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usurpyr-a · 4 years ago

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[ entwine ] for your muse to hold mine’s hand.

THE CROWD moves en masse, a living organism in its own right: shifting with the tide, flowing seamlessly into itself / a vein pumping blood through a larger circuit, a greater Humanity. Eren feels most out of his element being corralled into busy streets like this one; it’s different, marching the cobbled pathways as a hardened soldier, a veteran - which is to say, significantly more dramatic than what is due whenever he must adopt the persona of a civilian buying bread from the market. Assuming, of course, he can successfully pass any stall without being recognized as some savior or another, perpetuating a strange paradox of the famous anonymous / the faceless celebrity. The few times he has been driven away by some conservative jackass seething accusations of ‘monster’ and ‘deceiver’ have almost come as a relief, despite how it lingers always in the hushed quiet of nosy onlookers ( how their eyes remain, fixed and unseeing, at the nape of his neck / how fragile their polite reminders are of that inescapable deadline; HIS OWN PEOPLE PINNED BENEATH THE RUBBLE / THEIR EYES FIXED AND UNSEEING- ).

However the hell he managed to get lost, he can’t remember ... Or rather, he forgets - purposefully - to spare himself the anxiety of their initial separation: Sasha and Connie goofing off, lured away by the scent of fresh desserts sitting neglected in a nearby bakery / Jean reluctantly following if only for the promise of booze being rewarded for his babysitting / Armin scurrying to some far-off corner and actually committing to his goddamn errands like they were supposed to be doing- and Mikasa ... Ah. That might explain it - ‘that’ being his sudden fixation on avoiding her wherever they go ( frustratingly inseparable / always the two of them, alone together ). He and his pitiful half-stale loaf of rye, his too-full pockets lined with too-much money for this simple excursion / this is why I fuckin’ hate shopping. The headache pulsing behind his eyes grows louder by the minute, and so-too does the din of the herd as they clamor over each other / shouting such insignificant nonsense ( THE EDGE OF THE WORLD / THE DROP DOWN INTO OBLIVION / PRAYERS LEFT UNANSWERED AT HIS APPROACH- ). Somewhere, uncomfortably closeby, he hears a baby start crying.

So he begins walking, no destination to his mind except out, except away- Fuck his errands, he doesn’t even know what they were to begin with. Everyone will just have to pick up his slack ( like they always do, because he can’t do anything for himself / can’t even be bothered to save his own skin / can’t think can’t feel can’t breathe- ). He can already imagine their disappointed expressions, how they’d shuffle awkwardly around the issue at large, the how are you feeling, really ? that he knows hangs between them, one outburst away from slipping off the tips of their tongues. Are you alright, Eren ? Do you need to take a break, Eren ? What are you thinking about, Eren ? Do you want to talk, Eren ? Why have you been so distant lately, Eren ? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, EREN ?! WHY WON’T YOU JUST CALM DOWN ALREADY, EREN ?! WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO US, EREN ?! WHY ARE YOU CRYING, EREN ?! ( He doesn’t need their patronizing pity. He doesn’t. He just needs to clear his head, get some fresh air because his chest is too tight, because the crowd is too loud, because they were taking up all the oxygen and it’s gotten too hard to breathe- )

So. He finds himself in a dingy alleyway, tucked out of sight of the main street / an illusion of safety just convincing enough that his spiraling thoughts eventually rejoin his body, a cutting swathe of rationality paving the way towards composure. He gathers what little shards of dignity he can find that remain within the scattered ruins of his mindscape / all the carefully-maintained ‘I’m fine’s and ‘worry about someone else’s scavenged into a passible resemblance of a passably-functioning human being. He clenches his fists until the tremors in his arms stop. He slowly slackens his jaw, un-grits his teeth. With practiced detachment he levels out all the tense wrinkles in his countenance ( the furrow of his brow, the half-sneer curling his upper lip, the severe dip of his collarbones pulling out the strained muscles in his neck, one two three four ). His ribs swell almost painfully with stale, cigar-smoke-laced air, but he forces down more lungfuls until it evens out and he can taste the piss of the alley-cats at the back of his throat again. Though with this newfound balance comes the vertigo that nearly has him buckling into the dirty puddle at his feet all over again. ( HOW SMALL THE WORLD LOOKS FROM UP HERE / ANTS PANICKING IN THEIR HILLS AND I THE CARELESS CHILD COME BEARING THE FLOOD THAT WILL WASH THEM ALL AWAY- )

His saving grace - or perhaps his final omen - is a glimpse out of the corner of his eye: something instantly familiar / a soothing balm to his frayed nerves / the casual confidence with which a certain person walks that he has never known anyone else to be capable of replicating ... Mikasa. Of course. And just his rotten luck, too, while he’s already feeling so miserable. It feels like a cruel joke - and one the universe has played on him countless enough times already - though this might be one of the few occasions she hasn’t actually spotted him ( yet ) and doubtless didn’t seek him out intentionally. SUCH ARE THE TIES THAT BIND. He watches her in a dazed stupor, suddenly envious of her calm expression, her guarded eyes keeping perfect pace with the torrent of human bodies crashing over each other / alert in a way that works with the flow, and doesn’t struggle hopelessly against it. He has the image of a lighthouse in mind, jutting out from a cliff, and he is but some hopeless castaway writhing under the waves / drowning in the wrong direction. All while her dazzling eye skips over the water’s surface, casting her gaze towards the distant horizon / while he remains trapped in the slim gap of shadow that is her blind spot.

Perhaps that thought is what compels him to come lurching out of the mouth of the alley, desperate to catch a lifeline and haul himself ashore. ( Though more likely it is spite, it is anger, it is a teenage boy’s wild disregard for anyone standing in his way / his stupid sister included for the fact that she doesn’t realize how goddamn worthless she makes him feel, sometimes, how childish- ) He will not confront her for the comfort she would all-too willingly provide, no matter the inconvenience. He won’t spill tears, he won’t lose sleep - fucking pull yourself together, you shitty brat. He notes, with a twinge of lingering hysteria, that he had dropped that loaf of bread he’d been carrying somewhere between browsing the produce market and hyperventilating in a random pocket of the Orvüd District. Maybe he’d entrusted it to a poor beggar man, or a wide-eyed child that’d been asking for free handouts - but he doesn’t think he’d be that kind even if he had been aware of what he was doing. ( CAN’T EVEN DO THAT RIGHT. CAN’T THINK ABOUT ANYONE ELSE, NOT EVEN FOR A SECOND- ) Sure, there are plenty more places to buy bread, but all-the-same he can’t help the spasm of a phantom hunger-pang that jerks into his diaphragm / dislodging that hard-won memory of those long weeks spent as a refugee, the lesson-learned of never letting your food go to waste, idiot. How could he have been so careless ?

Mikasa sweeps through the circulating pulse of the bustling streets, as quick and efficient as he’s always known her to be, while he stumbles after her like a drunk would his next shot of rum despite having been barred from the pub he would rather have been frequenting. He feels disgusting. Even that crude comparison has him pressing the heel of one palm to his eye, squeezing against the socket until his vision skewers into fractured shards of color and light. Ha. Ha-ha. Might as well act the part. Another act. Once again he’s lagging behind. He only catches up to her thanks in part to a clot that’s been swelling in an intersection, all angry yelling and jostling elbows and there’s that baby crying, again- except. Mikasa doesn’t seem to notice that one guy’s arm flying out in her path, just forceful enough to send her tumbling into the oncoming traction of a carriage if she’s not paying attention, though he knows from experience just how hard it is to bowl her over on a bad day-

Eren reaches for her hand before the worst hypothetical could come to pass. He pulls her towards him, feels her rock back on her heels with a startled exclamation, so out-of-character for her. A tendon in her wrist flexes and Eren forces himself to look / forces himself to loosen his vice-like grip. It’s the wrong hand, he realizes - she always had a thing about people touching her right, the one with the bandages on it. Immediately, he tries dropping her arm, though not before seeing that the gauze has started to unravel thanks to all of his manhandling. Dammit, he hisses, the curse resounding within the whirling vacuum of his thoughts ( can’t do anything right can’t do anything right she’ll be face-up in the aftermath, her eyes fixed and unseeing- ). He pinches the tail-end of it at the last second, and now he’s still holding her arm / her wrist suspended limply from the bandages now rapidly-unfurling from where they’re supposed to be - why won’t she pull away ? He’s just fucking everything up. She has to be mad at him, or worse yet worried, so he clings to the hope that she’ll snap at him instead of asking WHAT’S WRONG, EREN ? ARE YOU FEELING UNWELL, EREN ? DO YOU WANT TO GO HOME, EREN ? DO YOU NEED HELP, EREN ? ARE YOU TIRED, EREN ? WHY DO YOU KEEP CRYING ALL THE TIME, EREN ?

He blinks once, twice, probably three times before he comprehends he’s somehow entwined their fingers together, into a complicated knot of his white-knuckled digits and her hesitant requiem. He doesn’t trust himself enough to have to explain whatever complicated expression must be on his face. So. He relaxes his grip, holding on just tight enough to seem intentional. With his other hand, he silently affixes the bandages back into their proper orientation, albeit with less tact than he might have otherwise spared had he been in full control of his facilities. Then, for good measure, he tugs the sleeve of her shirt back over them / no-one the wiser. He lowers his voice into a neutral pitch / tucking an ‘I’m fine’ into his cheek in the very likely event she wonders aloud what the hell is going on with him. And if she asks about his errands, he’ll shrug and say he was too lazy to do his chores, he’s been wandering around looking bored all day, it’s not like it’s a big deal, is it ? It’s not like we’re collecting firewood, is it ? It’s not like anybody is going to yell at us for slacking off, is it ? And that’ll shut her up long enough for him to wrestle his heartbeat back under control / tight-lipped and serious once again. Right, okay. One two three four. He ignores the jackass he tripped in his haste to catch Mikasa, the one cursing him out for his twisted ankle. ( ANTS IN THEIR HILLS. BOATS IN THEIR DOCKS. THE WATER HAS NOT STARTED TO RISE, NOT YET. )

“... Come on,” he mutters. “Hurry up. Everyone’s preparing to leave, so, we’d better just ...”

non-verbal meme.

#this started out with a much softer tone in mind I swear #eren just can't help but be a fucking emo ig #let's all just ignore how hard I went for this there was no reason whatsoever #me? consistently formatting every paragraph? haha ... no #erleidn #sorry if this makes no sense I didn't read it lmao

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amyscascadingtabs · 5 years ago

Text

i’ll walk through hell with you

chapter 2: i guess truth is what you believe in

read chapter one

read on ao3 here

Amy and Leah visit family, a holiday is celebrated, and illness takes over the Santiago-Peralta household.

december

If there is one thing Amy is certain of, stuck in the car with 97 miles to go and an overtired toddler in the back seat, it is that something must be seriously wrong with her.

No one in their right mind says yes to a family weekend upstate with all siblings and their families nine days before Christmas. Not when it’s a three-hour drive. Not while they’re already left alone to care for their child for the weekend due to a time-sensitive and crucial opportunity coming up in a case Jake has worked for two months. Not when previously mentioned child is recovering from a cold and is ten times more cranky and attention-craving than normal.

Except - apparently - Amy.

She doesn't know what the fuck she was thinking.

She knows some thought went into her plan, such as the idea to drive late at night so Leah could sleep in the car. She simply wishes it could have worked, because right now the toddler is singing Wheels On The Bus for the seventeenth time in forty minutes and Amy feels like her head is going to explode. It's a quarter to ten, over two hours past the kid’s bedtime, and so far she refuses to fall asleep. She's wide awake in her seat, chatting and laughing and singing like there’s no tomorrow. If Amy had as much as a spare drop of energy left -even better, if there had been another parent in the car to focus on entertaining their child - the whole thing would have been adorable, but tonight it’s exhausting above anything else.

“Maaa-maaa?” Leah shouts the word from the back seat, wildly kicking her legs against the back cushioning, and Amy has to take a deep breath before she can reply in a calm tone.

“Yes, baby?”

“Are we there?”

“Not yet, Lee.”

Amy can see the reflection of Leah scrunching her forehead in the baby car mirror. “Why?”

“Because we still have a little way left to drive. We’ll be there soon, I promise.”

“Soon?” Leah shines up, kicking her legs again. “When is soon?”

“It will go faster if you close your eyes for a while,” She tries, using one of the oldest parenting tricks in the book. “I promise.”

“Not tired!” Her daughter responds in her cheeriest voice, and Amy gives herself a mental pat on the back for stifling a groan.

They repeat this exchange about ten times or so before Leah tires of it and returns to her singing. At that point, Amy’s counting it as a win. As much as she loves being this kid’s mom, there are indubitably times - and late-night drives with an overtired two-year-old in the back seat - when she loves it less.

Then Leah falls asleep for the last ten miles of the drive and clutches her arms and legs around Amy like a koala to a tree when she’s lifted out of her car seat and carried to bed, and it’s easier than ever to love being a mom.

There’s never an uneventful day with all of the Santiagos in the same house, and it’s not any more relaxing with the extra presence of six partners, twelve grandchildren, and one dog. From the moment Amy and Leah make their way down to the kitchen for breakfast, and the toddler finds out there might be a cookie baking session with grandma happening today, the day is in full swing. Leah joins her in facetiming Jake for a few minutes to say good morning, but after that, Amy barely sees her daughter for more than a split second in several hours.

The chaos is a welcome distraction. She plays Cards Against Humanity with Luis’s teenage daughters and Julian until Simon starts begging them to help him make a YouTube video, and she teaches five-year-old Noah how to draw the perfect portrait of a horse. She reads a story to three-year-old Maisie, and she laughs heartily at the sight of Leah chasing Oscar the Bichon Frise around while yelling Kitty Cat!. For a few, wondrous hours, Amy manages to live in blissful oblivion over the two starkly negative pregnancy tests she unceremoniously shoved in the bathroom trash can before leaving yesterday, and it feels like heaven.

It feels like heaven up until she joins the crew of brothers and partners currently taking up space in the kitchen. Her brother Isaac is parked in the middle of the kitchen couch, feeding the youngest Santiago member, just-turned one-month-old Milo, with a bottle; around him Camila, Luis, Tony and his wife Clara all fawn over and admire every aspect of the newborn’s appearance. Christian, Julian and Julian’s husband Lucas are at the other end of the kitchen cuddling with and doting on the exhausted dog, and Amy silently curses her allergies for making her unable to join them. Simon just brought out his camera in the living room and she refuses to risk another unwilling YouTube appearance, so her only option is to sit down with the team of awestruck baby-admirers.

“You forget how tiny they are,” Luis says, watching the infant with a nostalgic glance in his eyes. “I’ve had five, and you never get used to it.”

“You don’t,” Camila confirms with a small laugh, reaching out to stroke the baby’s closed fist with her thumb and index finger. “Not even I do. I’m shocked every time!”

“I thought I remembered everything from when Maisie was born.” Isaac grins, giving the empty baby bottle to Camila and carefully lifting the infant upright against his shoulder. “But then he comes out, and I think he must be several pounds lighter because surely Maisie was never this tiny, but he was bigger!” He shakes his head. “It’s insane.”

“He’s so cute,” Tony chimes in. “Do you get to sleep anything? I’m nervous about that.” His left hand is resting next to Clara’s on top of her visible baby bump. Amy lets out an audible snort upon hearing about her brother’s main cause for worry, but Isaac just grins.

“You get used to it. It’ll probably be worse for Clara anyway.”

“Great.” Clara grimaces, turning to Amy. “I can’t even sleep now! I either have a baby sleeping on top of my bladder or kicking me in the ribs for the whole night.”

“I remember.” She smiles, thinking back to the few times late in her pregnancy she’d made Jake sleep on the couch only because she couldn’t stand listening to his snoring on top of it all. “It sucks, and then everyone keeps telling you to sleep while you still can and you’re trying not to punch them.”

“Exactly!” Her sister-in-law laughs, tucking a strand of red-blonde hair behind her ear. “At least everyone says it’s worth it.”

“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have done it so many times,” says Camila, and Clara looks relieved. “Oh, Amy, you need to hold Milo for a little while! He’s been in everyone’s arms except for yours today. Isaac, send him to Amy.”

“Oh.” She squirms in her seat, a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. “It’s okay. I was just going to look for Leah anyway -”

“Leah’s upstairs doing puzzles with Sarah and Samuel,” Isaac explains, referring to David’s two-year-old twins. “She’s fine. You can hold him, Ames.”

“I think I’m good… okay, no choice, I see.” Her younger brother’s already holding out the infant to her, and before she can adjust to the thought, there’s a tiny, yawning baby in her arms.

It’s achingly familiar, yet it feels like it’s been forever.

