were in surgery for only an hour, but it felt like an entire day passed when you woke up.

The doctors brought in your family to explain what they had seen and what you needed to do. According to them you were very lucky. It grazed your hip bone, shattering a very small portion on the top, barely touched any major organs. The most difficult thing was to stop the bleeding and get the bullet out for them.

Eventually, they got it out, stitched and bandaged you up. They wanted you in the hospital for a few more days to make sure the stitches didn’t come out and that you didn’t start to bleed internally.

As soon as the doctor gave them the information on how to keep you on the road to recovery, he left.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” John demanded, shouting at you.

“I wasn’t,” you admitted quietly.

“You’re damn right you weren’t! You could’ve been killed!”

“I know, but all I could think of was saving Mary and Sherlock. I saw that gun on them and… nothing else mattered.”

John shook his head in disbelief before he drug a hand down his face. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, shouting at the poor girl isn’t going to help,” Mary insisted.

“It might make her think with some bloody sense!” John retorted, his voice still raised.

“John Hamish Watson, you listen to me. Your sister was just shot. She took a bullet for me and your friend. You start showing her the love she needs right now or so help me I will personally kick you out of this hospital room,” Mary ordered.

John looked stunned at first but then he shook his head, knowing she was right. You didn’t need a lecture right now, you needed care and love.

“Yeah, alright, you’re right.” He sighed and walked over, sitting on your bed and taking your hand. “I’m sorry. You just scared me. I saw all that blood and I... “

“I know,” you assured, nodding. “It’s okay.”

Mary glanced to Sherlock who hadn’t said one word since the ambulance had arrived. “John, what do you say you and I go down and get Y/N some nice get well soon gifts?” she offered.

“What? But you just told me to be there for her,” he said, confused, his brows furrowing.

Mary’s gaze pointed at Sherlock and he caught on. Without another word, he got up and joined his wife on the way out of the door.

“What’s wrong?” you inquired with a worried tone. Sherlock being quiet only meant one thing: deep in thought. Otherwise he never shut up.

“Me? Oh, nothing. Nothing’s wrong. How are you feeling?”

“Don’t change the subject,” you said with a sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“I told you, nothing.”

“And I told you years ago to never lie to me.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what? Take a bullet for you?” you asked incredulously, as if it weren’t obvious.

“Yes, why? My life is no more important than yours. So why?”

You chewed your lip for a moment, trying to find the words. “I love you, Sherlock. Isn’t that enough?”

“I work with lovesick fools all the time, very few of them would literally take a bullet for someone so why me?” he insisted, his eyes glinting with a touch of anger.

“Because I’ve already lived through losing you once. I won’t do it again,” you informed.

A painful, sorrowful look colored his handsome expression. You wanted to feel bad, but it was the truth.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I know that does awful things to your conscience but its the truth. The idea of losing you or John losing Mary killed me. I couldn’t let it happen. I can't bear the thought of going through life again without you.”

Venom filled his voice as he retorted, “Oh, but I’m supposed to be okay with losing you?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you just did it. You decided for both of us.”

“If the shoe were on the other foot, don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same because it would be a lie.”

He met you with nothing but a cold silence.

“Feel better. I’m going home to grab some things for you.”

Not another word could be spoken, for he turned quickly and sped out of the room. You let out a breath and John and Mary returned. Clearly, the road ahead wasn’t going to be easy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: The Stan Who Came to Dinner

Dorothy’s ex-husband comes to the Girls for help when he has to have heart surgery. Then they can’t get him to leave.

Picture It...

It’s a busy night for the Girls, as Blanche and Dorothy are getting ready for a double date while Rose is cooking. Sophia begrudgingly admits a set of twin brothers, the dates in question. Blanche and Dorothy greet them, with Dorothy constantly getting their names mixed up (not helped by the fact that, given one is named Rob and the other Bob, they must both be named Robert). As they are preparing to go, there’s a ring of the bell, and it’s Stan.

BLANCHE: Oh, Stan is her ex-husband. Biggest loser you’ll ever see. Good evening, Stan! STAN: Always good to see you too, dollface.

Stan asks that Dorothy stay, quietly distraught, and tells her that he needs her help as he’s about to have surgery. Dorothy, realizing this is serious, asks Rose to fill in for her on the date. Blanche ends up going on the date solo, perhaps a bit too keen on the idea of dating twins. Meanwhile, Dorothy takes Stan into the kitchen where he tells her he’s having heart bypass surgery within the week. He’s not feeling too great about his prospects.

Sophia enters and, in response to the news, points out that the surgery won’t be the hard part: Who’s going to look after Stan while he’s recovering? Both she and Dorothy invite Stan to stay with them after the surgery so they can take care of him, for which he thanks them profusely. Sometime later, the Girls are helping him unpack his things in Dorothy’s room, as she’ll be bunking with Sophia. Blanche and Rose bid him an awkward good luck.

ROSE: Well, tomorrow’s the big day! Are you excited? BLANCHE: Rose, he’s having a bypass, not going off to college.

Alone with Dorothy, Stan despairs, believing he’s going to die. He chooses to take this moment to unburden himself to Dorothy. Apparently Crissy was not his first affair -- he had a fling with a waitress he took to Atlantic City, a woman he met in a bar, and his blonde secretary. Dorothy is furious that he strayed that much during their marriage. Stan apologizes to her and says he wants her to know that he loves her more than anything. She eventually forgives him, but not before hitting him in the groin with his overnight bag.

The next day at the hospital, Dorothy is fretting in the waiting room. She tells the other Girls she’s surprised at how scared and upset she is, and she must still feel some attachment to Stan. Blanche distracts her with a story of how she once flirted with some truckers while George was out of town. The doctor arrives and says Stan made it through the surgery alright, and that he’ll be in the hospital for a while longer, which leaves Dorothy in tears. Then he tells them that Stan should be as good as new... within three months. Dorothy bursts into tears for an entirely different reason.

ROSE: Stan, I am never going to forgive you for this. My niece is getting married in the spring. What’s her husband gonna do? BLANCHE: I bet a gravy boat would work in a pinch.

Two months later, Sophia is watching wrestling on TV, with Stan as an unwelcome guest. Blanche arrives home with one of the twins and Stan unintentionally drives him off by getting his name wrong and implying Blanche was seeing the other twin too. Just as Blanche is getting ready to lay into him, Rose enters, equally furious that he broke a family heirloom plate (which plays a rather disgusting role in St. Olafian weddings).

Dorothy arrives home and the other Girls tell her how tired they are of Stan. She insists he’s still recovering and can’t yet leave. Rose tries to illustrate how Stan’s getting too comfortable with a St. Olaf Story about weaning a pet lamb with a woolly inner tube and how that ended in disaster. Blanche agrees with the point, but Dorothy insists that Stan isn’t taking advantage of them. Stan enters at that moment in Dorothy’s robe, picks up the cheesecake they were about to eat, and starts wolfing it down.

STAN: What can I say? The heart’s a funny organ. BLANCHE: I bet most of your organs get a laugh. STAN: Blanche, I sense some hostility. BLANCHE: Good, because I hate you.

Sometime later, Blanche and Rose are needling Stan, who is lounging in bed, about the fact that he’s apparently had a relapse just as the doctor okayed him to move back into his own apartment. Blanche is hostile, and Rose even snaps on him, which shows you just how thoroughly Stan has worn out his welcome. Dorothy is more supportive, saying the doctor reports a relapse isn’t unusual. She tells him to rest when he asks her to hand him the TV remote, and gets up to leave the room.

No sooner is she out of the room than Stan leaps up, turns on the TV, and starts following along with a basketball game. Dorothy almost immediately comes back and catches him. He tries to play it off, but she angrily asks why he would fake his relapse. He confesses that he’s scared of being alone, but Dorothy immediately clocks that he mostly was enjoying being taken care of by the Girls. She does believe he was scared, but she says he can’t come back to her for solace anymore -- she bounced back after their divorce, now he has to do the same. She leaves him alone with one final line:

“Happy birthday, Peter Pan.”

“How would you like me to fix your face so the two of you don’t look like twins anymore?”

Stanley returns once more in yet another episode that has him in a bind -- and I think by now the character has been so thoroughly trashed by karma following his nasty first appearance that you can’t help but feel sorry for him. First he lost his younger wife, then he lost his business, and now he’s having open-heart surgery. It’d be tragic if he didn’t become a big drain on the Girls’ hospitality. This is not a perfect episode, but the Stan episodes are almost always fun.

SOPHIA: You know Blanche, I have a recurring dream. John Cameron Swayze straps a Timex to my chin and tosses me across an icy pond. I looked it up in a book of symbols but it wasn’t there. *Blanche looks at her expectantly* SOPHIA: That’s it, I’m done! What do you want me to do, bring down a curtain?

This episode, while not amazing, does show the Girls doing something kind for someone -- even Blanche and Rose, who have no real reason to want to help Stan. Sure, it backfires on them when Stan takes advantage, but it’s still nice to see them being so willing to help. Even Sophia, who hates Stan, makes the point that he’s still part of their family. If nothing else, the fact that Stan does end up being a mooch gives a good reason for all of the Girls to despise him in all future episodes -- which they do.

The structure of the episode itself almost seems designed to make you feel the Girls’ frustration. There’s no B-plot to the story, just hints about the Girls going about their everyday lives, as if Stan is taking up so much of the air that there isn’t even any left for the side story. The part about Blanche dating a set of twins even ends up playing into the main plot about halfway through the episode and then is never brought up again.

DOROTHY: *after the St. Olaf Story* I think I’m beginning to see your point. BLANCHE: You do? DOROTHY: Who cares? You wanna hear the sequel?

As always, Stan and Dorothy’s relationship is shown to be fairly complex. During the surgery, Dorothy says she’s scared that Stan will die, and that she will feel like his widow even if they’re not married anymore. As she says, you can’t just turn off 38 years’ worth of care and affection, no matter how bitter their divorce. It’s also telling that, when he’s faced with something as serious as bypass surgery, Dorothy was the first person he came to. Bea Arthur said in the reunion special, Their Greatest Moments, that she loved working with Herb Edelman and felt that the audience could see the Zbornak marriage had juice at one point.

But as Dorothy says at the end of the episode, their lingering emotional entanglement doesn’t mean that he can impose upon her, emotionally or otherwise. And he does do so, both after his surgery and before, when he chooses to unburden himself about his multiple past affairs to make himself feel better. While Stan’s entitlement and oafishness this episode can be a bit grinding, it’s nice to see the dynamics of his evolving relationship with Dorothy play out. Edelman’s chemistry with all of the actresses is as strong as ever, especially as he interacts with Rose and Blanche onscreen for the first time.

DOROTHY: Surgery? SOPHIA: Finally going ahead with that hair transplant? STAN: *points at his toupee* Sophia, not everybody knows this isn’t real. DOROTHY: Oh please, Stevie Wonder could tell it’s a rug.

Blanche and Rose play support in this episode, basically doing nothing but getting irritated at Stan and trying to get Dorothy to see his manipulations. Since there is no B-plot, they basically trade off doing mid-episode monologues. Blanche tells a story about accidentally leaving her wedding band on while out flirting with strangers (she clarifies that she was never unfaithful), while Rose tells a story about giving a weaning lamb a fake mother made out of an inner tube, which backfired just as their current act of kindness has.

The episode has a lack of Sophia -- she has one scene with Stan post-surgery and then completely vanishes from the episode. However, she does have most of the best lines of the episode, and she’s also the one that suggests Stan recuperate at the Girls’ house. I appreciate her sense of compassion for Stan, even if she’s not the best at showing it. We also get a little bit more of how specifically irreverent she is within the walls of a hospital, as she apparently stole cookies from a grievously injured friend.

SOPHIA: [As none of the other Girls can get the door] Sure, why not? I’m over 80. I’ve had plenty of chances to rest in my lifetime. Today alone, I probably sat down 3, 4 times. I’ll answer the door and then I’ll hot tar the roof. *she opens the door* ROB and BOB: Hello. SOPHIA: Hello. Tell me, how many of me do you see? BOB: We’re twins. ROB: We’re here to see Blanche. SOPHIA: I guess she’s back on the vitamins. Come on in.

As a final note, I love this week’s St. Olaf Story, because it’s possibly the strangest one yet. Rose tells a story about the town’s wedding traditions, wherein guests eat from an heirloom wedding plate. Then, on the wedding night in a tent ... or a Best Western (”The Vikings have always been a very progressive people”), the husband “offers” himself to his bride via the plate. I don’t want to sound culturally insensitive, but that’s strange even for a Viking wedding -- and I’ve heard that at least some Viking weddings involved grave robbery, animal sacrifice, and the interpretation of the bride’s dreams.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰🍰 (three cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite part of the episode:

It’s not often Rose loses it on someone, and this time is one of my favorites:

ROSE: [Blanche is] just a little edgy because we’ve been taking care of you for two months. You’ve been eating us out of house and home and making life generally unbearable. STAN: That’s not a very charitable view to take. What are you making for lunch? ROSE: You listen here, mister. We’ve been more than charitable! In the village my ancestors came from, if a man was bad company, unable to provide for his family, and not much fun under the old yakskin, the women would leave him out in the snow to die! *she storms out* STAN:...tough village.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

renegade

pre xf/spoilers for the end, diana fowley fic, diana/mulder. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

summary: Why Diana Fowley went over to the other side.

note: Yes, I wrote a Diana fic. I was gonna wait until later in the arc, but damnit, her role in The End was intriguing. This all came pouring out so quickly I can barely believe it, and was more fun than it possibly should be. Enjoy!

When she was a little kid, the kids on the playground had called her Diana Foul when they were trying to be mean. She hated the nickname, of course, never felt it fit until she joined forces with her ex-boyfriend’s worst enemies. If this were a movie, she'd be absolutely hated. And maybe she'd deserve it.

It might’ve been honorable at first. Perhaps. She'd been called into a meeting with some section chief, and she'd thought it had something to do with how much she and Fox had fucked up some case. Or maybe the small diamond on her left hand. (They'd been engaged for a few months, with no wedding date in sight; they'd pass a court house every now and then, and he'd raise his eyebrows, and she'd laugh and remind him that they were in pursuit of some paranormal entity, and that was it.) It had nothing to do with either of those things. The man behind the desk had wolf-smiled at her across the table and slid a manila folder, the other men looking down their noses at her. Diana’s breath caught in her throat as she flipped open the top of the folder and saw what was in there: her one sign of weakness. (She had a perfect poker face, Fox had told her again and again, usually grinning; she'd been beaten up at age twelve by the same kids who used to call her Foul, gave them a blank look the entire time even as they punched her in the face and stomach, didn't look angry or cry. Don't show your cards, her father always used to tell her, and she was good at that. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried.)