At first, it’s like every muscle fiber in her body tenses with the sudden awareness that there's a fragile, helpless human in her arms and the weight of terrifying responsibility resting with her for a moment. It's been two years since Amy last held a newborn, and she certainly forgot how breakable they feel when they haven't learned to support their own head. Then Milo lets out a content sigh, his mouth twitching like he's smiling at her, and although she knows he's too small and it's likely just gas, the brief facial expression makes her feel chosen.

She's missed this, she realizes. Noting the classic Santiago baby appearance traits, the head of dark hair and the little button nose, she thinks of countless hours spent holding her own clingy newborn two years ago, and bites her lip when she remembers that she still has no idea when she’ll get to do it again. Milo’s adorable, and Amy's secretly wishing he could stay in her arms forever or she could steal him and take him home with her, but he's also a painful reminder of what she wants most and doesn't have yet.

“He likes you,” Isaac comments, nodding towards the infant. “You and Jake haven’t thought of having another one?”

She freezes at the sound of his question, instantly clueless about what constitutes a good reply. She could tell him the truth, of course, and probably receive a flood of well-meaning advice about the best ways to conceive, but doing so would lead to expectations. Santiagos aren’t known for struggling to have kids, and she’s terrified of handling a hoard of family members subtly trying to figure out whether or not she's pregnant every time they see her. It's enough pressure coming from herself. She doesn't need people adding to it - least of all her family.

“Oh,” she says instead, avoiding eye contact by playing with one of Milo’s fists. “Well, we’re not sure yet.”

“Two years is the best age span between siblings,” Luis chimes in. “We always tried to aim for two years and our kids are super close.”

“Yes, yes, two years is perfect,” Camila agrees, nodding eagerly. “The adjustment is much more difficult when they’ve turned three, or four, and suddenly they’re not the youngest anymore… Sometimes I think Tony never got over his grudges against Simon!”

“I’m telling you, mom, that’s not it, we have a grudge because four years ago he made me do that awful cinnamon challenge that almost gave me an asthma attack and filmed it -”

“Two years is great,” Christian interrupts his younger brother’s story without remorse. “We went for two years between Isabel and Noah and it was perfect. You do want to have more than one kid, right?”

Amy has never wished harder for a baby in her arms to start crying.

She needs to get away, out of the situation where she has to hear and answer these sudden intrusive questions, but Milo shows no signs of waking. She’s stuck with a panicky, claustrophobic sensation in her chest and a forced smile on her lips.

“We do,” she replies to Christian’s question, weighing every word carefully. “We’re just not sure when.”

“No point in waiting,” says Isaac, looking at the baby in Amy’s arms. “I wish we’d had Milo earlier!”

There must be a lack of air in the room, or her allergy medicines have stopped working and are making her react to the dog, because she can’t shake the feeling she’s suffocating. She's feeling trapped even in the spacious kitchen, and although she knows everyone has their eyes fixed on Milo, she can't shake the feeling it's her they're staring at.

She wonders if they're seeing right through her; if they somehow know about negative pregnancy tests of yesterday, or if they can sense her desperation and frustration in the fake smile plastered on her face.

“I suppose you never know,” she answers somehow, heart pounding too quickly. “I, uh… have to go to the bathroom. Do you want to hold him for a little while, Clara?”

Amy senses eyes on her as she sneaks out the kitchen, hurries through the hallway and grabs her coat before heading out and sitting down on the porch, but she can't bring herself to care. She has to fill her lungs with fresh air and get away from well-meaning but prying questions, or she’s going to have a full-on breakdown.

There’s a layer of snow on the ground, too thin for any children or adults to be playing in but enough to give a sense of hope for a white Christmas. She scrapes her fingers through the minuscule ice crystals gathered on the wooden decking, drawing an uneven heart with her index finger and following it with another.

You do want to have more than one kid, right?

She draws a third, smaller heart below the two bigger ones.

You and Jake haven’t thought of having another one anytime soon?

She draws a fourth tiny heart next to the third one.

No point in waiting.

She hides her fist in the sleeve of her winter coat, rubbing it over her drawings and turning them into nothingness. She curses the fact that Jake’s working, that he and Rosa are following up some highly important leads today and their mission would likely be sabotaged if she called and interrupted her husband now, and she curses the fact that Leah’s having the time of her life playing with her cousins and would probably scream in protest if Amy tried to steal her for cuddles.

It’s not too cold outside with her warm coat keeping her comfortable, but she’s still shivering, so she wraps her arms around herself and tries to blink away the tears taking form in her eyes.

She’s aware she’s being ridiculous. Having a baby takes more than a couple months of trying in many, many cases - the majority of them, even. She’s far from unique, yet a sneaking suspicion and vexing anxiety are lingering with her.

No point in waiting.

She puts one hand on her chest and one hand over her stomach, trying to focus on the fresh air flowing in through her nose and out through her mouth, filling and leaving her for each inhale and exhale.

“Just relax,” she whispers to herself, pretending it's Jake's voice saying the words, his unwavering belief that it will all be fine she's listening to.

“Are you sure you’re still my sister? Have you had some kind of personality change?”

“Huh?” Amy almost jumps at the sound of Julian’s voice, bringing her out of her focused breathing and forcing her to look up.

“You’re willingly outside in the cold weather,” he declares, slumping down next to her. “Even with a coat on, that's impressive for you.” She notes that he's only wearing a hoodie himself and seems unbothered by the temperature.

“I needed fresh air.”

“Because of Oscar? I swear his breed is supposed to be allergy-friendly, we researched that stuff in depth. Maybe your allergies are just undefeatable?”

“No, it’s fine as long as I don't pet him.” Amy places a hand on her brother's shoulder, squeezing it. “Oscar’s great. Leah's in love with him.”

“Isn't he amazing?” Julian's grin is comically wide, his eyes sparkling with undiluted pride. “He can sit, and roll, and catch, and play dead if he gets enough candy! Parenthood is incredible. I’m so glad our kids get along.” He doesn't entirely sound like he’s joking, and Amy can't help but laugh at his excitement. “So if it wasn't Oscar, why did you leave?”

“Were you listening to the conversation?”

“Eh, bits and pieces. How so?”

She sighs. “They - mom, and Isaac and Christian, mostly - interrogated me about whether we’re planning to have another baby anytime soon.”

“And you’re not?”

“We are! We’re actively trying for it.”

“Oh! Cool,” Julian nods, scratching the stubble on his chin. “I can get behind that. I wouldn't have anything against reproducing with those Peralta genes either if I could.” Amy elbows her brother in the side at that, probably way harder than necessary, and it makes him gasp in offense. “Hey! It’s just objective facts that he's attractive!”

“I’m telling Lucas you said that.”

“Lucas agrees. Either way - if you actually are trying, what's with the tears and the sudden storming out?”

“I didn't storm out,” she protests, and he gives her a meaning look of judgment as if to say yes, you did. “And it's nothing.”

Julian snorts. “Sure it is.”

“It's not a big deal.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It's just making me a little stressed is all.”

“A little.”

“Okay, okay, fine.” Amy groans, placing her head in both hands and quickly running her fingers through her hair. There's a knot in the back of it, and she busies herself trying to pull it apart as she speaks. “We are trying. It's just not going very well yet, I guess. It’s making me nervous, and it's not something I want to tell everyone in our family about, because, well… we’re not exactly known for struggling with that.”

Julian is silent, and there’s a moment where Amy wonders if she’s managed the impossible. For all their countless petty fights and differences, Julian has always had a reply to offer her. Sometimes he’s supportive, sometimes questioning, and sometimes he’s all over judging her decisions, but he never ignores her worries when she chooses to confide in him. It throws her off to see him take so long to answer her now, and she watches him twist the white gold wedding ring on his finger absentmindedly while he grimaces.

“No,” he says right as she starts to consider tapping him on the shoulder to make sure he’s conscious. “I guess we’re not known for struggling with anything. Has this… been a problem for a long time?”

“A couple of months.”

“...Is that a long time? I’m not great with this heterosexual business. I’m much better with waiting times for adopting a dog.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “It’s not that long. But it’s longer when you don’t have a lot of time to begin with.” Julian looks about as perplexed as if she’d been trying to explain the intricate details of quantum physics to him, and she clarifies. “Fertility decreases as you age.”

“Right. Yeah.”

“I’m thirty-nine. Maybe I shouldn't panic yet, but in a year, or two…” Amy shakes her head. “It gets really low. Higher chances of miscarrying. Chromosome variations. Premature birth. You name it. Basically, the sooner I get pregnant now, the better and safer it is for everyone.”

“I see.”

“So there's some time pressure,” she explains further, connecting her hands inside the coat sleeves to eliminate the cold that's started to seep in. “And it’s making me terrified something's wrong with me already. That it's not going to work. That we’ll never be able to have a second kid. I know that's maybe not the end of the world, but… I really, really want it, and I’d be heartbroken if it didn’t happen.”

A pair of stubborn, humiliating teardrops make their way down her cheeks at the thought, and she untangles her hands to quickly wipe them away.

“I’m sure it'll work out, Ames.” Julian's smile is partly sympathetic and partly insecure when he speaks, like this subject is miles out of his comfort zone but he's trying his best anyway. “As you said, two months is nothing, right? Mom was like, 42 when she had Simon. Surely if anyone's got the genes for this, it’s our family.”

“Yeah. It's never a guarantee, though, and I can’t handle their questions. Two years is the best time between siblings,” she imitates in an exaggerated high-pitched tone, and Julian laughs heartily. “As if I wasn’t already pressuring myself about the same thing. But I can't tell them that, because then they’d start asking.”

“Mm, our family does lack all understanding of what privacy is sometimes.” Julian grins. “There are several options even for gay men! Surrogates! Adoption! I read this article in a magazine where a pair co-parented with lesbians!” His shrill imitation tone is awful and hilarious at the same time, making Amy snicker. “I think she was mad at me for weeks after I told her we were happy with a dog. She means well, but it just becomes a lot.”

“Doesn’t get easier when it’s something you already want, either.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Maybe. I hope so.”

“If not, I’m pro-dogs. They’re pretty much like children, except you don’t have to create a college fund for them. A win-win situation if it weren’t for the fact that owning a dog could probably kill you. But other than that!” Julian stretches his arms over his head, looking mighty proud of himself. “Solid.”

“I’m already busy trying to talk Jake out of buying a cat,” says Amy, massaging her temples at the thought. “But he’s managed to get Leah obsessed with them, so I think I’m losing.”

“That’s why she’s calling Oscar a cat! Wow. Jake’s a genius.”

“Well, that and she’s two. And please don’t ever tell him that, because his ego would literally explode.”

Amy can feel her face going numb from the cold outside, a sudden gust of wind coming at them and making her eyes tear for a new reason. The fact that she’s lost track of time hits her, awakening an uneasiness and a sudden need to get inside and check up on how her daughter’s doing, so she gives Julian a quick, rare hug, and is surprised when he squeezes her back for a long time.

“Thanks for coming out,” she mumbles, and he nods.

“Of course. I just don’t like seeing you cry.”

“Aww, that’s kind of sweet.”

“You look so weird when you do,” he says with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes at the mock insult. “No one should have to see that.”

“Fuck off, Jules.”

“Yep. Now let’s go make sure our kids are still alive and haven’t eaten any couches. Is that a thing with human children too?”

january

It’s a good Christmas.

It’s a Christmas where Amy can allow herself some time to relax and unwind, put her worries aside and focus on her family during the ten days both her and Jake manage to garner off work. It’s a long-awaited and dearly welcomed break from early daycare drop-offs, ten-minute-dinners, and infinite planning to make sure nothing is forgotten.

Instead there is time for slow wakeups, snuggling with Leah when she crawls into their bed in the early hours of the morning and giving in to her request of watching iPad in their bed only so they can keep their eyes closed for a little while longer. There's time for late-night conversations over a glass of wine that don't feel rushed because at least they don't have somewhere to be tomorrow, and there's time to properly see friends outside of work for the first time in what feels like forever. They go to dinner at Terry’s house, watch Rosa enjoy the indoor trampoline park even more than Leah does, and they gratefully accept Charles’ offer to babysit their daughter for a night. Amy figures the man has a specific motive in mind, but then Jake suggests they spend the night at a hotel and Leah gets ecstatic at the mention of watching Disney movies with her uncle Charles and Nikolaj, so she ends up saying yes. She’s only human, after all, and she’s not going to neglect the rare and precious chance of a sleep-in.

(The date also times mysteriously well with when she should be ovulating.)

(She does not want to ask.)

Even the yearly Christmas dinner with the Santiagos ends up being survivable. Although there are kids crying, odd snarky comments between Tony and Simon, and Leah outright refuses to wear anything but her sequined dinosaur shirt and glittery tights to the event, things proceed smoothly and Amy’s stress levels remain on the healthier part of the scale. She watches Jake hold and make funny faces at Milo and can feel her mom giving them meaning looks from across the room, but she breathes through it and silently thanks the Universe when Leah chooses that exact moment to climb onto Amy’s lap and ask if they can read one of her new books. Sure, part of her wishes she could be gifting her husband a crafted announcement with a baby onesie and a positive pregnancy test much like the ones she’s pinned on Pinterest, but the tender way he hugs her thank you after he opens his gift and sees the photo book filled with pictures with him and Leah, is more than enough to ease her sorrow. He gifts her a gold necklace with the letters J and L in separate miniature hearts, and when he tells her it’s so she can always be keeping them next to her own heart, she tears up and kisses him so long and ardently that he looks a little dazed, blinking with surprise when they part.

It’s a good New Year’s Eve, too. They spend the first part of the evening at the Holt-Cozner New Year’s Party, listening to their daughter proudly tell every guest she’s going to stay up until midnight, and then they try not to laugh when she passes out the moment she’s in her car seat at half-past nine. Jake and Amy end their year in pajamas on the couch, toasting in champagne just for the sake of it and going right to bed afterward.

Next year we’ll have another baby, she thinks to herself before falling asleep about fifteen minutes into the new year, a new sense of shimmering optimism lingering with her. It has to have worked by then.

January is hell. Everyone knows it, specifically, everyone who’s had children at daycare, because January means no one is healthy and neither Jake nor Amy manage a full week at work without taking time off to care for a sick child or themselves. Amy prays they’ll make it through without any cases of stomach flu, but such seems to have been too much to ask, because she’s woken up by devastating crying from Leah’s room on the one night Jake’s doing a night shift and she knows before the two-year-old’s even started retching.

She doesn’t get any sleep that night.

She doesn’t get any sleep the next night either, because when Leah stops throwing up and Amy feels like she can breathe again when the child keeps some applesauce down and asks if she can watch Doc McStuffins, it only takes three hours before Jake starts complaining about feeling sick.

January must surely be some twisted sort of a joke, she thinks, and disinfects her hands an extra time before she goes to remind her very miserable husband that he’s not actually dying.

It’s only natural, amid the virus-filled havoc, that it takes her a few days to realize she hasn’t gotten her period.

Come to think of it, she is feeling a bit nauseous. The excessive fatigue and emotional imbalance she knows were early symptoms in her first pregnancy is harder to distinguish from the exhaustion after two intense days of caring for poorly family members, but she’s a mom and a Santiago and she categorically never gets sick.

She gives the nausea a day, waiting for it to break out into the same flu Jake and Leah are already victims of, but it doesn’t. It stays the same.

Amy’s never been so excited about nausea in her life.

She waits until Leah’s gone to bed, falling asleep in Amy’s arms on the couch. The two-year-old’s still not quite her energetic, bubbly self and has been stuck to her parents like a needy band-aid for most of the day, and it could have been tiring if it hadn’t also meant lots of cuddles. Right now, though, Amy's arms and back are happy to get a break from carrying the kid around while she lays down next to Jake instead, spooning him and receiving a grateful smile when she starts playing with his hair.

“How are you feeling, babe?”

“Dying. I think I might be dead already,” he groans before turning his head and looking her in the eyes with feigned seriousness. “Please say something nice at my funeral and promise me you'll take care of Charles when I'm gone.”

“You're not dying, Jake.”

“How d’you know?”

“Because you haven't thrown up since last night and you only have a slight fever,” she reminds him, feeling his lukewarm forehead. “You're fine.”

“I am definitely much better with a hot girl draped on top of me,” he says with a smug expression, his hand gently stroking under her old NYPD shirt up her back. She rolls her eyes, because looks haven't exactly been the top priority for the last three days and she's not sure when she last washed her hair, yet Jake never stops making an effort to charm her. “How are you feeling, Ames?”

“Actually, I've been kind of nauseous all day. But I'm not sure it's stomach flu.”

“Huh? What else would it be?”

“I'm thinking,” she presses her index finger to his chest, “maybe I should take a pregnancy test.”

“Oh.” He squints at her. “Why?”

Amy gives him an exasperated look.

“Okay, yeah. But you’ve also spent the last three days taking care of your sick family. Leah was throwing up on us. Are you sure you're not just ill?”

“I have a good feeling,” she insists, because she does - there's a renewed sense of hope and blind faith that perhaps this could be it, resting with her. “And I never get sick.”

“Once again, your daughter was vomiting on you and I'm still convinced I might be dying. This is a brutal virus, Ames.”

“Clearly.” She runs her fingers through his messier-than-usual curls again, and his mouth shapes into a content smile despite his still worried eyes. “I’m still going to take that test, though. In case.”

“In case,” he repeats slowly. “Well, it’s your body.”

“Exactly.” She kisses his forehead. “You get it. I’ll be right back.”

Amy takes these tests with ease now. She’s been doing them two, three times extra following every first negative in a desperate hope for the result to change. False negatives are common, test results are safer the longer after a missed period they’re taken, and there’s no reason not to test an extra time. Long story short, she's becoming a pro at taking pregnancy tests, but so far the single lines and minus signs are staying the same.

She says a silent prayer this one will be an exception.

Plastic cap off, pee for five seconds, plastic cap back on, lay the test flat and wait while trying not to freak out. She manages all steps but the final.

She carries the little plastic stick out to the living room coffee table gently as if it had been made of glass.

“Three minutes,” she informs Jake, and he nods while she sets a timer on her phone. In three minutes, they'll know whether her good feeling is right or dead wrong, and the nausea increases but this time Amy thinks it's nerves.

She doesn't want to stare, but she does anyway, waiting for a second line to appear no matter how faint. Jake sits up next to her, taking her hand and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, and she manages a weak smile without lifting her eyes from the test.

The timer goes off without a second line appearing.

Amy lifts the test to inspect it closer, but there's not even a hint of anything. She gives it to Jake for a second opinion, and he inspects it just as closely before shaking his head and mumbling a quiet sorry, babe.

She's not pregnant this month either.

“It’s okay, Ames. Three months is nothing.”

She doesn’t realize there are tears in her eyes until they’re trailing down her cheeks and Jake’s hand is there, wiping them away. She presses on his wrist to move it, make him stop because she’s not okay and she doesn’t want him pressuring her to feel anything but the searing disappointment coursing through her veins.

“It’s not,” she says, shaking her head. “I just feel so stupid. I thought I was feeling something.”

“You’re not stupid,” he tells her, and the tenderness in his voice erases her annoyance. “You want this really bad. I do, too, but… well, it’s not my body.”

“Not your body being a massive failure.”

“Hey!” Jake holds up one hand like he’s making a stop motion. “No one talks that way about my wife!”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m serious! You don’t get to say those things, okay? You know it’s not true.” She hums a doubting sound, and he sighs, placing his arm around her shoulders. “Ames, we’ll just try again. We already did a great job once, and there are moments I wish we hadn’t, because if we didn’t have a toddler in daycare I would be so much healthier… okay, I still don’t regret it,” he adds. “Except maybe the daycare part, because I swear I’m sick all the time.”

“You love our daycare! Without it, you’d never get to eat that Scientology-guy’s chocolate chip cookies at every parent meeting.”

“Fair point. Craig, right? Weirdly good baker. Fine - I guess I don’t regret the daycare either. But you’re about to.”

This time, she’s the one squinting at him in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Still feeling nauseous?”

“Kind of, why are you… oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Your immune system isn’t undefeatable!”

“It’s still better than yours,” she counters, and Jake just grins.

“But not undefeatable.”

She gives him a slow nod, trying to hide the despondency on her face as she takes the negative test from his hands.

“I’m just going to throw this away.”

Amy is certain of it when she wakes up three hours later, almost throwing herself out of bed to make it to the bathroom in time - January is officially and unquestionably hell.

#my writing #b99 #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine-nine #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #brooklyn 99 fic #brooklyn nine-nine fic #b99 fanfiction #brooklyn nine-nine fanfiction #jake x amy fic #jake x amy fanfiction #peraltiago fic #peraltiago fanfiction #sorry for being so rude about january don't take it personally if you love january #it's just.. everyone's sick

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angstymarshmallow · 7 years ago

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The Only Love That Counted (Zig x MC)

[A little note: Welp, I had this idea earlier about Zig and Dia ice skating - then it just sort of took off from there. Instead of sleeping, I keep writing into the wee hours of the morning. Someone stop me. This is pretty much just mostly fluff, and as usual I hope it’s enjoyable!].

[Summary: At the first sign of winter, MC (Dia) has an unmistakable urge to do something she hasn’t done in years. Ice-skating with someone she cares about.]

[Word Count: 3611]

Winter was Dia’s first love.

It was simple, uncomplicated. It brought her the best gift she’d ever gotten as a child - snow.

Ever since she could remember, she enjoyed this season. Not for its absurd rituals of gift-giving and lackluster holiday greetings, but for the other things that most people seemed to take for granted. The snowball fights. The warm hot chocolate. Snowstorms.

Whenever snow pelted across Hartfeld’s campus, she didn’t hurry to get inside. Unlike most people she took her time. She held her head high and allowed their tiny flakes to touch her cheeks before she inhaled sharply; enjoying the sight of her own breath in front of her eyes. She was captivated by its glimmering descent as a child. And as an adult, during its downward spiral before finally touching the ground – it provided her with an incentive to venture outside, rather than to stay indoors with the rest of her roommates.

She captured fistfuls of snow and squished it between her fingertips. She would relish in how frigid it was. Sometimes, she even made snowballs to toss sneakily at her friends, or some unsuspecting victim that happened to stride between her crosshairs.

But most importantly, what she enjoyed most about winter was missing for the past several years.

Ice skating.

At the first sign of winter, memories came flooding back to her.

Averting her eyes from her window, she sat up in bed and tried to shake them. But they refused to be ignored.

They resurfaced and mended together. A little girl holding unto her older brother’s hand and laughing as he twirled her across thick ice. Clumsy figure eights around her mom, running from her brothers while they chased after her and making silly faces at her dad, the second she spotted his camera. Ice skating had done all that, brought them altogether before ultimately becoming another reason to keep them apart. After the accident, she had given up it. She kept her shoes locked away; buried with a mountain of old things, she thought she would never need anymore.

Now all she could think of was how much she missed it. How much she wanted to toss off her sheets and suddenly find them.

Her eyes flew open at the thought and without realizing it, she begun searching for her old skates in a blind panic. She hoped by some gracious miracle she managed to pack them since the beginning of the quarter.

Minutes passed by until she dropped by the floor. She hadn’t brought them. They were still inside her old closet, tucked under things she thought she was never going to use again.

Sighing a second time, she tipped her head back until it bumped across the side of her bed. Why did she suddenly want to skate? What changed? She didn’t understand, but there was no denying the urge and the longer she remained on the floor – the faster her heart raced until she had no choice but to stand and pace the room.

She supposed there was no harm in checking out Hartfeld’s local ice rink. Although, she had only been there once herself to meet up with Kaitlyn and Zack, she hadn’t been able to stick around long enough without feeling anxious. But she wasn’t feeling anxious now. She was excited and more than willing to skate.

On a whim, she quickly changed and grabbed her set of keys by the dresser. She knew there was only one person she wanted to spend the day with. One person she wanted to share new memories with in order to keep replacing the bad. And it had always been the same person, unwavering from her since they met.

“Aaron, hi!” Dia fought to keep her tone friendly.

There were always at least one instance that she had competeley forgotten about Aaron. He was Zig’s roommate, the one she had met months ago on her first visit to his dorm. Although Dia was proud that the two of them were starting to get along; Aaron was rarely ever home long enough when she came to visit.

He seemed surprised to see Dia standing in front of him. Recovering in split seconds, he greeted her with a smile and quickly stepped aside to let her in. “Hey! Zig didn’t mention you were joining us today.”

She frowned lightly, “Today? Did I miss something?”

“The weather’s been so nice today that we thought we’d give ice-skating a try.” He explained. “It’s Zig’s first time and a bunch of us were going – so I figured it would be nice to include him, y’know.” At the sight of Dia’s expression dropping, he added. “And we wouldn’t mind if you tagged along too of course.”

Oh.

“Uh,” she didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t thought of Zig making other plans, but now that she had finally had time to think about it, she felt a sure of jealous and disappointment. She scowled at herself. It was a Saturday afternoon – who wanted to be home on a Saturday afternoon. “No, it’s okay I can just – I can just go.” She finished lamely, clearing her throat.

She had no intentions of hanging out with Aaron and his friends. It was no offense to them or anything, she just didn’t know them – and didn’t really care to. She forced herself to smile, “maybe another time.”

Aaron hesitated, and looked as if he was ready to say something until they both heard Zig’s voice from down the hall.

“Hey, is that Dia?”

“Yeah babe, it’s me.” She called. She couldn’t help but notice with some satisfaction that he sounded pleased to hear her. She barely had time to say anything else before she caught side of him sauntering towards them.

He looked as if he had just gotten out of the shower. Dressed in his favourite jacket and a pair of jeans, he was busily rubbing his hair dry with a towel until he saw her. His face broke out into a grin and he took several strides before he stood in front of her. “Hey, this is a surprise.” Leaning down, he greeted her with a kiss. The towel slid from his hand.

“Hey, yourself.” Her lips curved until she was smiling against his mouth. “A good surprise, I hope?”

“The best surprise,” he mumbled before kissing her again. The moment she felt his lips on hers again, her eyes slide close and she weaved her fingers through his hair. This time his arms came around her, snagging her waist as he deepened the kiss.

Dia had almost forgotten Aaron was still in the room until he cleared his throat behind them. Straightening, she patted Zig awkwardly at the thought of them having an audience before taking a step back.

“I was just telling Dia she should totally come with us to the ice rink.” Aaron muttered, motioning towards her. “But she sounded like she was busy.”

“I just wanted to stop by and say hi,” Dia interjected quickly, before she realized how odd that sounded. People didn’t just stop by to say hi unless they were planning on going somewhere. “I was actually going to go meet up with Kaitlyn and help her set up her band practice.” There, that sounded better.

Zig turned to her, placing his arm around her waist until he could pull her closer towards his chest. “Uh-huh,” he didn’t look convinced. “Why don’t you come along? It’ll be fun.” He lowered his tone, “besides weren’t you the one that was always saying I needed to make new friends.”

She rolled her eyes, “yeah you needed to make new friends.” She retorted crisply. “Not me. I have enough friends.”

“Your roommates won’t always count.” Zig pointed out, shifting closer.

“They do too.” She whispered back. Suddenly feeling childish, she tried to explain better. “I’m perfectly fine with the number of friends I have right now.”

“Uh huh.” He raised a singular eyebrow sardonically. “I think someone that’s so quick to give advice should be more open to receiving it.” He eyed her.

Her voice rose an octave higher, “I do not –” she took a deep calming breath. “I don’t usually give advice.” She answered coolly. “Besides doesn’t being your girlfriend gives me like special privileges?” She bumped his shoulder, “can’t we just pretend I was never here?”

“No way,” He smirked, “you rarely reach out to me first, so I’m basking this for as long as possible.” His expression softened, “why don’t you come along and meet some of my new friends?”

She hesitated.

“And if you aren’t having fun, we can leave.”

She eyed him suspiciously, “No questions asked?”

“No questions asked.” He agreed. “I’ll just make up some excuse or something.”

She deliberated quietly for a moment, until Zig leaned forward enough to place a lazy kiss by her ear, teasing before nibbling down lightly. “And I’ll make it worth it.” He muttered huskily, “imagine what kind of trouble we could get into? And we could always leave early and –”

The sudden clear of Aaron’s throat reminded them that they weren’t alone again. Zig immediately straightened beside her, and Dia’s cheeks were almost as red as her lipstick as they glanced back at Aaron. “Hey, so let’s pretend you didn’t just hear that.”

“What?” Aaron drew his eyebrows up in mock-surprise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He jerked his chin towards the door, “all I hear is the sound of us leaving the front door.”

“Separate cars?” Zig inquired. Throwing his arm around Dia’s shoulder, he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before they followed behind him.

“Definitely separate cars.” They both replied without missing a beat.

Dia had forgotten all of their names four times before the night was over. She did her best to pretend she was friendly. She answered stray questions that had been directed at her, she made a non-committal noise when she wanted and stuck loosely by Zig’s side the entire night.

She thought, she was doing well until Zig had walked over to her as they were renting shoes. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to smile. Or you know,” he didn’t meet her gaze as he added, “actually try being friendly.”

“Hey,” she bumped his shoulder. “This is me trying to be friendly.” She gestured wildly to herself.

“You said like three words the last time you spoke.” She heard the annoyance peeking through his tone. “And that was twenty minutes ago,” He dragged a hand through his hair.

“I came, didn’t I?” She frowned lightly as they sat by an empty booth.

“You did, and I appreciate it.” He forced his shoulders to visibly relax. “I would just appreciate it more if you could, I don’t know – talk to them the way you talked to me.”

She eyed him skeptically, “you want me to flirt and screw them?” it was a rhetorical question, but she saw the corner of his mouth lift a moment before he laughed. “Geez, and here I thought we were mutually exclusive.” She teased.

He playfully bumped her shoulder, “you know what I mean.”

She bit her bottom lip, “I guess I could be more…friendly.” Hunching over a little, she fixed her rentals. “It’s just…it feels so weird. So…fake whenever I do try, like they can see through it. Like they know I don’t mean it.”

“Probably because you aren’t being sincere.” He said a matter-of-factly. “I know you’re capable of it, I’ve seen you do it. All you need to do is show them the side of you that I’m completely crazy about,” he broke out into a grin. “The side of you that’s spontaneously romantic and sweet.”

A smile touched her lips. “You’re really the only one that brings that side out of me.”

“Yeah,” A pause. “Actually better yet, let’s keep it this way.”

She laughed.

“…But there’s other sides to you too,” he said insistently. “You’re hilarious when you want to be.”

“Yes, but like – sarcastically funny.”

“And as self-deprecating as you are, you light up the room when you’re passionate about something.” He smiled softly, “I’ve seen how much you glow when you care.”

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Shut up.”

His smile grew wider, “You’re weirdly egotistical and modest at the same time. That’s really adorable.”

“And you’re a dorky softie under all that leather Zig,” Dia interrupted. “You might have some people on the outside fooled, but I know that you like cuddling after sex.” Her voice grew soft, “you pretend to lose sometimes at pool when we’re tied, just to see me smile.”

Uncharacteristically, he blushed.

“And your sisters and your mom means more to you than anything or anyone else.”

“You’re pretty up there too.”

She laughed. “I stand corrected. There’s just so much about you and I…” She trailed off, searching his eyes, “you’re basically a dreamboat.”

“A dreamboat huh,” he snorted. “Well as long as I’m your dreamboat and your mine’s.” He lowered his voice. “Then we can sail anywhere together.”

She winced. “Did you honest to god just make a dad joke?” He laughed and she shook her head; a smirk splaying across her lips. “That was waay too corny.”

“You love it.”

“I…,” she looked away to hide her smile. “I tolerate it.” She sat back up to smirk at him, “besides, you’re weirdly attentive. Figuring all that stuff about me in a span of months. What a weirdo.”

“That’s called being heads over heels about someone.” He leaned forward to caress her lips with his thumb. “In case you haven’t noticed, you pretty much proved that you’re heads over heels for me too.”

“Ah, shit. Cat’s out of the bag I guess.” Her voice had grown soft again, and was almost a whisper as they locked gazes. Slowly, she kissed his thumb, before closing the rest of the distance between them to kiss him. “I guess I must be some kind of crazy for putting up with you for so long.” She grazed her lips against his, lightly exploring the smooth planes of his mouth until he snaked his arm around her and kissed her back.

They stayed locked inside each other’s embrace a minute longer before Dia pulled away. “Okay enough of this sappy stuff, I think your friends are staring.” She gestured in their general direction.

Smiling, Zig helped her to stand and took one step forward before nearly falling off balance. His arms came out to flail wildly at his sides until Dia caught them. He leaned heavily against her, till she stared at him.

“You don’t know how to ice skate, and you agreed to go ice-skating.” She stated flatly. She was a little disappointed; today had gone a lot better inside her head.

He nodded sheepishly. “It sounded like fun, and I’ve been getting along with Aaron so well lately. I figured it couldn’t be that hard.” The second he tried to move forward, his body almost flung him back and Dia had to tighten her grip on him to keep them steady.

“Well, as you can see – it’s not that easy to learn how to ice skate.” She scowled at him. “We’re not even on the rink yet, and I’m already worried about you.”

“Promise to hold on to me?” He almost pouted.

Laughing, she nodded. “Just- just don’t let go of me okay? Once we get on the floor, I’ll teach you some of the basics.”

They moved in almost perfect unison. One step was taken carefully and then the other, before they slowly made their way towards the rink. Using their weight to shift them forward, they made it successfully on the ice before both Zig’s hands left hers and gripped the railing tightly.