In the file was pictures, practically of Diana’s entire life. Her and Fox in their apartment, in crappy, low-lit diners. At her graduation from Quantico, running the courses through the woods, looking like The Silence of the Lambs was made about her life. College, high school, learning to drive in her father's rickety old car. Climbing trees with her sisters in the front yard. Nursing skinned knees under her skirts, reading Stephen King books on her front stoop with the end of one of her braids stuck in her mouth. Pictures of her mother when she was still alive, pushing Diana on the swings, holding her hand as they walked towards her first day of school together.

“You've been observed, Diana,” the man told her. “And we've been pleased by what we've seen.”

Diana shut the folder, smoothed it with her right, ringless hand. “And what the hell does that mean,” she said in an even voice.

They told her. They told her exactly what they wanted her to do, lest she suffer the consequences. “We have… creative methods,” the man said seriously, folding his hands. He wore a wedding band, and Diana wondered what his family had to do for their cause. (This was because of her mother's job as secretary to a senator, they told her. And the cancer that had killed her hadn't come out of nowhere.)

“Why me?” she demanded. “Why not one of my sisters?” Why ask when you never asked my mother?

“Because you have a government background,” said the man in the corner. (The one smoking.) “And because we think you'll do it.”

“It'd be a shame if one of your sisters were to suffer a car accident,” said the man behind the desk, tenting his fingers on top. “Or if your father took a spill down the stairs. Or if poor, misguided Agent Mulder were to go missing. Abducted by his ‘little green men’.”

There are some things worse than death. Diana understood. She signed the papers.

-

Reassignment, she told him. Showed him the order with a sad little smile.

She could see Fox considering weighing out the options: rock the boat and risk the files, his sister, so she could stay? Or let her go and live alone? He finally pulled her to him and gave a half-hearted, “We could file a protest…”

“No, we couldn't, and you know it,” she said, her fingers petting his stubbly jaw. “This work is too important, Fox.” More important than you know.

He knew what she was saying was true, but he didn't want to know it. He leaned down and kissed her, mumbled, “I don't want to lose you,” into her mouth.

Diana kissed him back, briskly, before pulling away, her arms around his neck. “You won't,” she said. She didn't know if she was lying or not. “We can do long-distance, right? You did long distance with that guy from England for a while.”

Fox scoffed out a laugh. “Yeah, because that went over so well,” he said. (They'd been friends before they were lovers, partners, engaged, and Diana could remember hearing one half of the breakup while sprawled out on his bed in his dorm, reading a chapter in their textbook. It had been something of a tragedy. Fox had the tendency for the dramatic; she saw it every time they got into a fight.)

“This is different.” She twisted the ring on her finger pointedly. “Once you find the truth, then we can…”

“Run away together?” Fox said bitterly.

She made a face at him and kissed him again. “Don't make this any harder than it has to be, Fox,” she said. “I have to go.”

A result of Fox’s ruined childhood, she'd thought more than once, was his childish tendencies. He had a perfect pout, one that made you want to do things for him. “I don't want you to,” he said, pushing hair behind her ear.

For a split second, she considered telling him the truth. Reconsidered. It was too dangerous. She kissed him and consoled him and convinced him. She'd write him, call him, visit him if she could. She wouldn't take off the ring. He helped her pack, drove her to the airport and kissed her at the gate. Told her he loved her with his hands at her waist.

She considered him for a moment, rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Remember to feed the fish, Mulder,” she said. Calling him what his friends called him. It was the beginning of the end.

-

At first, she was good about writing. He was better—he wrote her long, rambling letters, made excuses to call long distance. Fox Mulder was nothing if not a romantic. She thought she might still love him with his voice echoing in her ear, traveling the space of oceans. She'd twist the ring he gave her around her finger when she was bored.

Eventually, she stopped writing. And she'd still answer the phone when he called, but there was a distance between them outside of miles, and she let him hear it. Eventually, he stopped calling and writing, too. She took off the ring and mailed it back to him at the end of 1992. It was over.

She didn't go to Thanksgiving back home because they wouldn't let her, but she picked up the phone when her father called. She wondered if he knew he had lost a wife, and now was losing a daughter, to this. She wondered how much he understood. She pinned up the pictures her oldest sister sent of her kids over her desk. But more often than not, her family slipped through the cracks and into the hiding place she'd put Fox in. She packed away her loved ones in a box because you couldn't afford attachments. Not with this life.

-

She'd hated the work at first. She'd been met at the airport in Berlin by two men with concealed weapons, who escorted her to a car, to the facility where she'd be working, to her new apartment. She'd smoked cigarettes out on the crowded patch of roof she called a balcony every night, planning her escape. Planning how she'd sabotage them, these people who killed her mother.

But it was funny how these things change. Diana found herself doing challenging work with frightening people, learning secrets she never would've learned otherwise. It was exciting, heart-pounding thrill. The secret was that they were at war, and by signing away her life, she'd guaranteed herself a spot on the winning side.

She asked for protection for her family and they gave it. She asked for a nicer apartment and they gave it. She asked for money, glamour, advantages, and they gave it. She followed their rules and was rewarded. She was no better than a dog.

But, she was reminded again and again, she had an advantage most women did not have in this profession. Remember your mother, she was often told. Her mother was asked to help them and she refused, so they wiped her memory and gave her a terminal illness triggered by shrapnel in her neck. Diana agreed, and so she was protected, but she was reminded all too often of what could've been. Fox got a new partner in 1993, and she knew of this because she was still expected to keep tabs on him even if she wasn't communicating with him or wearing his ring. This new partner wasn't given the whole story, but she was expected to spy and she broke the rules. They had files on this girl going back through her entire life, just like Diana. She was always a planned abductee, but they moved up the date because she broke the rules, because Fox was getting too close. Diana never met the girl, but she was told the story over a crackly phone call from the smoker, the one who sent her a package of cigarettes every Christmas. That could've been me, she told herself. If I'd stayed with Fox. If I'd fought back. There are things worse than death, and she'd rather be a lapdog than a lab rat.

The years kept moving forward, one after the other, and Diana began to enjoy the work. It was challenging, exciting, to play God a little. She pulled back her hair and went to the labs, studied creatures she and Fox never could've imagined when they told each other horror stories in bed. He would like it here, she thought, if they'd recruited him the right way. If they hadn't taken his sister.

(She knew what happened to his sister. She'd known from the moment she'd arrived here.)

It wasn't all Fox. By 1994, she'd nearly forgotten him, and by 1995, he was gone from her mind completely. She'd almost married the man, but what did that mean? She stopped wondering what he'd say to things, stopped thinking about him on lonely nights, stopped thinking about his sister. She had no regrets at this point; she'd made the best choice to keep herself and her family safe. The young, green agent she'd once been who'd thought she'd prove the existence of aliens and save the world seemed naive today. She hadn't really known anything, and neither had Fox. She was so much wiser now.

She had nearly forgotten him completely when they came to her halfway through 1997. They needed her to go back to Washington, they said. They needed her to gather intel on Fox—Mulder, they called him—and they wanted her to quit smoking first. Cigarette smoke would make him suspicious, they said, think she was working with him. Nicotine stench would give her away.

It was hard, but she did manage to quit. Do what they say or there will be consequences. Sitting in her new, unguarded apartment with her feet up in the windowsill and an unlit cigarette in her left hand, Diana let herself think about Fox Mulder again. It had been years. She wondered about that new partner of his. She wondered how he'd changed.