She skated effortlessly in front of him, switching from side to side until he scowled at her. “How is showing off helping me, Dia?”

“Sorry, I-” she bit her bottom lip. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a chance to skate that’s all.” She shook her head, “anyway but it’s not about me –”

“Why’d you stop?” He interrupted, eyes seeking hers. “Stop skating I mean. Why’d you stop skating?”

His question caught her off-guard. More often than not, she would usually breeze by those kinds of questions and kept changing the subject until the attention was off herself. But this wasn’t just anyone she was talking to, this was Zig. The man that had stolen her heart – and in the most cliché way possible, she fell for him. A barista boy that had gotten her first order perfectly right.

She didn’t want to shut him out. “It was kind of like a family tradition around Christmas,” she drew in a deep breath. “But we kinda stopped going after awhile. Y’know after…” she trailed off, and let out a small gasp when she felt his arm around her.

He gave her one handed hug, and she leaned into his touch. She buried her face into his shoulder and listened to the sound of his breathing before she felt calm enough again. “Thanks,” she mumbled into his skin.

“Always baby, always.” He muttered back.

She closed his eyes at the feeling of his fingers running through her hair.

Slowly, she felt his fingers slide towards her cheek and she pulled away long enough to nod at him.

He searched her eyes. “We’re good.”

She nodded again, “we’re good.” Stepping back again, she cleared her throat and bent low. “First things first – standing upright is a rookie mistake.” She indicated towards his posture. The fact that he was clinging onto the railing so tightly was adorable. If only she had her phone on her to take a picture of it. “I want you to do what I’m doing after you let go. Bend your knees and keep most of your weight on the balls of your feet.”

“You want me to let go?” He repeated dimly.

He didn’t look as if he had any intentions of letting go.

“Yes, Zig. Let go.” She was supposed to be his teacher but already she was beginning to lose patience. Trying to smoothen her tone, she smiled encouragingly at him. “I’ll catch you if you fall, okay?” She nodded emphatically at him, “just trust me.”

She watched the steel resolve slowly cloud his face, before his jaw clenched. Slowly he removed his hands one at a time, and as she repeated her instructions – he did them. “That’s it.”

“Hey, this isn’t so hard.” When he tried to move, she yelled sharply to stop him. “No don’t move yet!”

Almost losing his balance, he wildly grabbed back the railing until his knees threatened to give out underneath him. “Shit,” he breathed. “Why do people do this for fun?”

At the sight of the incredulous look on his face, she laughed. “Because it’s actually really fun.” She responded, “but we’ll get there. Baby steps okay?”

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, maybe we should –”

“Zigmund Ortega,” her voice was sharper than she intended. “We aren’t leaving this stadium until you know how to skate.” She held onto the railing with one hand and placed the other by her waist. “You’re going to learn and you’re going to love it. Okay.” When he didn’t answer, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He reluctantly answered.

“Now I want you to try getting up again but remember what I said about keeping your knees bent. That’s really important.” When he stood again, she reached out to take his hands.

“Wait what’re you doing?!” He glanced at her in alarm.

“Helping.” She squeezed his hand, “we’re going to skate together. That was what I wanted to do earlier,” She smiled. “I saw the weather outside and all I could think of was getting a hold of you and taking your hand across this,” she averted her eyes. “Across this stupid ice rink.” Gingerly, she brought her gaze back to him, “and I’m not leaving until we do it.”

His dark eyes seemed to soften and he smiled. “Okay.”

And for the next few hours, Zig learned how to ice skate.

She taught him how to stop and go, how to keep his balance and break his fall. And as afternoon became evening, Zig grew more confident in himself and fell less with each fumble. They skated across the rink, and Dia never drifted far away enough for Zig to worry about being alone.

Aaron and the rest of his friends; played a game of chase and Zig sat out while Dia joined them. They laughed and slid around Zig as the game went on; momentarily pausing to check up on him before committing to the game again.

It was almost near closing time, when they were nearly skating side by side. Only a few people were still across the rink, while the rest had already left a half an hour earlier.

Zig closed the distance between them and Dia had glanced up at him in surprise when he reached for her hand. “This is more my speed,” he joked, winking at her. As if for emphasis he squeezed her hand and brushed his thumb over her knuckles.

“Dork.” She responded, rolling her eyes. Although, she couldn’t stop herself from gripping his hand tighter. Hiding a smile, she now knew why she had wanted so desperately to go ice-skating in the first place. Though she rarely thought much of fate or considered any truth in mere coincidences; somewhere along the line she had started believing.

Winter was Dia’s first love, but Zigmund Ortega was the only love that counted.

#zig x mc #zig x dia #zigmund ortega x dia brekker #choices stories you play #the freshman #the sophmore #zig x mc fanfic #fluff #wow i've just been in a fluffy mood lately?#okay and i've also posted like a story everyday #it's ridiculous i should stop #playchoices #zigmund ortega #wow my summaries and titles could still be better

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kuriquinn · 7 years ago

Text

Telanadas [3/19]

Cover Page & Disclaimer:

first chapter

Author's Note: Some dialogue has been taken directly from Dragon Age: Origins but only to add context to the plot.

For a time, all is quiet.

The night watch is Sasuke’s preferred duty, offering him a chance to collect his thoughts. Kakashi might not be wrong about him being tightly wound, but he refuses to accept it is for the reasons suggested.

More likely, it is suddenly being in close quarters with an entire party of fighters who are all-but his equals. He is much more used to travelling and working alone, or at least working with underlings that do not insist on talking so much. Naruto and Sakura are so lively that it is sometimes overstimulating, and more often than not, confusing.

There is a sudden sharp, desperate intake of breath: a bitten off cry, followed by Sakura vaulting into a seated position. Sasuke’s head whips up to evaluate the threat, noting her wide and terrified eyes, and the way her fingers twitch toward her axe. Across the cave, Naruto shudders in unconscious empathy, while Kakashi’s breathing pauses. The mage’s single visible eye cracks open, his entire body tense as if expecting an attack. When it settles on Sakura, his body relaxes.

He is used to this behaviour. They all are.

Though the mage does not get up to check on her—they have all learned not to mention the nightmares—he continues to watch her with concern.

Sasuke does not move, either.

It is common for Sakura or Naruto to wake in such an agitated manner. The former Templar mentioned to Sasuke once that the dreams are part of being a Warden, something to do with their secret initiation.

He seemed childishly put-out when Sasuke refused to ask him what was so secret about it.

Now, Naruto continues to snore away in the corner, so deeply asleep even a giant’s bellow might not rouse him. He remains unaware of his fellow Warden’s distress, and yet, if there were darkspawn falling upon their camp, he would be one of the first to his feet.

Another inexplicable quirk to being a Warden, Sasuke supposes, studying Sakura’s face in the dark. Her expression is painfully familiar.

Sasuke knows what it is like to be gripped by night terrors. Though he does not wake in such a cold sweat after so many years, he recognises the disorientation and terror one experiences ripping oneself out of the Fade. In the early years, anyone who ventured close to him would be lucky to escape with mere bruises. After his time in Oto, anyone disturbing him after such a nightmare would be lucky to survive the trouble.

Sakura inhales a shuddering breath that on any other woman Sasuke might imagine was a terrified sob, before the rest of her senses wake as well. She seems to notice Sasuke’s eyes on her, because she turns red, and looks away.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

He doesn’t understand; why would she apologise for something she cannot control?

Still not looking at him, Sakura turns back around, pulling her blanket up around her ears with the determination of one who intends to chase sleep no matter what. What follows is a solid ten minutes of tossing back and forth, to the point Sasuke begins to grind his teeth in irritation. Finally, she gives it up as a bad job and rises, wrapping her cover around her. Sakura shuffles over to sit beside him, rubbing warmth into her forearms while leaning closer to the fire.

“I can spell you if you want,” she offers. “Doubt I’m going to sleep much more tonight.”

“I have already slept.”

“For ten minutes?” she challenges.

“For long enough.”

She puffs out her cheeks in annoyance, then smiles and shrugs. “Alright, but that just means you’re going to be keeping company with me for a while.”

He shrugs.

Distantly, Kakashi makes an oddly exaggerating yawning sound and then turns his back on the two of them. Sasuke would suspect an intent to eavesdrop if they were not in the middle of a mission where alertness could mean the difference between life or death. The otherwise meddling fool is not one to sacrifice his battle effectiveness for misguided matchmaking ploys.

At least, Sasuke highly doubts he is.

He isn’t completely sure until several minutes later when the mage’s breathing evens out in slumber. This leaves Sasuke, for all intents and purposes, alone with Sakura in the night. It is not the first time it’s happened, nor is it likely to be the last, yet he cannot deny a growing sense of apprehension.

Sasuke’s world has always been very monochromatic and easily categorised. Based on how people react to him, he forms a very precise first impression and his intuition about people’s motives has the same deadly accuracy of his archery skills. Humans and dwarves alike have always gazed upon him in silent judgement, and even the flat-ears in the Alienages are wary in his presence.

But Sakura looks at him the same way she does everyone else they meet—as if his past does not matter, and she cares only about who he is now. It is almost as confusing as when she looks at him the other way.

There is a reason Kakashi’s unwanted teasing makes him uncomfortable. Part of that may have to do with the fact he is not as unaware of the woman’s attentions as he pretends.

He just doesn’t know how he feels about them.

Sasuke frowns at her, studying her face as if it holds the answers he is seeking. She endures this for a while, but eventually tires of the silence.

“Don’t you ever talk?” she asks. “I mean, make small-talk just to put people at ease?”

“Would you have me remark upon the weather before I put an arrow in someone’s eye?”

She giggles at this.

“Right, because you’re such a hard-ass,” she grins. “You can drop the act. It’s not like anyone will notice.”

She jerks her head at Naruto, who flails his arms and mutters unintelligibly in his sleep. “Ho…ka…ge…”

Sasuke crosses his arms.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Come on, I saw you what you were doing, right before we left Uzushiogakure.”

He raises an eyebrow rather sure she’s simply trying to get a rise out of him.

“You know,” she reminds him. “Playing with that kitten.”

Warmth floods his cheeks, and he hopes those rumours about dwarven eyesight being better in the dark are false.

“There was no kitten.”

“I saw you,” she insists, grin widening. “You were dangling a piece of twine for it.”

“I was…” Sasuke flounders here and blurts out the first practical thing to come to mind, “helping it to train.”

Right away he wishes to take that back due to the sheer idiocy of the comment.

Sakura stares at him for a moment as if she is trying to confirm exactly what she just heard. Sasuke braces for a loud peal of laughter—she does that a lot, though it has never been directed at him before. Instead, her grin softens into a genuine smile, and the amusement in her eyes fades to something else.

“You really are a kind man under all that anger, aren’t you, Sasuke-kun?”

He glowers and looks away, folding his arms. “I have flee-on-sight warnings in six kingdoms. Kind is the last word I would use.”

“If you say so…”

Her tone suggests how unbothered she is by his argument. He takes that as an invitation to go on the offensive. “Very well. Then how do you explain your tendency to sniff dirt?”

“What?!”

“Do not deny it,” he counters mercilessly. “I saw you pick up a handful of dirt and sniff it, just before we headed up this mountain.”

“I did not!”

“You did. I saw you.”

“Fine,” she admits, cheeks turning red and tossing her hair. “But it smells good. It’s like…falling leaves and sunlight and living things. Everything back home smelled like nug-dung, so you can’t exactly blame me!” She crosses her arms. “Aren’t elves supposed to be close to nature?”

“Figuratively. We do not shove our noses with it.”

“But you still like cats.”

They consider each other in silence for a beat, until Sasuke states, “We will never speak of this again.”

“My lips are sealed,” she vows, but her eyes continue to dance.

Sasuke glares at the ceiling of the gave. “Are all dwarves as annoying as you?”

She does not appear bothered by the rhetorical question; possibly because, against his will, his tone has lost any actual sharpness.

These people are making me weak…

They sit together in silence for a spell, and he is surprised to find it a companionable one. Usually Sakura is wandering among the camp, chatting to the rest of the outfit about everything from the rations to childhood stories. She has an uncanny ability to get people to confide in her.

(It is one of the reasons he has avoided her for so long).

Yet, for an hour, they simply sit together. Sasuke discovers that, for once, his thoughts seem to meander, and a peaceful silence replaces the usually steady barrage of plans and vengeance-fueled intent.

He cannot remember the last time he felt like this.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Sakura blurts. Sasuke raises an eyebrow at the abrupt statement. “What we were talking about before, about…the Dalish. If we offended you or made you think of something you don’t want to.”

The peaceful haze ebbs away.

“Ah.” He shrugs, feeling suddenly cold. “You were not to know.”

“Maybe not. But if you ever…if you ever do want to talk about it, I’m here,” she offers. “Sometimes talking helps.”

“Not in my experience,” he retorts, crossing his arms and looking away.

He hopes for that to be the end of it, his goodwill toward her presence vanishing. He wishes she had fallen asleep after all. At least when she is asleep, he does not have to be on guard for whatever she will say.

“You know, just because you look all pretty and brooding, doesn’t mean you actually have to brood.”

Like that.

Sasuke is so surprised that the confused look he shoots her might include a gaping mouth most unbefitting of his upbringing.

“Oh, Ancestors!” she gasps, pressing her fists to her mouth in horror. “I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth! I mean, yes, I can, because it’s true, but I didn’t mean to say it out loud!”

As she rambles, Sasuke cannot help feeling insulted.

Pretty?

He has never been described by a word so trite as pretty in his entire life. It is not as if he cares overly much about his appearance, but the mere idea of her descriptor makes him indignant.

And he does not know why.

“…it’s just, not what I thought about elves,” Sakura is still talking, clearly unaware of his inner conundrum. “The stories talk about you like you’re walking trees or plants or something. With bright bug eyes and wrists that would snap if you squint at them wrong, but you’re...uhm…prett—I mean, solid looking.”

Yet again, he does not know how to respond to any of that.

So, for once, he says the first thing to come to mind.

“I was raised to believe female dwarves had beards,” he informs her flatly.

Sakura blinks at this, and then she does burst into laughter; it is the startled sound of someone finding humour in a most unexpected place. A beat later, as Kakashi and Naruto shift in their sleep, she tries to quiet her giggles.

“Did you make a joke?” she teases him, green eyes positively delighted.

“It does not happen often,” he grumbles and looks away. His cheeks are definitely warm this time.

“Good thing, too, or you might cause an uproar. We’re travelling with a bunch of cloudheads. I don’t think their hearts could take the stress.”

Again, they share a look, commiseration over the general ineptitude of the human species.

“Yeah, they wouldn’t last a minute growing up in Iwa,” Sakura continues. “A joke’s not a good one unless someone ends up with a broken nose. At least that’s what my mother would say.”

Sasuke blinks. “Your mother…sounds interesting.”

It is the politest way to put it. He may have his own issues with people, but he learned young not to insult anyone’s mother.

“She’s a spitfire,” Sakura agrees. “She’d have to be, coming from Dust Town. If you don’t strap on a pair of steel tits down there, you end up dead in an alley.”

“That is the part of Iwa you come from?”

“Dust Town? Yes.”

“Hm. Is it truly as I have heard?”

“I’ve no idea. What have you heard?”

“That it is like an Alienage,” Sasuke says, shuddering at the idea of the ghettos that house his kind in the cities. They might have forgotten their ways, but distantly, they are still his kin.

“Oh, no,” Sakura says, snorting. “No, I’ve seen Alienages. We were in Kumo and Kiri before we ran into you. They were both rather nice. I’d have killed to grow up somewhere like that.”

“Yes, you mentioned…”

“Hah! Kakashi was right! You were listening!”

He ignores this.

“Is it true that the number of dwarves is dwindling?” Sasuke asks. “That the darkspawn are always at the gates of Iwa, threatening to overwhelm you?”

“Yes. And yes, it’s only a matter of time before they do.”

“You do not seem entirely concerned about that,” Sasuke frowns.

“Why should I be?”

“My people…we are few. Every one of us is precious, our lives something to be guarded and mourned once they are lost. But you dwarves isolate your casteless, forbid them from bearing weapons that might help them fight off their own demise…”

He trails off, not quite sure what point he is trying to make.

“Yeah, well, the noble caste has a stick up its collective arse,” Sakura shrugs. “A stick called tradition. And at some point, it’s going to destroy them. See, the thing about the casteless is, we’re survivors. The time comes that the darkspawn overwhelm Iwa? It’ll be the dusters that survive it because we’ve been keeping ourselves going for centuries.”

She smiles, teeth bared like a wolf and a glint in her eyes that sends a chill shooting up his spine. It is not fear, that he is sure of, but the way his stomach flips and his mouth suddenly goes dry he wonders if it is not something worse.