-

In Washington, nearly a year later, she ended up partnered with Fox and his new partner—well, not so new anymore; she'd lasted five years, longer than Diana had—on the case of a boy, Gibson Praise, who Mulder believed was the subject of an assassination attempt. The new partner was Dana Scully, and she was polite to Diana until she saw the connection between them. Diana saw things, too—for example, the way that Dana looked at him, and the way Fox might’ve been looking back if he hadn't been looking at Diana, looking at the mystery laid before him. She'd heard the stories of Fox’s reactions when his partner was in danger: shoving a gun in Spender’s face,  What a fluke, she told herself. Fox Mulder has fallen in love with two women who can speak German in a period of ten years. (Because after six years in Berlin, of course she could speak it, and she knew Dana could. She knew everything about her.)

She'd told herself, again and again, that she wasn't in love with Fox anymore. And she wasn't. Six years is a long time. But she was intrigued by him, the man he had become. He had changed so much and not changed at all, all at once. His eyes lit up at the prospect of the boy being able to read minds, and Diana had to smile. It was so him, and she had forgotten. But now she was remembering: discussing X-Files in startled, excited tones late into the night, driving through small towns and breaking into government facilities, running away from things. Always running. The way he tasted like nicotine and sunflower seeds when she kissed him. (They'd used to smoke together, she hadn't understood his aversion to it until she'd heard of his excursions with the smoker—Spender, she knew his name now. Creepy motherfucker.) When Gibson said that Fox was thinking about either her or Dana, she was genuinely curious. She asked, “Which one?” innocently, like she didn't know it was her thinking about him. (She didn't know who he was thinking of. God, she was worse than a schoolgirl with a crush. She reminded herself that she had a job to do.)

The first time she talked with Fox (she was still calling him Mulder out loud, but Fox in her head), she layered on the compliments, buttering him up before letting it slip into his mind that Dana may not be the best partner for him. (If she could get him to prefer her to Dana, than it would make her job all the easier.) He laughed a little with her before clarifying, “She’s a, uh… she’s a scientist. She just makes me work for everything.”

She knew. She knew it all. “Yes,” she said, “but I’m… I’m sure there were times when two like minds on a case would have been advantageous.”

He nodded, said, “I've done okay without you.” A defense mechanism, but in defense of Dana, or himself, she couldn't tell.

An awkward silence between them for a moment. “Hey,” she said in teasing reassurance. She reached for his hand and took it, sliding her own callused fingers over his. FBI agents don't have smooth hands. “I'm on your side.”

If he knew who she had been working for all the years, he would hate her, rip away from her, shout at her with all the anger she'd seen aimed at others. He smiled, squeezing her hand. He had to believe she was on his side.

Just for a moment, holding his hand and remembering the days before she left, when she wore his ring, Diana wished she was.

[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTES: Sorry about that huge delay - that was totally unintentional. I've been trying to make a game, which I know, is a completely ridiculous thing for me to do considering I've never tried to do that before. Also, I'm terrible at it as it turns out, haha. BUT! If I ever finish it, you'll be the first to know - I'll also probably post it to AO3 if it's at all possible.

Hopefully, the length of this chapter (and the sheer amount of events set off in it) help to make up for it! We're doing a time-hop forward. Part Two is much longer, and Part Three will be about the same length as Two. Have fun!

                                                  ~ PART TWO ~

                                                  CHAPTER SIX

"Come on, Illianora, spill! What did they say, exactly?"

The round-faced girl smiled back at her friends, swinging her legs back and forth just below her chair in the corner of the inn they so often met up in for lunch. Any fool could tell that this was a unique opportunity for her to be the center of attention, and she was about to milk it for all she was worth. Not that anyone other than the barkeep and the one or two of the customers were going to pay them the slightest bit of attention — and the former only because he distrusted anyone who had not come to the age of adulthood.

"Oh, come on, you don't want to hear this boring old Emerald City gossip."

"We do, we do!"

"Okay," she giggled, relenting far too easily. Scooting a bit closer, she said, "Well. First, they were making this big proclamation about appointing Fiyero to be Captain of the Guard!"

There were a chorus of gasps. One of the other girls whispered, "Not Prince Fiyero!"

"Yes! I mean, I really wanted to go congratulate him… tell him personally how proud we all were of him. A Vinkus man being given such a high position in the Wizard's army! Put in charge of the search for the Witches themselves! But I couldn't get close, of course."

"You wanted to tell him how much you wanted to be his wife," another girl accused. When Illianora only shrugged, they all laughed. "Knew it! You're shameless!"

"Oh, stop that; you know I'm only interested in Liir. Even if Fiyero is a handsome devil." Then her eyes sparkled. "But I haven't told you the half of it! The press secretary — Marble something — she announced that after almost two years of searching all of Oz, they're finally tracking down where the other two Wicked Witches are hiding!"

More gasps, these of a different nature. Darker, more fearful; still just as excited and eager for hearsay as the ones over the guard captain, but laced with the appropriate apprehension.

"Well?" one of the girls needled, given that Illianora had taken overlong continuing. "Where?"

"Here."

"Here? You mean the Vinkus?" When she only shrugged again, she pressed, "Not in Kiamo Ko?!" They turned to each other with whispers of alarm. This was a lot more personal, more pronounced, than the quick jolt of adrenaline they felt about the vague existence of the witches. This was local.

"Well, maybe not in Kiamo Ko specifically, but in the Vinkus, at least. We all know they've patrolled our streets enough to have flushed out any two witches."

"Have they? I hear they can shed their skins as easily as a snake!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sarima," another girl snapped. "Go on, Nora, tell us what else the Marble woman said — further north? South? Or out West?"

"Might be West, because they kept calling them 'The Wicked Witches of the West'... though that could just mean in the Vinkus," she added in a thoughtful mutter.

Sarima pushed a hand into the side of her face. "I was a lot happier dreaming about that Prince Fiyero than worrying about witches holding us for ransom." The others were quick to agree.

"That was about it," Illianora reluctantly admitted. "Just to stay alert, try to tell any Animals that still speak that she and the Wizard are offering a reward for any information on where the witches went."

"Weally?"

"Weally- I mean, really. Oh, and that they're keeping a close eye on the Witch of the East; you know, the one in Munchkinland?"

They all muttered lazily about that for a moment. By now, the strict policies and threats of that particular "witch" were well-known everywhere, even if they weren't nearly as sensational as hearing about fires and explosions and freed Animals courtesy of the other two. With no more exciting news about the East to pick apart, they just muttered for a minute or so about her before letting the subject return to the more immediate threat.

"I've heard that one is green and the other is blue," a girl whispered. "And that when they get mad, they switch!"

"That's ridiculous, Nastoya. How can a person switch colours?"

"How can a person be green or blue in the first place?" Sarima cut in, shaking her head.

After a moment, Illianora asserted herself again, hoping to recapture the spotlight from her friends. "Well, they say one of them was from Gillikin; the emerald mines are near there. Maybe there was an accident, and now she's green forever! Wouldn't that be awful?"

As they continued to chatter on, a robed figure passed behind them and left a handful of coins on the counter before making good her discreet exit. For the time being, she had heard quite enough to be going on with.

                                                  ~ o ~

"...And that's the scuttlebutt."

A green chin nodded up and down as two spindly fingers stroked either side, glittering emerald eyes sharpa as they always had been. "Intriguing. Not that I know what 'scuttlebutt' means."

"It means the butt of a scuttle, of course! Come on, Elphie, aren't you frightened?"

"Why should I be?" Gesturing around at the sparkling insides of the cave, she announced, "Saint Aelphaba is safely tucked into this hidey-hole behind Wicca Falls, where none may enter but her closest companion, Glinda the Ghastly. What's to worry about? They're no closer to finding us than they were last year. I doubt they could find their hats if they were on their own pointed heads."

Glinda the Ghastly scowled as Elphaba chuckled, folding her arms over her chest. "I don't find that particularly humourous, you know. Just because I'm resigned to living like a common criminal on the lamb doesn't mean I want to joke about it."

"Who's joking? Maybe I really am Saint Aelphaba." At Glinda's eyeroll, she gave one of her own. "Fine, you aren't in a laughing mood."

"I'm not. But… I do have some good news to go with the bad." Reaching behind her, she produced a large, round disc of light-tan bread, lips pulling into a small smile. "See what I picked up?"

"Ooh, honey loaf!" Elphaba breathed, smiling in spite of herself. "It's been awhile since we splurged. By Oz, to eat something besides fish for once!" Her fingers twitched toward it, then pulled away. "But… you bought it, I should let you break the bread."

"Here, then," she giggled as she split it in two easily and passed half of it over. "Eat up. No sense waiting another hour until supper."

As Elphaba drew it closer, she glanced upward. "You always give me the bigger half."

"Well…" Squirming, she shrugged and feigned indifference. "You're taller than me, aren't you? More to feed. I'm just being practical."

"Sure," Elphaba chuckled, breaking off a small piece to nibble. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then she said, once her hunger was not so gnawing, "I'm worried about the Animals."

"This again," Glinda sighed.

"No, listen; it's been a week since I heard from their camp in the Great Gillikin Forest. The Crows were supposed to come days ago. What can be keeping them?"

For a minute or two, Glinda simply watched her companion wring her hands. It confounded her, but yet again, as she had the past several times this subject turned in such a direction, she found herself very faintly jealous. Why should she? It was because the Animals demanded Elphaba's attention, of course, but the part that confounded her was that she cared so deeply whether or not her friend had concerns outside the two of them. Perhaps it could be merely attributed to them spending far too much time together; they were becoming codependent. It was to be expected when you were living in a cave with only one other person, but sometimes, she worried that it was going to ruin her for keeping company with others. Would she remember all of her social graces, her manners, once this crisis was over?

It had to come to an end. It had to; the Wizard and Morrible couldn't possibly keep up this witch hunt forevermore! Someday, they would find a way to bargain for the Animals to be left alone, and to return the Grimmerie to its rightful owners. She had no idea how such a plan would come together, especially after two years of feeling defeated, but she was determined to make it so. Until then, she supposed she would have to put up with playing second chair to Elphaba's zealous crusade now and then.

Her friend must have sensed her displeasure. After swallowing her current bite, she said in the soft voice Glinda had grown so accustomed to over the past years, "I missed you the past few days."

"You did not. You're just sorry I didn't bring back a Pig for companionship," she griped.

"Glindie…"

Chewing on her lip for a moment, she decided not to be too mean; it wasn't worth it. "Did you really?"

"I always do. If only I didn't stick out like a green thumb, I could go with you when you head into the cities."

"Yeah, I know. Any, um… progress on degreenifying yourself?"

"Nope," she sighed, glancing over at the Grimmerie's vaunted place on a very basic table on one cave wall, next to a candelabra of wax stumps. "You know, I did manage to turn my knee orange yesterday."

"Oh, can I see?!" When Elphaba only snorted, she wilted and mumbled, "Don't joke! I don't like it when you joke about magic, it seems… I don't know."

Throwing up both hands, Elphaba began to rise, only just catching the last bit of her honey loaf before it toppled to the grotty cave floor. "No joking about magic, or Animals, or Saint Aelphaba. What can we joke about?!"

"We can joke about how ugly I'm getting, without my makeup artists and hairdressers." When Elphaba only frowned deeply at her from the "kitchen" area of their hovel, Glinda pursed her lips. "You know I stopped caring about that after the first few months, but you still won't laugh. I always thought you'd be thrilled I gave up on that."

"But you gave up on them because they're out of reach for you, not because of disinterest." Having stashed the rest of her bread for the time being, she returned to help Glinda up. "You know I would give you back those things if I had a spell for that."

"Don't turn my knees orange," she warned, and Elphaba grinned in spite of herself. "But… you're learning to do much more important things than giving me supernatural lipstick."

Glancing around the cave, as if someone would jump out and interrupt them, Elphaba leaned in and pressed her lips against Glinda's ear. The latter shivered at the feeling of air caressing her lobe and neck, at the closeness of the vibrations of sound.

"I perfected fire."

"Perfected?" she breathed, licking her suddenly-dry lips. Elphaba knew that she was still a bit skittish about being so close as that, and she often used it to tease. This time, she could tell it was unintentional, so she did not bop her on the nose.

"Yes, perfected. Here…" Raising a hand, she began to whisper under her breath; seemed she didn't even need to read the words from the Grimmerie's pages anymore. In the very center of her palm, a plume of pale green flame began to flicker and dance.

"O-oh! It's a tiny fire! You've really done it, you- and it's not even raging out of control like the last time!"

A smile ghosted into the corners of Elphaba's mouth, and she fell silent, allowing the flame to continue its presence there. After a few more seconds, she closed the hand and it vanished. "Yes. It… well, I still feel guilty about our hut down in Yips, so I promised myself I would only practice somewhere safe. The connecting caves go deep enough that it's easy to find somewhere without any wood or brush. Look how much it's paid off!"

"It's truly wonderful, and wonderfully true; your control is getting as good as your arcane arsenal!" With a little titter, she went to join her in working on getting their supper finished. Honey loaf was well and good, but it was not enough sustenance. "And I've barely mastered the flight spell; everything else, I have to read it out of the book or I'll mess it up. Even then, I still mess it up sometimes!"

"Glinda, that's alright." Perching her free hand on her forearm, she went on, "You're the one running around Oz, trying to acquire things for us, listening in on gossip. I'm stuck here all day, hiding and waiting to talk to Crows, so this is the way I can be useful. Well, other than fishing." As she stoked the fire higher underneath the several fish spitted on a stick, she added, "And anyway, you're a lot further along than that and you know it."

"Maybe," she muttered, embarrassed by the attention toward her inferior spellwork.

"Definitely. Just keep at it and you'll be floating around over Oz in no time."

Soon after, they set to plating and eating the fish. Though they were literal cave-dwellers, Glinda had still insisted they could bother to pick up kitchenware and eat as civilised as they could manage. Elphaba cared a bit less for manners, but she still did her best to maintain some decorum for her companion's sake. After all, small gestures such as those went a long way toward keeping the peace.

It wasn't until they were washing up that Elphaba announced, "I'm thinking about visiting my sister."

"Oh?" Glinda asked as they stood in the mouth of the cave, hands outstretched to let the waterfall blast away the food remnants. They sometimes lost dishes that way due to unexpectedly powerful bursts of water, but they knew now to tighten their grip against the torrent. "You… want to see Nessa? Why?"

"It's all this talk of her being 'wicked' like us. The details are so vague, I don't… what are they talking about? She never acted the slightest bit wicked in all the years I've known her, which are all the years she's had. I know it's not really the focus of what we're trying to get done, and it might not help us clear our names, either. But… she's my sister, isn't she? For better or for worse."