“If your people are so beset by darkspawn, why leave to become a Warden?” Sasuke asks before he can think better of it. “There are more underground than here. Would you not be more useful amongst your own?”

Sakura looks thoughtful for a moment, and then sad.

“That’s a tale for another time, I think,” she says after a beat. “Ask me the next time we get our hands on some lichen ale. If you don’t pass out at the first sip, I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Sasuke is familiar enough with not wanting to speak of the past, and he lets this go. But he frowns. “I doubt your dwarven spirits are that potent.”

Sakura laughs again, eyes dancing, and Sasuke almost smiles in response.

Almost.

Comments and concrit are much appreciated, and very motivating! For information about supporting my original, non-fandom related works, you’re welcome to check out my ko-fi tip jar, or my patreon page.

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#naruto fanfiction #fusion fic #dragon age origins #sasusaku #au #dwarf!sakura #warden!sakura #elf!sasuke #drama #romance #friendship #sfw #kuriquinn #growing attraction

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ellohcee · 7 years ago

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Between You and Me

50 Prompts

#39 – Overwhelmed

She hates it. Sometimes she just falls apart and it's like her world simply tilts in the wrong direction. It is heralded by that awful bloom of fire and tingles behind her eyes and nose. It relentlessly burns and suddenly her eyes are welling and she's not even entirely sure why.

You're overwhelmed, her mother once told her.

But by what? Most days it's fine. Yes, juggling school and hero work and personal life can be exhausting, but it always turns out fine. She gets a few late days at school, she gets scolded, and she moves on. She misses a few things with friends because Akuma attacks just can't be pushed off to the side, you know? And there are some days she's a little snappy with Chat Noir, but he understands, she apologizes anyway. They have lives that sometimes seep in while they're in mask and it just can't be helped sometimes.

But here, sitting atop her balcony, a cold autumn wind biting her skin like an angry wraith, she just doesn't understand. She'd been fine earlier throughout school, the usual song and dance of her life. But she gets home, sets her bag down, has a snack, and suddenly while she's sketching a design it just slams to the front in such unapologetic insistence that it knocks her asunder. She sits and blinks and wonders why for a few moments before frustration gnaws at her. She needs air.

She climbs to the balcony and sits with her back to the railing, feeling the cold bite of wrought iron pressing into her shoulder blades as she leans back hard. Marinette hopes it would ground her against this bizarre swell of emotions, keep her tethered to sanity because she doesn't understand what she's upset about. All that happens is she loses track of time, sitting until dusk fades and her string lights come to life, reflecting off her wet face.

This is how the other half of Paris' super hero duo finds her somewhere past sundown, and like a wraith himself, Chat lands on her balcony with barely a sound. “Princess?” he asks in concern, crouching in front of her. Green eyes seem to glow comfortingly in the dark, flickering across her tear stained face in attempt to decipher what he's walked in on. “Are you okay?” he asks in worry, because he's never seen her like this and he can barely fight the overwhelming surge of 'please don't cry' he wants to blurt out.

She huffs out an attempt at a laugh, but it just ends up as a burst of air from her lungs that burns like flame in her chest. “I don't know, probably?” she shrugs offhandedly, averting her eyes and trying to scrub the tears from her face. This is a manner in which she never wanted Chat to see her, Ladybug or otherwise, but she can't find the will to care because it's just nice that he's here. Sometimes she really takes for granted how comforting his presence can be, because he's just so alive and caring and sweet. Sometimes it floods her with joy so great that she never wants to imagine a world without him. He's her best friend, her partner, her sanity amidst this hero business she was chosen for.

So right now, Marinette thinks, she's really glad to see those green eyes peering at her. In that moment after her noncommittal answer, he's suddenly slinking forward to carefully sit next to her and Marinette can't help but lean towards him. In their occasional meetings like this she tries to tone back her Ladybug level of comfort because right now she's Marinette- she's not supposed to be that familiar with him, but she just doesn't care tonight. So she lets her head fall on his shoulder, releasing a sigh so heavy it feels like it should expel all the flurry of emotions with it, but it does not.

“Hey,” he says quietly, not at all taken aback by her invasion of his space. “What's wrong?”

“That's just it,” she responds in frustration. “I don't know.” Her head hurts, her mouth is dry, her eyes ache and all she wants to do is lie down and sleep forever, but she's fairly sure these were all side effects of the sudden burst of whatever. But what was the cause of the whatever? She had not the faintest.

“Oh,” Chat replies, sounding confused as all hell. Well join the club kitty, she thought, because she's confused as hell on a daily basis, but right now takes the cake. As if on cue that rush of heat behind her nose flares to life again, bringing with it a pressure that waxes and wanes inside her skull like waves. She huffs in annoyance, rubbing more tears away and only crying more because she's so frustrated.

“Well,” the hero starts, a note of hesitance in his voice. “Sometimes there doesn't have to be... I mean, not one particular thing, sometimes it's just... everything, you know?” he asks hesitantly, his voice uncharacteristically small.

This stupid cat is making her cry even more, because in her already emotional state it's easy to pick up the heavy truth behind his words, that he knows this all too well and it bogs down on him sometimes. She doesn't want her cat to be hurting, ever, she wants him to be happy. She knows realistically a person can't be happy all the time, but the image of Chat whenever he's hurt or sad flashes into her minds eye and it makes her want to weep.

The water works must have turned up at these thoughts, as he was suddenly looking at her anxiously. “Hey hey, Princess?” he asks, adorably concerned over the increase in tears, and damn it all he's just too good. Marinette abruptly twists where she's sitting and hugs him around the neck, burying her face into his collar and making the black clad hero stiffen in surprise. “M-Marinette?” he asks in surprise, dropping his usual nickname.

“Don't be sad,” she demands softly, yet fiercely, into his suit. “Okay?”

Chat is quite understandably thrown asunder, as he thought he was the one doing the comforting here. He blinks, once, twice, three times, before his brain kick starts and he manages to speak. “Um, how did this... I thought... you...”

“Just because,” she whispers. She can't bring herself to explain that she hears the weary tone in his voice, that she often picks up on his downcast moods when she's Ladybug, that she doesn't always know what to do or how to help but she just wants him to know that she's here. In any form. But she can't let on that there's more than Marinette, so she settles for this ambiguous answer and continues to hug him. Because without him there would be no Ladybug, not only because of his encouragement on their first round as heroes. But more so just every day they're together, he lifts her spirits, and while she may act annoyed sometimes, she loves this silly cat with all her heart.

What level of love exactly is yet to be determined, because she doesn't go there for fear of making things complicated.

So for now, she settles on doing something that she doesn't allow as Ladybug. She lifts her head and kisses him on the cheek, feeling an immediate flush on his skin beneath her lips as he blushes like nothing else before.

“M-Marinette-”

“You'e a good person, Chat,” she whispers, dropping her forehead back to his shoulder as the hero goes silent. “You're too good. Don't ever let anyone take that away from you.”

Chat's face, although she cannot see it, is stuck momentarily in a shocked stupor, eyes wide and cheeks red. But slowly, there comes the barest tremble of his lip and a strangely glossy look in his eyes. Swallowing thickly, he reaches arms up to hug the girl back, holding her close as his heart thumps. The embrace is near desperate, as he suddenly realizes the truth. What started as an attempt to comfort Marinette now seems to have shifted into the realm of mutual support, and he really can't complain. He has no idea how she picked up on his feelings so quickly and turned the tables, but she'd always been very akin to shifting emotions.

So they sit together, wrapped up in each other like the world is ending, and just let themselves be in this moment. No more words are exchanged for several minutes, until Marinette starts sagging against him as her emotional typhoon gives way to exhaustion. Chat shifts his grip to support the girl, reluctantly standing up and carrying her towards the skylight. “Alright Princess,” he whispers softly, feeling a tickle of her hair at his chin. “Time for some sleep, you need it.”

For a moment her arms tighten around his neck, and Chat feels his heart nearly explode with affection, suddenly a lot less willing to release her. But, he dips her lower half down and holds her steady until Marinette finds her balance. Chat lets her go then, kneeling down to open the skylight and hold it for her. “In you go,” he bids, holding his free hand out to her.

Marinette smiles at his gesture, ever the gentleman, and takes his hand. She starts descending the ladder down into her room, looking below for several moments to make sure her feet find purchase, until she looks up and pauses. They are suddenly eye level, nearly nose to nose, and it's a little harder to breathe. They lock gazes for a moment until Chat breaks the spell and leans forward, planting a kiss on her forehead just below her bangs. Marinette squeaks in surprise and embarrassment, her face going completely red as he grins at her in a way she can only describe as triumph.

Amidst the receding waves of emotions calming with the storm inside her, she suddenly sees Chat in a different light than before. Right now he's like a ray of sunshine, his own face tinged pink and that big, adorably stupid grin on his face making Marinette's heart flutter in a way that's usually reserved for Adrien. For a moment her grip tightens over his fingers, and she smiles at him. “Thank you, Chat,” she whispers,

“Anytime, my dear,” he answers with a dip of his head, and she can tell he well and truly means this. He brings her hand forward and places a kiss on her knuckles, making her giggle, before she descends the rest of the way down into the room. He only lets go once distance insists, giving her a cheeky smile and a wave. “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight Chaton,” she replies, waving back as he closes the window and disappears into the night.

Chat feels his heart drumming loudly in his ears as he leaps between rooftops, an elated grace to his movements that seems to carry him like a bird on the wind. That was most definitely not how he expected the encounter to go when he saw Marinette huddled on her balcony, but if he were to be completely honest, he couldn't be happier.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #tales of ladybug and cat noir #marinette dupain-cheng #chat noir #marichat #writing #fanfic #writing prompts #ellowrites

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nuald · 4 years ago

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Living in Calgary

I've been living in Calgary for 2 years already, and I think it's time to recap few things about living here, pros/cons and possible remedies to the issues you might face here.

Please note that life now is different compared with what you could have even 10 years ago. I guess both Vancouver and Calgary (as those are the only cities I've lived in long enough) were nice for newcomers (by newcomers I've meant people who just moved there and didn't have a lot of money to settle in). Right now, both cities have changed and introduced more obstructions to residents.

That's why despite a lot of cons of Calgary below, it doesn't mean that this city shouldn't be considered for living. It's all about tolerance and life choices. If you have proper expectations, it will be easier to adapt. There are definitely people who love Calgary (esp. if they are mortgage-free and/or love winter activities), and who hate it (e.g. who got their houses ruined by hail or flood).

I'm not going to provide a simple list of pros/cons (as cons for me could be pros for you, for example, long winter season), but rather take the most important areas and describe them.

Services

Calgary is definitely a family-friendly city, much more friendlier than Vancouver. Schools and kindergartens are not so busy and expensive. If you want some particular school, you still need to be in the wait-list though, but if you’re not picky, there are definitely some options available. All levels of education, including universities, are presented.

It’s not a problem to get the family doctor too. Walk-in clinics are not so busy too, and emergency wait times are bearable.

Entertainment options are quite good: museums, libraries, one of biggest YMCA in Canada, Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra, Alberta Ballet, Calgary Zoo etc

However, I have to note the prices of the dental services. Alberta has the highest prices for dental. Historically, oil and gas companies provided full dental coverage and didn’t care much about prices. It’s all changed, but the prices are still high. I hope it’s going to change, but right now please be careful about it.

Transportation

I can’t say much about public transit, I guess it's ok-ish in downtown and not so good in the outskirts, but that's applicable for all cities in general. For reference, in 2020 the single fare for adults is $3.50 for 90 minutes (there are no zones in Calgary). There is CTrain too (light rail transit), but it's not as extensive as in Vancouver. There are some plans to improve it (e.g. add Green Line), but it has been delayed many times already, and it's difficult to predict when they will finish it.

Calgary is a private car city - it has 2 major highways (100 km/h limit) through the city, plus there some long streets and avenues which could be considered minor highways (the speed limit up to 80 km/h). Essentially, you can get to any location in Calgary in 30 minutes on average. I guess the only real traffic jams I’ve seen was during Stampede, and it’s just a week in a year. In general, it’s a real pleasure to drive here, especially if you leave Calgary core and takes any of the scenic routes it has on the outskirts and further in the numerous parks.

Despite that there are few obstacles for being a happy driver here:

a lot of speed cameras. Speed tickets are a source of income for the city, and sometimes they abuse it. Radars are legal, including hidden mobile radars, and the abuses include sudden speed sign changes and school zones limits which disregard the school days, and enforced from 7am to 9pm everyday including weekends and holidays.

gravel on the road. They use sharp-edged gravel in the winter, and considering speeds on highways and lots of semi, you may forget about having a nice non-cracked windshield and sunroof (I've got huge cracks on both). Glass insurance is not included in the basic packages, and should be bought separately.

a note about insurance. It's not cheaper than ICBC, it's actually more expensive and has more restrictions (at least for immigrants).

a lot of construction. Mostly closer to downtown, but major highways are affected too. Fortunately, there are not many two-lane highways like in BC (mostly 4 or 6 lanes), so the delays are not so huge, but could easily take 20-30 minutes.

My recommendations: don’t buy luxury cars (not only winter tires and windshields are expensive, it’s difficult to maintain the low speed), get glass insurance ASAP, use apps like Waze to check the road condition ahead.

Climate

Calgary has more sun than Vancouver, however I can't say it's a sunny city (I guess Canada just in general doesn't have a lot of sun). Moreover, the sun doesn't matter so much as it doesn't mean that the city is getting a lot of its heat - it has snow for at least 6 months a year (first snow could fall in Sep, but usually it doesn’t stay for long, and the last snow is melted in Apr/May).

Sun is very bright (due to altitude), and the humidity is low. Nice green grass requires either irrigation or rainy days. There is no dedicated line for irrigation, so you would need to use the “drinking” water, and a lot of it.

A note about “drinking” water - its quality definitely worse than in Vancouver (it's quite hard and has other chemicals). While they allow us to drink it from the tap, we don't risk it, plus we don't like having stains on every glass surface we have in the house. Fortunately, it's possible to avoid it with softener (plus we have a reverse osmosis system for actual drinking). It’s not cheap though, but it’s a long term investment that could be worth thinking about (we’ve installed the systems from https://www.jugfree.com/ and they have prices there for reference).

Short summers don't always bring warmth and sun only, but also heavy rains, hail and tornado. Hail damages houses and cars, and the last storm in Calgary (June 2020) has the estimation in damages nearly $1 billion: https://calgaryherald.com/news/local-news/cost-of-damage-from-weekend-storm-could-total-1-billion-nenshi

Winter is not so harsh though due to Chinook. Visually it looks like huge dark clouds cover the city and the temperature is rising. Even without it, the winter is mild enough, but it's not always good. As the day/night temperature could differ in 20C, the ice (usual or black) is the real issue here, and winter tires are strongly recommended.

My recommendations: South Calgary has a better climate and usually hail is not so bad here (we live in South East). It’s better to avoid the north (besides that, North East has a high crime rate).

Real Estate

The houses are cheaper in Vancouver, definitely. Medium income families can afford decent living conditions here. Surely, nothing fancy, the same overpriced wood frame houses as in North America overall, as the construction lobby is very strong here, and having sound-proof, properly thermal insulated houses, preferably from bricks, is a luxury.

Please note though that the taxes are increasing. As Calgary (and Alberta overall) in a financial crisis (they put in motion a lot of expensive projects when the oil/gas industry boomed, and still couldn’t recover after its collapse), so they burden their problems on residents.

Also, they have tons of other cash grabs there (carbon tax, some administrative fees nobody can explain), so the utilities are not cheap either. Insurance is also one of the highest in Canada (the official excuse is they are losing money because of hail storms and other disasters).

My recommendations: Towns near Calgary could be worth researching (like Okotoks or Chestermere). Surely, there are some disadvantages living there (for example, I’m literally 5 minutes drive from both major highways, so don’t have to deal with the slow traffic), but it’s definitely cheaper. https://www.realtor.ca/ is a Canada-wide database, you can look up the property ahead.

Geography

Calgary has quite a good location if you like nature. It has the unique position to provide access to several big natural areas at once, so if you have bad weather in one region, you can drive to the opposite direction and still find something nice. Please note that Calgary has the international airport with the decent choice of direct flights too.

On the west:

Banff National Park. It's a two hour drive (depending on traffic jams, usually they have some esp. on weekends). Please note that you don’t necessarily need to visit Banff and the park, and can find nice places near Canmore and Kananaskis (K-country).

East K-country, has several provincial parks. More accessible, shorter (1+ hour) drive (not necessary Hwy 1, but also Hwy 22), almost no traffic jams. A lot of ATV options, lakes and mountain hikes.

On the east:

Badlands. Surely, the most famous is Drumheller region (1.5+ hour drive), but they have much more than that as the badlands are presented in many places in Southeast Alberta, like Dinosaur Provincial Park (2h drive).