At that, Glinda had to nod glumly. "I might be an only child, but I imagine having a sibling must be the bestest. A very special bond, especially! So… so why should I stand in your way if you want to see her?"

"Because it's foolish," Elphaba sighed, turning away with the cleansed dishes to dry them over the table. Glinda hurried to follow. "It's a needless risk of exposure. I'd have to be careful flying almost literally from one end of Oz to the other, and for what? To have Nessarose snap at me that I've 'disgraced the family', probably."

"Oh, come on, Elphie. She wouldn't be that cruel!"

"Wouldn't she? You've met my father. She's his child."

"So are you, and I don't see you being that cruel." When Elphaba glanced at her, she shrugged. "Not that often. We have our quarrels, but we always work them out, and you're very rarely cruel without cause."

"But I am cruel, then. Right?" Glinda didn't answer right away, and Elphaba sighed. "I'm sorry, I… sometimes, I get so passionate about saving the Animals from being muted and massacred…"

"I know," she soothed with a hand on Elphaba's back. "Of course, I understand. And… even though I hate it when you shout at me, you've never struck me or… or insulted me unless I've already insulted you somehow. So I think you're quite an admirable person, overall."

At that, Elphaba snorted and patted Glinda's arm. "Such lavish praise. If you don't want me to go and see her, I won't, but… oh, I just feel like I must. Something in my gut tells me it's important."

A sigh escaped Glinda's lips as she pondered. Not that there was much to ponder at all. "Your gut has served us well a few times before now, so I feel like it would be sheer ridiculosity to ignore it now. Go to your sister; I'll hold down the fort here."

"No, no; I must wait for the Crows. But once they have arrived… shall we go together? I want her to know that we're on her side if she's being wrongly accused." In an undertone, she added, "Besides… if she isn't wrongly accused, I might need your help escaping her clutches."

"Her 'clutches'!" Glinda giggled. But when Elphaba didn't laugh, her own petered out quickly. "Oh. You really think… little Nessie? The one in the chair?"

"Just because she's in a wheelchair doesn't mean she poses no threat. You didn't grow up with her; you don't know how manipulative she can be if it suits her purposes. Maybe she isn't a villain, but she's no perfect princess, either."

Nodding, Glinda whispered, "I'm sorry. You're right, I don't know a twigging thing about her."

"No, I'm sorry," Elphie sighed as she put away the dried dishes and utensils. "No point in spreading doom and gloom about something that hasn't happened yet."

"Then it's settled. Once we hear from our fine feathered friends, we find your family for a fisit."

Elphaba had been nodding along until the very end. "You mean 'visit', don't y- oh, nevermind." But Glinda was so pleased with herself that Elphaba couldn't frown for long.

                                                  ~ o ~

Déjà vu settled upon Glinda when she spied Colwen Grounds for the second time in her life. However, it was not quite the same as the last occasion. Munchkinlander guards paced up and down the street, spears in hand. There was a distinct lack of civilian presence throughout all of Nest Hardings, now that she thought to look. How could things have changed so drastically in a couple of short years?

"By Oz," Elphaba breathed. Glinda tightened her arms around her waist to comfort the poor, shocked woman. "My home looks like a prison…"

"Or a fortress," she muttered. "Elphie, where would your sister be?"

"Upstairs, the third window from the right in the back. It's… oh, I wish I could have perfected that invisibility spell! All the rocks just turned lighter and lighter shades of grey, they never vanished entirely!"

Sighing, Glinda patted her side and whispered, "We'll just have to be quick. Act when the guards aren't looking. We can do that; I'm even wearing this hideous black cloak and it's the dead of night, it ought to be simple enough!"

"Ought to be, yes… but will luck be with us?" Neither of them dared answer.

With some relief, they found the window unlatched, and were able to slip in undetected. Of course, that didn't last long.

"ELPHABA!" Nessarose shouted. It had been so long since Glinda saw the black-haired, wheelchair-bound beauty, but she looked no less elegant now than she did in their days at Shiz. The chair squeaked as she made her way over to them, struggling to push it along with her own slender arms. "Wh-what- GUARDS! What are you doing here?!"

"Nessa, I'm sorry," Elphaba said in a stage whisper as she paced forward, their broom forgotten. "I just… I had a powerful feeling that if I didn't come soon, you…" Her gaze dropped and her voice petered out, as meek and cowed as Glinda remembered from when they met with her father.

"What? Come on, out with it!" Nessa's voice grew more terse as she went on, "You've spent the last two years terrorizing all of Oz, casting a shadow over the name of Thropp! And now, what, you want to waltz back in? To smooth things over?"

"Believe me, I'd love to smooth things over, with both you and Father. But that isn't why-"

"Oh, that's fabulous." A humourless laugh floated out of her throat. "With Father! You really must be a powerful witch now if you think you can manage that!"

Elphaba looked mildly confused. She glanced at Glinda, as if she might hold some key to deciphering her sister's words, but Glinda merely shrugged her own ignorance. Even if she did have any idea what this was about, she was smart enough not to butt into a family discussion. "What do you mean?"

"He's dead, you ignorant celery stalk!"

Glinda swooped forward as fast as she could to catch Elphaba before she crumpled to the ground, and just barely made it. Still, a struggle ensued as Glinda had to use all of her feeble muscle to support both of their weights — made all the worse for Elphaba going entirely boneless.

"Dead… no, he's… he can't- wh-what are you saying to me?"

"Dead. You know, deceased, passed on? Dancing with the Unnamed God? He's gone forever, and it's all your fault!"

"My fault?" Elphaba rasped. The accusation seemed to give her back some small shred of herself in the form of indignation. "H-how? I haven't even- I was on the other side of the kingdom!"

"Exactly." Her fists trembled on the arms of the chair as she shouted at her sister, voice turning hoarse, "After he learned what you'd done, how you'd disgraced us, he died... of shame! Embarrassed to death. You didn't have to lift a finger."

At the last phrase, Elphaba's posture went rigid. "I didn't have to- what are you implying? That I wanted Father to die?!"

"Didn't you? He told me what you said when you came begging for scraps, for protection. How you complained about me getting all of the attention! Look at me, Elphaba!" One hand swept down at her legs as her eyes bored straight through her green sibling. "How can you blame him for wanting to help me more? I am broken! But your legs work just fine; you can stand alone! Why should he help you when you can help yourself?!"

"You… you little…" Elphaba's hands worked into fists and back, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"Me, what?" A brief pause. After a moment, she bit out, "Go on, say it. Say whatever horrible thought is in that horribly wicked brain of yours."

"You think you know so much," Elphaba hissed at her. "But you're wrong. I never wanted Father to- all I wanted from him was love and acceptance. But he could never manage it. I was always treated differently because of how I look, which is something I cannot help. And he did it anyway. When you're the colour of Truth Pond scum, I guess that's how you get treated."

Nessa's expression darkened, even though Glinda would not have thought it possible given how dark it was before. "You take that back. He was always saying how proud he was of you, how you had grown up strong and independent. I don't want to hear these lies."

"He never said it to me! Never even said… that he loved me. The only things he said to me were about you, Nessa — unless he was insulting me, or telling me how much I've been fouling things up. Which, of course, was also usually about you."

"So instead, everything should have been about you?! Fine, that's rich; poor Fabala, she's green! It doesn't change anything else about her life, she can walk and dance and go wherever she pleases, but poor Fabala!"

"Don't call me that," Elphaba warned.

"Or what? You'll curse me?" A scoffing noise as she folded her arms. "You have everybody fooled that you're a witch. As if you could manage anything but weird explosions! Well fine, blow me up, sister of mine. If that's what you want, go right ahead; then you'll have both of us out of the way. The last Thropp can have Colwen Grounds all to herself."

The three of them stood in a tense silence for a long moment. Finally, assuming no one else was going to do anything to diffuse the situation, Glinda cleared her throat and asked something that had been bothering her.

"Um… I've heard the people of Oz calling you a witch, too. What's up with that?"

"What? Oh… oh, nevermind their nonsense," she brushed aside. "They don't like my policy changes."

"Policy changes? I don't understand, I thought your father… was…" Then her eyes widened slightly. "Nevermind, I get it. You're the new Munchkin Mayor."

"Eminent Thropp," she corrected.

"Whatever. So what kind of policy changes? You have to be this tall to ride?" Glinda held her hand only a few feet above the ground, alluding to how diminutive a lot of Munchkinlanders were. Not that Nessa or Elphaba were among their number.

"I closed our borders to emigration and immigration. No one goes in or out. It's a temporary measure for everyone's safety. And I increased taxes to funnel into our military, and the Lurlinist Pike Guild; you know our family doesn't believe in Lurlinism, but they're our strongest defense force."

Elphaba nodded her understanding. "Yes, I suppose you work with what you have. Why so much fearmongering, though?"

"That's you, too. What did you think would happen? You zoom around the kingdom, allegedly rescuing Animals and brushing aside the Wizard's forces like they're ants! Everyone's terrified of you!"

"You don't seem to be."

"That's because I understand who you really are; a coward. You made a mistake, got on the wrong side of either the Wizard or Morrible, and you won't face them directly. So you scurry around, using this weird thing with Animals to distract yourself. Isn't that right?"

Elphaba glanced at Glinda, who shrugged. Then she turned back and said, "Not exactly right, but not exactly wrong."

"Oh." Nessa seemed somewhat surprised by the admission. "Then… you really are afraid of the Wizard."

"Of course. Who wouldn't be? You see what he's doing to the Animals, silencing and herding them up to be slaughtered. Whether it's him or if it's Morrible's idea, they're both to blame."

Rolling her eyes, the girl tried to wheel over toward a small wooden cabinet that stood in the corner, but she was having such a hard time of it that Glinda tutted impatiently and strode over to take the handles on the back of chair, wheeling her the rest of the way.

"Thank you," Nessa said curtly. But at least she said it.

"No problem. Do you need help with anything?"

"I can take care of myself," she assured her, glaring over at Elphaba. She opened the door and withdrew a crystal bottle and a decanter, setting them on top. Then she glanced back at the other two as she poured herself a generous helping of a thick, dark liquid. "Can I offer you something? I have Qwice Wine, Gilligin, a pretty good year of Munchcatel…"

"Ooh, I haven't had a good Munchcatel in a while!" Glinda whispered. Nessa smirked slightly as she withdrew another bottle. "What?"

"Nothing. Just that you seem like the type for a sweet wine, that's all."

"Thank you, I think!"

"Nothing for me," Elphaba said flatly. "I'm flying later."

With a shrug, Nessa handed Glinda her drink and lifted her own to her lips, draining a third of it in one go. When Glinda wheeled her back over to Elphaba, she sighed as if irritated, but it seemed to be because she was getting closer to her sister and not from Glinda's actions directly.

"Alright, we've taken care of the small talk. Why are you here now? What is the point of this visit? You've gone two years without darkening my doorstep, so I can't fathom why you would now."

"Because I have a feeling something truly bad is coming. For you." When Nessa's eyes rolled, she snapped, "I don't care if you believe me or not! Or I do, but… oh, forget it. You obviously neither want nor need anything from me, and I don't care if you do. I just didn't want anything horrible to befall my only sister without trying to warn her."

"You can't give me anything I want," Nessa said softly. "You can't bring Father back, you can't make me able to stand. You can't even make Boq…" But then she cut herself off, gripping the glass tighter. "What's the point of you being a witch if you're useless?!"

Unable to stop herself, Glinda whispered, "Hey now, that's not quite fair, is it? Elphaba's not a genie, she can't just grant your every wish. Sorcery is a skill like any other skill; she can only do what she knows how!"

"Then why don't you ask yourself; what has her priority been? Me? Of course not. I've never been her priority."

"You've always been my priority," Elphaba bit out. "Ever since you were born, Father made sure you were the only thing that mattered. Only… only going to Shiz made me begin to see how much I was missing in my life. Being friends with Glinda."

"Aww," Glinda tittered softly, allowing herself a shy smile. "It's no big deal. I just wanted to help you feel pretty and popular for once."

"And you couldn't do that for me?" Nessa snapped. "What a selective fairy godmother."

Glinda turned on her, hands on hips. "That's enough, missy! You're already pretty! Prettier than me, lately! But you don't get popular by trapping everybody in their homes, do you? And speaking of Boq, I set you up with him in the first place! So don't tell me I haven't done anything for you, you, you… jerkity sad sack!"

Elphaba gasped. Nessa looked affronted, of course, but Elphie was the one most definitely shocked that Glinda had said something so hostile against another person to their face. Glinda knew she didn't do that often; it was part of being a member of high society. One didn't go around openly criticising your peers! But in this case, Nessarose was being unkind and unfair to her best friend. She had earned a little payback.

"Well, I…" Nessa took a drink to give herself an excuse not to speak for a moment. Then she said in clipped tones, "You're right, I can't deny you did encourage Boq to approach me. I'm sorry. But Elphaba… I'm not wrong about that."

"She loves you. She just… you can't be her whole life, y'know? But she never wanted to have to leave you for more than one short day. And we're here now, aren't we? You have no idea how long and hard it was for us to come visit you!"

At that, Nessa did look up at her sister, eyes narrowed. "Yes… how long did it take you? Where are you living lately? I'm curious."

"And I'm not that stupid. You'd sell that information to the Wizard in exchange for more protection in a heartbeat, wouldn't you?" When Nessa merely shrugged, Elphaba grunted, "Typical."

"Well, you can't do anything else for me. And it would be your own fault if you slipped up and told me; I'd feel no guilt over it."

"Of course you wouldn't." Elphaba folded her arms over her chest and went on, "Well, I can't bring back our father or get you out of that chair, so you'll just have to enjoy the visit for what… it… hmm."

"'For what it hmm'? What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing. Glinda, may I speak to you for a moment?" When Glinda merely shrugged and trotted over to join her in the far corner of the chambers, Elphaba steered her over close to the window.

"What? What is it?"

"You've been studying the Grimmerie, too, right?" At Glinda's nod, she hissed, "Do you remember anything that might make Nessa able to stand? I could put a flight spell on her underwear, but I think that would go pretty quickly awry — and she wouldn't really be walking."

Glinda's face screwed up in concentration. "You know… I have seen something, but I can't remember where! I think it was some spell for enchanted shoes, but it was for dancing, not walking."

"Yes, exactly, exactly. But as we now know, if we tweak a couple of spells… combine them…"

"The Glowing Stone," she breathed, referring to a rock that now glowed always. They actually had to stick it in a box overnight so that its radiance wouldn't keep them awake. "You're right, that was two different spells! But can you find two that will help Nessie?"

"I don't know. But…" Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder. "That unpleasant toad does not deserve my help, but I won't feel good about myself if there was something I could do for my sister, and I didn't."