A lot of lakes with kayaking, fishing and jet skis options. The examples are Lake McGregor (a little over an hour drive) and Lake Newell (2 hours drive).

On the south:

Waterton Lakes National Park, 2.5 hours drive, a lot of activities there, but due to recent forest fires not everything is open.

US border (the traffic is much lighter compared with Vancouver, almost no waits). The prominent examples are Glacier National Park, Montana (3 hours drive) and Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming (10 hours drive).

On the north:

Shortcut to Jasper. While driving through Banff in theory faster (5 hours), in reality due to constructions, traffic jams and two-lane Icefield Parkway it could be faster to drive through Rocky Mountain House (6 hours).

There are a lot of parks there too, we just never got a chance to explore them yet. I guess Big Hill Springs Provincial Park could be an example of those (1 hour drive).

Shopping

It’s easier to shop here due to easy commuting and close availability of the big stores: Costco, Walmart, Superstore, Save-on-Foods, Home Depot, Lowes etc. Definitely, there are big malls (i.e. Chinook Center, CF Market Mall), outlets (i.e. CrossIron Mills) and big specialized stores (i.e. Cabela’s) too.

Diversity is not so good though - mostly North America merchandise. We found only one decent store for Asian products: T&T Supermarket. There are some small Asian stores too (mostly in the North), but they usually don’t have anything extra special compared with T&T.

Seafood options are not so great too (both in restaurants and in stores). Oysters and lobsters are quite uncommon for Calgary. I guess T&T has the best selection, but still less than in Vancouver.

0 notes

dothewrite · 7 years ago

Note

I CAN 30000000% IMAGINE YOU WRITING A HANAHAKI DISEASE SCENARIO OKAY CHOOSE ANY HAIKYUU CHARACTER IDEC ITS JUST HANAHAKI GETS TO ME (PREFERABLY FEMALE PRONOUNS AND THE GIRL HAS THE DISEASE BUT THEN AT THE END THE GUY FINDS OUT AND THEY'RE LIKE GOOD FRIENDS OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE )

This. I can’t believe I did this. Basically 10k, and apparently I torture myself for fun. I bled for this thing like some Grecian slave about to get whipped by his master, good god, and I’m still not happy with it, but it’s done, and it’s out. I hope you enjoy. I really, really hope you do.

The HanahakiDisease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient throws upand coughs of flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. The infectioncan be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with thepetals.

“There have beencases where patients have died, yes.”

You can stillenvision the doctor’s face, drawn and tired as he delivered your diagnosis toyou in an empty room that smelled of man and disinfectant. The first hint you’dreceived was how the doctor had handed you your new medication with the ease ofa thousand-day’s repetition, and you knew you weren’t rare at all.

Looking none theworse for wear, you had made your way out of the flooded hospital feeling nomore important than you were when you had entered.

Having thisdisease- having any disease- madework difficult, certainly. The punctures in your skin were awkward to explainat first, but your co-workers had gotten over their steadfast suicideprevention printouts when they had accidentally opened the door to your officeone afternoon to find you keeled over and suffocating. The injection packetscarefully placed in a drawer at your desk had transformed into a lifesaver inthat instant, from its prior purpose for reminding you how damaged you are. Andafter you had taken the afternoon off to save everyone from the trauma ofhaving to make eye contact with you for the rest of the day, they hadn’tbothered you about it since.

Still, it wasalmost alright again. As long as you took your medicine at the instructedintervals, your life carried on in a delightfully mundane fashion. More thanonce, you’ve had acquaintances of yours exclaiming over their cheap Americanbeer at the tidbit- how fascinating your life must be with such a romanticsounding disease! Could you possibly show them some of your flowers? They mustbe stunning.

The only properresponse is to smile, and join in their merrymaking. It didn’t feel veryromantic at all that night when you had been forcibly woken up mid-dream to afit that had left you sore and aching until morning. Your injections kept theinjuries, and therefore blood, away with its material-softening properties, andthat was the single thing you could feel thankful for. Perhaps if it were anyperson other than yourself, you’d think it a beautiful sight too.

There are morningswhere the nights have been particularly painful, and in compensation, you waketo a floor of beautiful cherry blossoms basking in the early rays of sunlightat your feet.

The unearthlyeffect lasted until the clock hit eight, and your trusty alarm reminded youwith its gentle bubbling to take your next injection within the next fifteenminutes.

You’ve gotten usedto sudden pinch in your skin whenever the needle pricks your arm, but there’snever anything pleasant about the strange burn that would course through yourblood like liquid metal until it fades away. There isn’t a green light lettingyou know if it’d worked. You’d simply have to take the bet, and if you’relucky, the petals in your lungs would have softened enough for it not to hurtthe next time your coughing started.

Lately it’s becomea habit of yours to stare emptily at your bank account online. You wonder whyit suffocates you so to consider removing the affliction altogether with thesurgery funds you’ve managed to save up. Yet, the evenings always end with youclosing the webpage, reaching for your next injection and waiting for spring toarrive again in your lungs.

“How’ve you beenfeeling lately?”

Akaashi’s taken toasking you this question each time the two of you come within reasonabledistances of each other, despite your weekly phone calls. You don’t think thathe’s ever quite gotten over the scare when he’d discovered, along with you,that you’d suddenly been bestowed the magical, life-threatening ability tocough flowers. He looks every bit as serious about it now as he did on thatbefore-and-after night.

“I’m doingalright,” you answer truthfully. “Nothing more stressful than bosses withincompetent PAs, but life’s going on just about the same as it had last week,if you must know.”

“Okay, but youtold me about the PA two nights ago, drunk. I meant your body. Have you takenyour injection before coming out tonight?”

“Yes, mom,” youroll your eyes, but you’re smiling, “I have it timed and everything. I’m goingto have to start on the next arm today, I think.”

Akaashi shakes hishead, ever exasperated with the ease with which you discuss relatively seriousmedical issues, and takes your left arm in a gentle grip. He runs two fingersover the light markings that pepper your indoor skin, and although the scarsfaded quickly, they don’t fast enough to escape Akaashi’s firm scrutiny. Hisface falls ever so slightly when he roams over your arm and finds no spare skinleft.

“It’s getting easier,”you add, but your gut twists, “I generally move my schedule so I’m comfortableand alone when it comes around.”

“Alright,” he saysreluctantly, “remember to let me know if you need any help. Any whatsoever.”

“I will,” youpromise. “So cheer up, Keiji, it’s a clear night, and we’re here to party.”

“Party, pffft.” He’s tiptoeing the lineto laughter, so you consider that a victory.

The walk to themassive gymnasium is a quick one. This early in the evening, the sun barelybeginning to dye itself orange, there are scarce people not occupied with workto loiter. The two of you pause at the polished gates, giving a quick wave tothe security guard you’ve rather become friends with, and he unlocks the doorfor the two of you with a cheery wave in reply.

The evening issupposed to be a quiet one, with Akaashi’s upcoming promotion (which means morework) and Bokuto’s upcoming qualifiers next week, there’s not much chance forthe three of you to go gallivanting off somewhere like in the days of yourlong-lost youth, a mere five years ago. Sometimes you find that you miss thosedays when you’re sat at your desk, ploughing your way through paperwork thatseems no more significant in the grand scheme of things than ice cream inwinter. But you’ve got a picture of the two of them sitting by your tired oldwork computer, cheering you with rather impersonal gazes. You feel pride whenyou see the excited gleam in Akaashi’s eyes when he successfully finishes acase, and you lose your voice cheering when you watch Bokuto’s matches and hetoo is roaring in victory; they’re your anchors, and it’s a possessive joy.

Today’s a goodday, and you feel inspired enough to venture that you might have a similar partin their lives too.

Bokuto catchessight of the two of you almost immediately when Akaashi pokes his head aroundthe broad gym doors. He starts to wave, almost dislocating a joint doing so,and you hear Akaashi’s laughter accompanying your own. Although you can’t saythat you aren’t thrilled to see Bokuto each time, what kind of normal personwould be so unreasonably excited to see their friends?

“Guys!!” He hollers at the top of his lungs, possibly afraid that Africa mightnot catch his voice. Bokuto the prospective opera singer instantly gets toldoff by his traumatized looking coach, and you note that he’s looking none toosorry at all.

“Come on,” Akaashitugs at your elbow, “if we stand here, he’s never going to actually make it outof the gym.”

You gesture atBokuto, trying to tell him that you’ll be waiting for him outside the gym asusual, and he nods vigorously. You see Akaashi’s point.

Plus, waitingisn’t so bad, not with Akaashi’s quiet commentary about his office woes, youroffice woes, and the collective woes of the unfortunately born middle class,against a purpling autumn sky. Bokuto’s a quick changer, you have faith.

A happy roarechoes through the empty field all of a sudden, and several birds dart away atthe sound. Noticing Bokuto’s entrance is a poor test of spatial awareness,thanks to his gift at announcing his presence. The two of you turn around justin time to see him skid to a stop behind your bench, not a drop of sweatbreaking on his temple, and his characteristic beam is exactly where it belongson his face.

“Good practice?”Akaashi asks.

“Nah.” Bokutogestures hurriedly, and you and Akaashi get to your feet upon his summoning. “Igot told off a lot today. Couldn’t focus, I think, but can you blame me? I’m super excited for our dinner!”

“Let’s not getahead of ourselves here, you’d be excited even if we went to get Burger King,”you grin.

Bokuto beams somemore at the truth of the statement, and you suspect you’re at risk of goingblind. “Yeah! But this is special, for Akaashi.”

Akaashi stares himdown. “And I’m certainly not having my dinner at Burger King.”

“You’ve changed,man, you’ve changed!”

“It’s calledaging.” Akaashi sighs emphatically. The giggles start to spill over between thethree of you because Akaashi sighing is always a beautiful scene, and it feelslike almost no time had passed at all.

You all pile intoAkaashi’s car, of course. It’s a no brainer, with Bokuto holding the worldrecord for the most indecisive car purchase in history, and you with your wreckof a car sulking in a garage somewhere for repairs. It’s a united decision;besides, there isn’t an excuse good enough in the world not to lounge in apolished Audi when the opportunity arises.

It’s only a shortride, but it’s a happy, lush one that has you humming and sighing insatisfaction as the soft leather rumbles around you. Bokuto in the front seatis valiantly attempting to hold in his delighted howls each time Akaashi spurshis ride on, and alone in the back seat, you watch the life around you pass by.You press the heel of your palm against your mouth to keep in the laughter.

When Akaashi pullsup in front of the entrance of an extravagantlyexpensive hotel, both you and Bokuto share in a collective prayer for yourwallets. Akaashi takes his time unbuckling the seatbelt and hands his keyspolitely to the valet, but Bokuto is the one who scrambles out of his seatfirst. It takes him no time at all, despite being tied and wrapped up in a suitand tie and the whole package, for him to walk over briskly and open your doorfor you. You’re far too occupied with not staring at his let-down hair todecline, and the arches of your feet groan in pain from your pointed heels asyou step out of the car.

“Those are prettyhigh,” he comments, not meeting your eyes either.

You rub your neckawkwardly. “Yeah. I probably shouldn’t wear them the next time we do somethinglike this.”

“No-“ he cuts in,and you’re surprised by how insistent he sounds, “-they look nice on you.”

“Oh… Thank you.”

Bokuto looksmildly conflicted. “I mean, if it hurts, then of course you shouldn’t wearthem. Doesn’t seem too great to be in pain just to look pretty- I’ll carry youhome if it hurts too much!”

The laugh you’reholding in between tightly pressed lips starts to push at your cheeks, and toyour relief, Akaashi steps in looking amused.

“Koutarou, you’rejust digging yourself in deeper.” Bokuto nods in full agreement, equallyrelieved, but looks pleased when you snort with laughter. “Let’s get going,shall we?”

You slip betweenthe two of them, and proffer your elbows to them as gentlemanly as possible.They slip their hands into the crook without hesitation, and the three of youmake your way towards your table like children without a care in the world.

“You look verynice today, Koutarou,” Akaashi murmurs later over his wine.

“Since you told meoff last time for not having anything nice,” Bokuto says, “I had this made.”

You look up from yourfood. “Don’t you have suits for your press conferences?”

“Yeah, I do, but‘Kaashi says they don’t fit me well.”

“You’re twice thesize of a normal human being,” answers Akaashi, nonplussed, “you can’t walkinto a store and expect their suits to fit you without getting them tailored.”

“You have changed, Keiji,” you grin. Bokutocheers when you manage to dodge a well-aimed flick from Akaashi’s wine glass.

“And I’m not twiceyour size. You play volley too!”

“I hadn’t noticed,Mister Wing Spiker. How you manage to fit into your shirts is beyond me.”

“I’ve heard ofsome elastic sports bras for men or something,” you add, “you think we shouldget him some?”

“I don’t need a bra!” cries Bokuto as heburies himself into his napkin.

Akaashi begins tochuckle, and you follow with a poorly hidden snigger. It’s not long untilBokuto’s dragged into the maelstrom of contagious laughter by the ankles, andhis is the loudest of all. It’s a chain reaction, and you laugh so hard thatwine sprays out of your nose (the waiter comes by with a napkin looking veryunimpressed), and although you’ve instantly become their new target, there’s nostopping the ridiculously elated burn that begins to hurt your chest.

Saying no todesserts turns out to be a wise choice. Wine, is a much more acceptablealternative to sugar, and you’re all thankful for the space left in yourstomachs for more alcohol. After dinner activities include some tired, oldscenic view rather than any raucous activity; it’s a well-known place, awaterfront hideaway a couple of streets away from the car. The three of youlook a little out of place with your immaculate do-ups next to the couples andgroups of teenagers in the late evening, but that’s what the Pinot Noir is for.

A small enclosureis all you need, and at nine in the evening with minimal, environmentallyfriendly lighting, the steps leading down towards to where the water breaksagainst bare concrete seems to stretch on for miles on either side of yoursmall group. Akaashi settles in behind you, handing you your drink, and Bokutoshifts to make himself comfortable beside you both.

You’re tempted tolean back just an inch more to dump all your weight on Akaashi’s legs, but youknow how he’d respond: he’d talked your ear off for half an hour about creasinghis clothes the first time you’d done it.

Still, you do itanyway. Bokuto grins at you conspiratorially, almost egging you on, and youstick your tongue out at him and way just to act your age.

“Alcohol certainlymakes us mature, doesn’t it?” says Akaashi dryly.

You’re the firstto laugh, and Bokuto joins shortly after. Your wine swirls dangerously in yourglass as you shake, balanced precariously between tipsy fingers.

“It’s a goodnight,’ you shrug. It’s a shite excuse, but nobody cares.

“It is,” agreesBokuto.

It’s its owncertainty of the universe tonight that Bokuto Koutarou looks beautiful againstthe shimmering lights of high rise buildings. It’s too dark, they’re too happyand you’re too drunk to police your urges in the heat of the moment, and yourquiet defeat takes the chance to transform itself once in a blue moon, back intothe longing that it was born as. Bokuto’s hair is down, a good enough reason initself to stare, and the gigantic billboards, worth only in the colour thatthey exude, paints itself on the slivers of white that dash against Bokuto’sblack hair.

You hope you’restill looking in the general direction of ‘forwards’, because this imperfect,sideways image would be enough to haunt you for several evenings to come. Hispristine sleeves are rolled up on his forearms, almost a sacrament to how muchit probably costs, and Bokuto leans back in a way so casual that it can onlybelong to him. His wine dances on imperceptibly gentle fingers as ink does on acrystal dish, and he looks like a king, admiring his drink.

He brings it tohis lips to take a sip, and you force yourself to avert your eyes.

You can guess thatyour room will look like a florist’s dream tomorrow morning, yet somehow, youcan’t bring yourself to regret looking.

“What do you thinklove is?” Akaashi asks, all of a sudden.

“What?”

He looks asmysterious as ever when you turn around with a frown. Bokuto’s eyes remainfixed right ahead, brows furrowed. You choose not to answer this trickquestion.

“Are you in love,Akaashi?” Muses Bokuto, and he grins at the idea.

“No.”

You sigh into yourglass. Bokuto glances at you, but you miss it with your eyes downcast.

You venture asmall daydream of getting on a boat, and sailing far, far away from yourtroubles, so far that your lungs forget that you were ever in love at all.

Despite your longefforts, there has always been something wild and untamable about the mattersof the heart. You can no more keep what beats in you silent, for love is not aquiet affair, not even unrequited love, and its jail takes your days tomaintain.

“I’d better getgoing.” Akaashi gently pushes you off his legs, and gets to his feet.

“Already?” Youblurt out, but he only presses his empty glass into your hand. Now you havetwo.

“I had funtonight,” he nods, “but it’s my cue to leave. You two enjoy the night a littlelonger.”

Bokuto looksconfused, startled by the sudden announcement, but he doesn’t protest. Althoughit would make it easier on your nerves to follow up with your own departure,you know that there’s no way you’d be able to leave Bokuto alone here. Not evento make it easier on your own nerves.

All the while,Akaashi’s eyes bore into you.

“Goodnight!” Hecalls when he’s almost out of view. You wave weakly, and consider abandoningthe wine glasses altogether for the bottle itself.

He’d expect aphone call when you get home safely, of course. More often than not, you’vewondered how you’ve managed to land as good a surrogate mother as AkaashiKeiji.

“Is everythingalright with him?” Bokuto wonders, “that was strange.”

“He’s fine,” youmumble, “he’s probably just scheming, as usual.”

Bokuto doesn’t askmore.

You carefullyplace Akaashi’s glass to one side, and trace your fingers along the edges ofyour own. Now mostly empty, the little flashes of colour from the skylineparade themselves on the colourless canvas. Your chest is aching all the while,as Bokuto waits for you to feel comfortable enough to speak again.

Always with manyoptions, they tap at your mind. You could talk about the evening, dinner, orhis clothes- even work, or volleyball or anything at all, just to fall intowhat would be a companionable lull. But it would be a discourtesy to fill agift with white noise.

“It’s gettingworse lately,” you begin. Liquid courage can only help so much. “My coughing. Ithink Akaashi wanted me to tell you more about it, rather than sit around andkeep things from my friends.”

“And?” Bokuto askssoftly.

Your head is stilllowered, but you shift to face him a little more with your body. Bokuto,however, is already miles ahead. He already has; attention only on you.

“I… also I decidednot to get the operation,” you say. “You know I’ve been on the fence about itsince I found out. I’m… pretty terrible when it comes to things like these.”

“Operations areserious things,” Bokuto reassures.

Perhaps. Bokutodoesn’t push further than this, giving you some breathing space. He’s beenthere for you whenever he can, you come to a slow realization as you count themoments uncountable, and it makes you lack. The nights, the quick afternoons ofexistentialism and Bokuto’s worried expressions are not easily forgotten, andyou feel apologetic for putting him in such positions constantly.

He’s waiting now,for you to decide that it’s okay to be vulnerable for him.

Little does heknow.

“I’ve been savingup for it since it’s not really a part of my projected expenses, and therearen’t many specialists. I’ve got enough now, and more, but there’s somethingthat holds me back.”

Bokuto fills inyour blanks for you kindly, and without impatience.

“What is it?”

You open yourmouth, and you close it again. “It’s… not something I can say just like this, Ithink.” You gesture vaguely at the sky. “Maybe another drink.”

“If you drink somuch, you’re gonna need to pee pretty soon,” Bokuto says, but his hands arealready reaching for the bottle on the concrete step behind you. You both watchin silence as the stream of burgundy slowly fills the wineglass in unevensplashes.

“Koutarou,” yousay slowly, “if I make it to the bathrooms this drunk, in this outfit, Ideserve a reward.”

“I think that notpissing your pants is a pretty good reward,” supplies Bokuto with a wide grin.

“I’ll ask you tocarry me then,” you answer easily, and Bokuto laughs and agrees like itwouldn’t be any trouble for your struggling little heart.

It’s always Bokutowho’s larger than life, larger than possibility, and his laughter is enough tobrighten several days’ worth of mist, rain, and whatever storms that decide tosettle themselves into your day.

“You’ll be thedeath of me,” you admit, tone fond and warm despite the crisp evening chill.

“There are worseways to go.” Bokuto grins, and all of a sudden you think of the number in yoursavings account, and the photograph of the pulmonologist on your laptop eachevening. The website had been polished and clean, and you imagine your lifeafter surgery to be quite similar in semantics to whatever you’re living now.

Pristine,sanitized, and a weary announcement of the time of death.

“Speaking ofgoing.” You allow yourself a second attempt when Bokuto makes no move to sayanything more. “I think that’s the closest reason why. Why I wouldn’t want thesurgery.”

Bokuto frowns atyour vague suggestion of ‘going’. “Are you worried about the success rate? Ithought that it was a minimally invasive surgery. You won’t be at much risk ofuh, dying, not unless there’s someone who majorly screws up.”

“You’ve done yourresearch,” you say, surprised.

It surprises youwhen instead of the enthusiastic ‘of course!’, or the bashful ‘yeah’, Bokutotugs the wine glass out of your tight grip (unfinished, you note) and frownssome more.

“I’ve doneresearch, and more. It’s a serious thing for you, and you’re a serious thing tome. Of course I’m gonna do all theresearch; I’m worried for you, even if I’m not around all the time like Akaashiis. So don’t you think that I’m okay with you coughing your lungs out all thetime.”

“Technically, it’s not my lungs I’mcoughing out-“

“Aw, shut up,” Bokutohuffs, but you’ve managed to pry a small smile out from him. “Your beautifulflowers, then.”

“You think they’rebeautiful?”

“Not when they’rehurting you. But I guess this whole thing- it’s like one of those things out ofa story, those super old ones with dragons and virgins. It’s romantic in apretty shitty way.”

Bokuto’s neverstruck you as particularly romantic, nor nostalgic for lost tales, but thismust simply be another way life decides to remind you that even you, someonewho thinks they know everything there is to know, miss things in cracks.

Yet, youunderstand his feeling. Sometimes in the mornings, or dusk, in the safety ofyour own room where your injections are always a comfortable distance away, thepetals fall from your mouth without pain and seem to change shades as the sunshifts across the sky.

“I like the purpleones the best,” says Bokuto.

You blink. “Oh,the bellflowers?”

“No, aren’t thebellflowers the really light coloured ones? I mean the velvet looking ones; thereally dark purple petals. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Oh,” you breathe,because Bokuto’s shifted closer and his earnestness glows in his amber eyes.“You’re talking about the gladioli.”

“Yeah!” He snapshis fingers. “Those! I’ve always liked their name, but I keep forgetting it.”

“It’s okay, nobodyreally mentions them.”

“I don’t see themmuch in flower shops though,” muses Bokuto.

“You’ve looked?”This time he does look slightly embarrassed, and you find it endearing in waysthat conjure up a whole new myriad of floral species in your body. “I couldprobably have brought you some if they came up again. You should have told me!”

“No, no,” Bokutoshakes his head firmly. “I’ll keep looking for them. I don’t want anything thathurts you.”

You suppose not.He’s a better man than you are, and although there’s rarely a day that passeswhere you consider your illness ‘pretty’ and nothing else, Bokuto’sencouragement on nights like these somehow imbue you with the miraculousability to talk about it as if it’s nothing more than nature. It would be toomuch, to ask Bokuto to simply continue his fondness for your purple flowers,and forget about the rest that comes with.

“You’ll have towait then,” you tell him softly, “gladioli are summer flowers.”

You don’t evenlike flowers, which is the true irony of all this. You’ve only ever researchedevery different type of flower that you’ve ever coughed up to find anacceptable reason to despite them, but you can hardly do that now. Not whenBokuto wants to find them in flower shops.

“Will you tell mewhat you really meant by ‘going’?” He asks, finally.

“What I meant bygoing…” you murmur. It’s as if the longer you sit in silence, the further timewill stay still. “You… you know I don’t keep the feelings, right? Once I getthe operation.”

“Mhm.”

You can’t deciphera single thing from Bokuto’s pinched expression, and your fingers itch forsomething to crush.

“It’s a shame,”you say, “to have suffered this long and for everything to disappear. Does thatmake sense?”

“Not yet,” Bokutosays. “Like, I kinda get where you’re coming from, but you’re usually reallylogical and rational. I don’t get how you’re not gonna do a surgery that takesaway what could kill you, just because you don’t want to waste your efforts.That just doesn’t make sense to me. Wouldn’t you get a surgery to cut out atumour you’ve had for two years if you got the chance to?”

“That’s the thing.” The back of your eyes burn.“This- my feelings aren’t a tumour.Koutarou-“

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never hatedmy feelings. Never regretted them. Not once. And I never will.”

“Doesn’t it hurt,though?” He asks. His voice is aching, as if it’s his heart that’s blisteredand battered from an unrequited love. For a moment, you forget your ownstruggle and careens into the tumultuous sea that is Bokuto; he wears heartachethat isn’t his own, and it is just so.

You smile, becauseit’s a question asked from kindness, and it’s Koutarou. “Yeah, it does, but I’mused to it. Have you never had a one-sided love before?”

“Not really,”Bokuto admits, “I just tell them when I like them. If they don’t like me back,then I get rejected.”

“Then they clearlydon’t know what they’re about,” you shake your head. “Nobody would ever loseout on a chance with you if they knew how you really are.”

“Right?” Bokuto’s beam is back. “That’swhat I tell them all the time, but nobody seems to believe me. I’m awesome.”

“You are,” youwholeheartedly agree.

He calms down alittle, and looks at you. “And so are you, y’know that? I’m starting to getwhat you’re trying to say now.”

Your smile beginsto hurt on your face. “And what’s that?”

“You wanna keepyour feelings for this person because you still like them.” He pauses. “Okay,wait, that sounds really dumb and obviously, you do, but I mean it like, you want to keep liking them.”

And nothing haschanged. Not the fact that you’re still not getting the surgery, you’re stillsick, and you’re still in love, but your heart doesn’t give a shit about allthat. It incites its own riot against your ribcage, pounding against its ownimprisonment; it wants to be free,like it was born to be, like all love is free and to experience everything foritself in the big wide everywhere.

Now, you knowyou’re no longer insane on your lonesome. You’re not just making any ridiculouschoice and losing yourself to one-sided passions that dictate your life anddeath, because Bokuto gets it.

And is that notwhat we all want in life? To suffer, and to be understood for it?

“Yeah,” you reply.“That’s it.”

Bokuto doesn’t sayanything for a while.

For a man with somany words to say, his silence is more damning than any of the endless hoursyou spend in front of your desk, head empty and soul evacuated from thepremises. When he finally opens his mouth hesitantly, you can’t help but leanforwards on the edge of your seat to catch it.

“I guess I getthis whole thing from both sides now. Of course I still want you to get theoperation and everything, because I’m always worried about your health, but Iget it. Even if I’ve never been hurting like you have before.”

“Thank you,” yousay, and your breath steals a position in your throat when Bokuto takes bothyour hands in his.

“I’m happy ifyou’re happy,” Bokuto tells you. “I’ll support you, no matter what you choose,and I want you to tell me if you’re ever lonely, or really sad, okay? ‘Cuspeople make such a big deal about being brave and letting go and stuff, butthey don’t know what you know. It’s not like I do, like, all of it, but I believe in you. You’re not being acoward and running away from doing the brave thing, ‘cus for you it’s probablyscarier to hold on than to stop feeling, am I right? So I think you’re brave.Really brave.”

Are you? All thetimes where you’d pulled up the webpage, or tapped your clinic’s number intoyour phone, only to let your fingers slip from their place. Those moments leaveyou miserable, knowing that you’re so close, and the only thing that stop youis you, and you can’t take that. Isthis bravery?

Bokuto doesn’tlook so stern anymore. Although your eyes aren’t meeting, he’s watching youflip your emotions through your fingers like a worn card deck, and he takesyour silence as acceptance. After all, you hadn’t said no. If it were anyoneelse, they would have been able to tell that you’d believe him even if he toldyou that the sun sets in the east.

It’s instantlycolder when Bokuto’s fingers fall away from yours.

“I’ll go get ussomething warm to drink. Something that isn’t alcohol.” He grins, but it’sgentle. A nursing smile, soothing an injured deer. “Maybe a cake too, if theysell those by the snack cart.”

“Kou, you’re an athlete,” you remind him, but it’s fartoo late and he’s walking away with a small skip in his step at the idea ofactual dessert.

Still, it’sprobably not too bad of an idea to stop drinking your problems away. At thisrate, it’s not impossible that you’ll end up passed out with your skirt aboutyour neck.

It’s stilldifficult, arguably even more difficult now, to tear your eyes away from hisloosely set hair and the way he walks with the confidence of a man who knowsexactly where he’s headed in life. It’s still a fact that everything’s notquite alright yet, but you feel redeemed enough. The bulk of your burden hasbeen scrubbed away.

A tickle forms inyour throat, and you worry for a brief second that Bokuto might catch youcrying.

However, youdidn’t need to worry about the tears. You’re too distracted by the entireemotional fanfare of yours to notice the familiar sensation of flowers creepingup on you, utterly unaware.

Your first feelingis a damning, fucking, hatred forthis godforsaken disease, unwilling to leave you with a single night’s peace.The second, is a mind-numbing panic that sets into the corners of your visionwhen, after fumbling through your meagre excuse of a handbag, you realize thatyou’ve brought no spares.

You know that you’ve timed it carefullytonight, especially tonight, and Akaashi’s even asked. Calculated to within amargin of error of half an hour, and yet, you feel the petals multiplying inthe dips of your lungs, and you know that it’s only seconds until you’recoughing fully blossomed flowers up your windpipe.

Inhaling, to noneof your surprise whatsoever, is becoming more of a struggle, and you slap ashaking hand over your mouth to muffle the ragged gasps, struggling for oxygenand trying your best not to make a scene.

Your coughing isnever quiet. It’s always a filthy, deathly sound that accompanies thesupposedly elegant petals, and you can feel your capillaries beginning to burstin your cheeks. Your eyes begin to swell when the first fits arrive, and yousee that they’re bellflowers, covered with threads of your own spit.

You disgustyourself.

“Holy shit-“ you hadn’t noticed him returning at all, andBokuto’s audibly short circuiting behind you. Did he manage to find cake? Youhope he doesn’t spill the drinks. “Where’s your shot? Is it in your bag?! Fuck, fuck, fuck-“

You shake yourfree hand at him. Your right is far too occupied with covering your own mouth,although it’s helping with absolutely nothing except for the outpour of yourown saliva, and you gesture at Bokuto to sit down next to you.

Bokuto doesn’t, ofcourse. He almost kicks over the wine as he breaks out into a stressed littledance behind you. “Phone, I need myphone, where the hell is Akaashi when you need him?!”

It’s anexceptionally brutal night, as if the disease had simply lost its temper withyour emotional progress and decided to give you something to choke about.You’re not quite sure what’s burst in you when a sudden coppery tang hits yourmouth, and the smell starts to sink into the back of your nasal cavity untilit’s the only thing you can smell in the air. Your elbows are on your knees,the only thing propping you up and your head is cradled in-between your kneesin an excellent example of in-flight safety.

“He’s not pickingup,” Bokuto gasps, “he’s not picking up.Shit, no shot, no car, oh my god, I’mcalling 911-“

Immediately, youuse your first breath of air to rasp as loudly as you can at him.

“Sit down!”

He does, he does, and that combined with yourimpending doom is enough of a kick up the arse for you. Who doesn’t want to diewithout regrets? And maybe you will, maybe you won’t, but it most certainlyfeels like death, and this is going to be the best excuse you’re ever going toget.

“It’s you,” youtell an absolutely terrified Bokuto. “The one-sided thing.”

“Huh?”

Bokuto’s obviouslychosen a fantastic time to slip into a moronic version of himself.

“Love. You.” You grit. The flowers are slowing,but their size is growing, and the watery liquid pooling around the back ofyour tongue is definitely blood. Without your injection, the petals have becomefirmer, more solid, and it’s enough to scrape a great deal of skin off youresophagus, making the urge to cough stronger. “Idiot!”

And that might bethe last word you ever say, because fully fledged flowers are spilling out ofyour mouth, forcing your jaws wide apart for them to fit through, whole. Youcan feel a stem forming in the back of your throat that scrapes like nailsagainst your flesh, and the horrific image of you pulling and pulling at itlike some fucked up magic trick terrifies you into sobs you can’t properlysound.

Bokuto- he’s the worst person to see you in this state- a slobbering, bleedingmess and there’s nothing you can do to stop everything splattering onto the hemof his slacks.

You can hardlyfeel it yourself when he throws himself into your radius, and crushes his lipsagainst yours desperately.

It doesn’t lastfor long. You’re gagging, and he’s shaking, and you shove him away instantly.Bokuto reels backwards in abject terror as one does, watching a train wreckitself against a sheer rock face, and his hands stretch out towards you, stuckin the middle as he tries to make his mind up as to whether or not to drag youcloser.

“I’m calling anambulance,” he whimpers, and points his phone threateningly in your face,daring you to stop him. “You’re gonna die!”

It’s the stem,it’s the stem! Ignoring his hand, yousteel yourself and shove as many fingers as you can fit into your mouth, andscramble for the end of the remaining flower. It’s the size of your palm, andyour jaw feels like someone poured gasoline onto your neck and set you on fire,but you grip onto whatever you can and pull.