"Well, that's definitely… a type of motivation, I guess," Glinda said with a weak laugh. "You start looking for the other spell, I'll stealify her shoes, okay?"

"Oh." Casting another look over at Nessarose, she whispered, "That might not work out as well as you would hope, but see what you can do. I'll get to work."

Vaguely confused by that last warning, Glinda shrugged and left Elphaba to withdraw the Grimmerie from inside her inky cloak. "Listen, Nessa?"

"Yes?"

"Uhh, hey." Her finger pointed down at the padded footrests of her wheelchair. "Do you mind if I borrow those for a moment?"

The girl's reaction was immediate. Glinda could practically see her withdrawing from the conversation a small amount, the way her hands fidgeted with the hem of her blouse, her eyes lowered, fluttered, glanced back up at Glinda. After a few seconds of this twitchiness, she asked a simple question.

"Why? If you're going to tease me…"

"We're going to try a spell. No promises!" she warned, before any hopes could be raised. "Just… a little something. If it doesn't work, at least we tried, right?"

Thoughtful, she looked down at the shoes. They were quite elegant: sueded blue slippers with small pearls trailing along embroidery that graced each side. Somehow, they had been secured well enough that not a single pearl had been lost — or else it was because they had never been walked in.

"Do you h-have to take them off?"

"Hmm. Maybe not, but it sure seems safer to me. Do you really want us to try throwing magic at them while you're still wearing them?"

"Well… alright, that is a good point. I don't trust Elphaba particularly, but I have this feeling you wouldn't lie about something this mundane." She began to bend forward, then was stopped by realising she was still holding her drink. "Oh… this is hard enough normally without being inebriated!"

Chuckling, Glinda knelt and said, "I'll get them, don't worry. Relax."

"No! D-don't…" After a long pause, she looked away, cheeks rosy with embarrassment. "Okay, but don't… don't look at my feet."

"What?"

"Please? That's all I'm asking."

The whole matter puzzled her. What was the huge crisis? Shrugging her agreement, Glinda did as she was asked; she looked long enough to get a good grip on the backs of the shoes, then slipped them off without ever glancing down. Hearing the quiet thud of Nessa's ankles into the padded rests, she whispered, "Sorry!"

"It's alright," she said with a nervous chuckle. "At least I can pretend I moved them on my own."

"If you say so. Um, be back in a minute!"

Once Glinda and Elphaba were crowded around the Grimmerie, scanning its pages with the shoes placed above it on the small table, she was able to help look for the proper spell. As they debated the pros and cons of certain choices, another question niggled in her mind. When she decided she couldn't ignore it any longer, she asked.

"So what's with Nessa's feet? She wouldn't let me look at them."

"Hm?" Elphaba was clearly distracted, her index finger running along a passage. "Oh, nothing's wrong with them. Other than the fact that they don't work, I mean." Seeing that didn't satisfy Glinda, she sighed and said, "It's… hard to explain."

"You don't have to if it's all that difficult, Elphie. I'm just a nosy-pants."

"Just… well, it's our Father's fault. Not that it was something 'bad' he did, exactly, but he was trying to make her feel better about her condition. She was having a hard time with it one day, about how everyone kept staring at her lame legs while she was out. So he told her that they were just jealous of her shoes. When I was older, I kind of realised that he had been making everything up as he went, but he told her that she looked so pretty in her chair, and her shoes were so lovely, that everyone was envious. From that day on, he kept finding newer and more intricate slippers and boots and any other kind of shoe for her."

"That's sweet of him," Glinda said softly, smiling to herself. She knew Elphaba probably didn't see it that way, but she couldn't deny the doting man had at least done that much to make his handicapped daughter feel less unsightly. "But I still don't understand."

Shrugging, Elphaba turned the page, still more focused on her work. "Nessa drew the conclusion herself. She noticed that people are told they look nice if they're wearing pretty clothes, and that it's shocking — taboo, if you will — if they're seen wearing too little. And since my father had made such a big deal about how lovely she looks in her top-of-the-line shoes, combined with already being ashamed that her legs don't function…"

"Ohhh," she breathed as the last piece fell into place within her mind, pounding her open hand with a fist. "So going barefoot is the same thing as going naked to her? How very odd, indeed!"

"Yes, it's odd," Elphaba said sharply, looking up at last. "And I'll thank you not to tease her about it. I think she's silly, but to her, it's reality. So just… don't let slip that I told you any of this, alright? I'm sure she's already embarrassed enough at being 'exposed'."

That did make Glinda squirm in secondhand embarrassment. "When you put it that way, I suppose I would feel a little strange if some old classmate asked if I'd hand them my brassiere. But okay, I won't say a word."

It was another ten minutes before Nessa asked, "How's it coming?" When neither of them answered, she did not pester them further — merely sat in her chair, anxious to have her shoes back regardless of whether or not they were any improved from her sister's efforts. Glinda had to resist the temptation to glance down whenever she peered over at her; she knew it was the mere matter of being commanded "do not look at this" that made her want to look at all. Funny how the power of suggestion could sway one's attentions.

When Elphaba began to chant, low and long and focused, Glinda saw Nessa stirring out of the corner of her eye, saw her getting closer a little at a time. Clearly, it was a struggle for her to make it there, but her curiosity at their spellcasting fuelled her actions.

"Is it finished?" she asked in a quiet whisper when the vermillion lips had fallen silent. "Have you really… I mean, is there any chance…?"

"They look… different," Glinda breathed, raising a hand toward them. At first, she felt a thrill of dread to touch the shoes, but when she truly thought about how much she trusted her travelling companion, she picked one up as Elphaba did the other. "Are they… silver now? Or red? Maybe that's just the light from the fireplace."

"It is, I think," Elphaba agreed, just as captivated by them despite having performed the spell herself. After a moment, Glinda turned to look up at Nessa apologetically.

"Um… is it alright if I put them back on?"

"Y-yes," Nessa said breathlessly, cheeks still rosy but her eyes eager as they took in the shimmering shoes. "I want to know if this has worked at once!"

So Glinda obliged. This time, she couldn't help but look because she had to guide the shoes on properly… and there really wasn't anything to see. Nessa had dainty little feet, of course, but they were no more or less remarkable than any other pair she'd ever come across. Then the shoes were on, and both she and Elphaba were standing back to observe.

But before Nessa could attempt to stand, the door squeaked open and an unimpressive figure strode inside. Short in stature and with a drab face that was not entirely unpleasant… and was a bit familiar.

"Madame, I've prepared your- oh!" His eyes went wide to see the other two. "Goodness, it's- GUARDS!"

"Shush, Boq!" Nessa commanded him with a wave of her arm. Glinda flinched, even though the guards had not come the last time Nessa herself called. "Wait a moment. I… I want you to see something."

"Madame, these are criminals! The Wizard will want to be warned wight away!"

"You mean 'right aw-' Oh, I should know better by now," Elphaba admonished herself.

"We can't waste any time! Quick, I'll go and get them while they're… still… what on Oz?"

Boq found himself unable to finish the thought. His previously-disabled mistress was now standing, pushing unsteadily to her feet from the chair. It was already miraculous enough that she was standing unaided, shoes dazzling with white and red flashes — but there would be more. One foot at a time, she began to take steps, arms out to either side. After the first few, she began to tip, and Glinda and Elphaba both dashed forward and righted her again.

"Th-thank you," she breathed as she stood. "But… I think I…" Another few steps, without their aid. "I'm getting it. I'm walking. Ozma Above, I'm walking!"

                                                  To Be Continued…