Squeezing youreyes shut makes the feeling ten times worse, but you’re not going to look likea damned freak show, tugging and tugging on what feels like roots that have grafted themselves alongyour lungs.

It lasts minutes,maybe forever, but all you know is that it’s slime, and blood, and a fuck loadof pain when it all comes out of your throat. You can breathe, but with the pain of a thousand needles, andphlegm makes your breaths choppy.

You glance once atBokuto’s traumatized face with red-rimmed eyes, and promptly empty your stomachall over his shoes.

“Oh my god.” Youwipe your face with your ruined sleeve and take a generous gulp of the nearestglass of wine. “I really thought I was going to die.”

Bokuto looks as ifyou really did. You’ve never seen him so pale in his life.

“Ambulance,” Bokuto says weakly, “Ididn’t manage to call one.”

“It’s stopped,”you insist, “please, I really don’t want to end up in another hospital.”

“You could have died! I just- I just sat there anddidn’t do anything-“

“That’s not true!”You fall to the irresistible urge to look away. There was one thing about theentire catastrophe that wasn’t on you, and your embarrassment leaves youfeeling shattered enough to almost forget that the contents of your stomach arestill marinating Bokuto’s loafers. “You stopped my cough. It would have gone onfor a lot longer if you hadn’t.”

“You mean-“ Hiseyes grow to the size of lanterns. “You mean if I hadn’t kissed you, you wouldhave actually died?”

“Er, I… can’t saythat’s not a possibility,” you say into your wine.

“Oh my god.”

“I’m alright now,I promise!” You promise, because there are a dozen other things running throughyour mind that are infinitely more worrying to you than your health. “Wait-Kou, did… did you kiss me because you were… scared?”

It takes severalstunned moments, but Bokuto looks absolutely furious.

You can count onone hand the number of times you’d seen him genuinely angry, and none of thosetimes had been at you.

“We’re goinghome.”

He stands up,blood, mucus, vomit and all, and turns on his heel towards the main roadwithout once looking back.

And what can youdo but follow? Your feet no longer drag but sting, and as you leave your messbehind on the pavement, you wonder if this would’ve all been better if you’dsimply suffocated instead.

The taxi rideserves to be some very awkward twenty minutes.

The driver hadmade no comment when two customers, in the dead of night, asked for a liftsmelling like curdled milk. Bokuto had still held the door open for you, insilence, but his thunderous expression had kept your lips sealed shut and bodyleaned away for the entire ride.

Even now, you onlyfeel as if you’d been wrung through an out of body experience, surreal, andfrom a third person perspective. You remember little more than the first fewseconds and the last, everything in-between a sort of blur of lots of differentfluids mingling on your face. Your worn throat still scratches at you with eachbreath you take as quietly as possible, and along with your ruined clothes andyour furious companion, they slide together into a puzzle piece of utterdissociation between you and your disease.

When you canbarely wrap your head around the entire wreck that was this evening, your fearof Bokuto’s reaction buzzes around in your mind in pulses of static.

It isn’t hisrejection you’re afraid of. You’ve been living with your feelings for so long,and his kind and pained ‘I’m sorry’ is something you’ve taken to envisioningmultiple times a day for practice, its only impact on you now is the gentlecoldness of someone pressing ice against your skin, nothing more. However, youmost certainly hadn’t expected him to be angry.

The car finallystops, and the car seems to rumble even more when it parks itself poorly alonga silent pavement. The very marrow of metropolitan Tokyo fills the gapingsilence of a tuneless ride, and Bokuto’s apartment complex looms ominouslyahead of you.

He turns sideways tostare at you, and gestures with a hand for you to follow. It’s late, and thefoyer is empty of its rich, city-dwelling inhabitants, either already asleep,or not returning home for the night. With each flicker of the lift climbinghigher and higher and its infernal elevator music, Bokuto unwinds his hardedges with each trill of the violin in slow, smooth movements. The loose knotsof his unraveling anger drapes over what remains of the tension between youtwo, and when the elevator dings, Bokuto presses a hand to the small of yourback and quietly guides you forwards.

“Wait here,” hetells you. You stay where you are on his pristine sofa in quilted leather,amazed at how much an apartment can fall so far from its inhabitants. It’suntouched, polished with his superstar salary, and its tidiness is telling ofexactly how much time Bokuto has to spare to spend relaxing in his house.

He reappearsquickly from around a corner, carrying a small plastic case and several wettowels with him. He places the box in your upturned palms.

“I’ve thesespare,” he says, turning the box over with his fingers, “but I don’t know howto do it properly.” It clicks open with a twist of a lever, and you pull out afamiliar looking needle. Bokuto reaches out, tempted to feel the point, butpulls back just before he makes contact. “Can you teach me?” He asks.

“Kou… you havethese?”

“Yeah,” and hesays it like you’ve just landed moons away from the point, “what if you cameover without your shots? I gotta be prepared.”

“Kou.”

“Why- should I nothave? Why are you crying?”

“These are prescription only,” you warblemiserably, “oh, you make things so hard for me. Always.”

Bokuto reaches outwith his sleeve to wipe away the snot trickling down your nose. “Are you madthat I got mad at you? ‘Cus I’m not mad anymore. But I was really pissed off when you didn’t let me call an ambulance, andwas like ‘oh, look I could have died butthat’s okay’ because it’s not okay for me if you did! I’m still supertraumatized, so you’d better not be such a piece of crap for the rest of thenight, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” yousay. And you really are. “I should have thought about your position more. I wasselfish.”

“You were,” henods.

Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. Bokuto Koutarou kissed you.

“But…” you ask becauseit’s driving you insane, “what did you mean by kissing me?”

Bokuto frowns atyour question. “I was mad at that too. Asking me things like that as if I goaround kissing people for experiments. Do you think I’d do that to you?”

“I… uh… no?”

“Good.” He narrowshis eyes. “’Cus I wouldn’t. C’mon man, what do you think it means? It wasn’t a super great one ‘cus you were busydying and I was busy trying not to piss myself and all that, but a kiss is akiss, isn’t it?”

“So you… you likeme? Just like that?”

This time Bokutolooks a bit perplexed. “Why not?”

You huff at him.“It’s not called an unrequited love for nothing, Kou. There’s a whole point tothis disease.”

“Are youdisappointed that I ruined your mojo by liking you back? Really?”

“I-“ fumbling dreadfully,you can feel the tell-tale creep of heat crawling up your spine like a monsterfrom the depths bringing with it the plagues of mortification and disbelief.Now that he’s put it like that, you do sound pretty ludicrous. “I’m not…disappointed. It’s just that… well, people really have, died, from hanahaki.”

Bokuto clicks histongue. “And you’re still alive. It’s a win-win?”

“Yeah, but Inever- you’re reciprocating, likesome shoujo manga, and this feels like something from The Notebook and not realat all! How am I supposed to know what to do if you like me back?!”

“Dude, dude,”Bokuto presses a cool hand against your forehead worriedly, “you’re blowingup.” He hands you a towel, and you press it to your cheeks. “It’s notunbelievable,” he continues, “not all of it. Don’t you think this is all real,at least? The towel? My sexy sofa?”

You laugh, a weaklittle hiccup, but Bokuto looks infinitely pleased with your reaction. “See? Myvolleyball biceps are always real. Besides,” he lets his hand drop down to yourlap, and pushes away the box of needles to make space for his own callousedfingers, “we’ve always been right here next to each other. I know I’m notreally good with feelings and things-“

“-yeah you’rereally freaking dense-“

“-thanks. But what I’m trying to say is-there’s different types of love, right? They taught us that in Lit back inschool, and maybe the line between them isn’t as big as we thought. I’vealways, always, loved you as one ofmy best friends,” Bokuto peers firmly at you then because he’s told you thisbefore, but you’ve brushed him off every single time, “you know that, I tell you all the time. But that’s like, the basis ofeverything to me. I mean, falling in love with someone- it’s never been thatbig of a thing for me. No explosions or background music or anything, just-kinda a push off what’s already there. Do you see?”

Although Bokuto’snot really the most organized orator, he speaks with the conviction of a King.His thought process is absolute, the conclusion certain, and Bokuto’s voicewasn’t designed to wax poetry with his gravelly, scorching sound. It’s a timbrecrafted to ignite embers, come hell or high water. You could have shoved a sockin his mouth and he would have powered through his confession all the same.

“That’s… that’s soprofound.”

“I’m Bokuto,” Bokuto grins. Somewhere abovehis head, there’s a flashing neon sign begging to be framed, announcing hisexistence. “Also I’m not suffocating, so it helps. You’re not too shabbyyourself.”

You roll your eyes,and he sees right through you.

“When did youstart?” You mumble. “Feeling… things. I’ve no context for this.”

“I didn’t sufferor anything,” he confesses, “not like you did.” His face presses closer toyours. “It hasn’t been that long. But I’m not saying that it’s a reaction thingthat just happened tonight. I just… don’t think you noticed. Akaashi did,though. That’s probably why he left early tonight.” He starts to trail off, butsomething catches him just in time. His gaze refocuses, and he grips your shoulderstightly. “But I wouldn’t have done anything to you if I didn’t mean it. I mighthave freaked the fuck out and called the police, but I wouldn’t play with youlike that.”

And you get itnow. It never meant much to him that you didn’t notice. He liked you too, andthat was it.

When the worldhumbles a man, it isn’t up to them to refuse. Bokuto has always been on anotherworldly plane of forgiveness all by himself, untouchable by mortal men’swishes. The facts had finally caught up to you while you took a breather fromthe race towards your unhappily ever after, and had brandished an order tellingyou that you’ve been unfair.

They say that‘love is blind’, with little beyond that, but misery masks with equal skill. You’venever given Bokuto a chance, because nobody’s told you to.

He’s smilingsoftly at you. He’s never believed that there’s anything for him to forgive.

“I’m sorry.” Youoffer it so belatedly that it no longer makes a difference. Perhaps it neverdid, not to Bokuto. “I shouldn’t have thought the worst of you. I… shouldn’thave asked that. You didn’t kiss me because you were scared. I asked youbecause I was scared.”

“I know,” he says.“It’s harder for you too. You’re the one who has to take shots just for likingsomeone who doesn’t like you back. I know. I mean- I didn’t always, but I’vebeen trying to get better at thinking about other people.”

Your heart swells,bloating with a fragrant blend of pride and helplessness. “You’re doing good,Kou. Way better than me.”

“But- that’s notwhat I want, though.” Your eyes follow as he lifts his hand, and runs itthrough your hair. He looks slightly pained, urgent, controlled. “You’ve got alot of problems, you know? And it’s all heavy stuff: one-sided love andvolleyball are kinda on different levels. So, if I can make it easier for you,I will.” The tips of his fingers brush against your temples by accident. You shudder.“We’re all trying our best, and who knows if it’ll work out or not?”

“We’re all tryingour best,” you echo. A wisp of a prayer with no addressee.

“Yeah,” he smiles,“you get it. Even though you usually don’t listen when I say these things.”

“That’s not true!”You protest, but you know he’s right. He knows he’s right. Bokuto’s shaking hishead because he’s right. “Just…” you slowly admit, “not many of the goodthings. They’re… harder.”

He looks at youintensely and opens his mouth with something to say, but changes his mind atthe last moment.

“You gotta trustyourself more,” he says after considering his words, “I think you’re great.Akaashi thinks you’re great. You’repretty great.”

“Yeah, yeah,alright,” you laugh, at a loss with the onslaught of positivity, “what is this,a self-help session?”

“Nah. I mean, ifyou had let me help you in the first place, like, for real, you’d be in ahospital and not in my apartment asking me about my feelings.”

Your brows knittogether and you pull away from his grip. “What’s wrong with asking you aboutyour feelings?”

“It wasn’t thepoint, though!” Bokuto exclaims, “c’mon, we were talking about how selfish youwere being.”

“Yeah, I know already.” You know what no matterhow many times you change the subject or apologize, Bokuto’s never going to letit go until he’s drawn the right amount of contrition from you. “I’m justreally sick of hospitals, and it’s not like they can do much for me anyway.It’s not possible to make the petals softer without preventative medicine, andhonestly, they’d just give up and intubate me, and I hate that feeling.”

“I’d rather see atube down your throat than you dead,” Bokuto says sullenly.

“I would just’vepassed out,” you insist, again, “I would’ve been okay.”

A flash ofexpression startles you, and Bokuto’s fury returns briefly enough to sharpenyour nerves a second time.

“Don’t say you’llbe alright.” His fists are tightening around your shoulders. “Don’t say that.Not tonight.”

His hands areholding you upright, but they don’t stop you from instinctively shrinkingfurther into yourself in shame.

“I’m sorry.”

Bokuto’s chesthitches mid-breath, and his hands release you in slow motion, lingering alongthe lines of your bones before reaching towards the almost forgotten plasticbox. He takes a shot out, and holds it out towards you.

“Will you show mehow to use this properly? Where do I inject?”

“Well…” if itmeans that much to him, “my left arm is all taken up, so it’ll be my right.”You move to roll up your sleeves, and feel a bit silly when you realize thatyou’re wearing a dress tonight, not your usual work clothes. “But… you… Kou,you’re sure you like me?”

“I love you.”

Your cheeks eruptto a magnificent temperature. “I- okay…” Put something into your mouth, andyou’d probably be able to bake pottery.

Bokuto, on theother hand, only grins extra wide.

“Yeah. So, whatabout it?”

You swear thatthere’s steam; your forehead feels a lot more humid than usual. “I mean, if… ifyou love me, and you were the one that I’ve been worked over… technically, Ithink that I wouldn’t need the shots anymore.”

“What do youmean?” He lowers the injection, puzzled.

“It’s an unrequited love that causes theflowers,” you explain, “if… now that it’s requited, I should be alright.”

His brow twitchesminutely at the word ‘alright’ leaving your mouth again, and squirmsuncomfortably.

“There’s no harmin doing one more just in case, right?”

Truthfully, you canhardly blame him for not believing you when it comes to matters of your ownhealth. Akaashi is a very reliable mother, and you’re a pretty terriblesurrogate friend-sized kid.

You sigh, lettingit seep through your teeth like a dragon. “I feel like I should be celebrating-or crying- and not discussing medical repercussions, though?”

Bokuto looks upfrom his examination of your right arm. “Want to date me?”

“Uhm. Uh. Yeah.”

He beams. “Same!Now that we’ve solved that problem, I’m going to jab this in your arm, you’regonna take a shower and we’re going to get some sleep.”

Nothing finds itsway out of your throat. Bokuto cocks his head to one side, a knowing crinkle inhis eyes.

“I’ll check onyou, okay? I’m still kinda shell shocked, so I’m not like, super in touch withmy feelings right now, but I don’t think anything has to change just yet. I’mnot expecting anything right now, and you just puked up like, a whole babyshower arrangement. So take all the time you need. No rush, nothing.” Right.He’s right. Bokuto watches you mull his words over with exhaustion, and cupsyour cheek with one hand and leans in for a soft, final kiss. “I’m still BokutoKoutarou,” he smiles broadly, “and I’m still your best friend. You can count onme.”

And you absolutelycan. Leagues better than any hospital, Bokuto’s smile and cheesy lines can healbones, burns and bruises alike with regular exposure, and your figurative cropsare flourishing as he blinks guilelessly at you.

“I’ll leave it inyour hands,” you answer.

“Okay.” Pleasedwith your acceptance, Bokuto seems to sit taller beside you, and glows a littlemore from his eyes. “You go clean yourself up, I’ll grab some of my clothes foryou when you’re done.” He points towards his guest bathroom down the corridor.“Afterwards, we can give you your medication and I’ll call Akaashi. You canstay here tonight, and we’ll go get you checked out tomorrow. Good plan?”

“Yes, captain.”You raise your hand up in a small salute and Bokuto laughs. He leans in topress a kiss to your forehead, and wanders away to find some spare clothes foryou with a warmth to his face.

You remember toclose the lid of the plastic box before you get up. You follow the trail ofBokuto into an untouched bathroom, sparkling clean, and for a second you’re overwhelmedwith the urge to simultaneously run from its perfection and to make as much ofa mess out of it as possible.

You settle fortaking a normal, sane shower.

The rest of theevening goes unimaginably smoothly, as Bokuto had taken it upon himself to makeyou as comfortable as possible, which meant that he’d left everything you’dpossibly need out for you, and by being so busy doing so, you hadn’t been ableto exchange much of a conversation. He’d forcibly taken the couch, almostshoving you onto his bed in his insistence that you’re the guest, and he’sgonna treat you right, and had zoomed out of the room immediately after.

His bedroom is theonly part of the apartment that feels like Bokuto, and it’s that thought thatallows the tiredness to seep through your muscles, and everywhere you turn,you’re soothed by a familiar scent.

It doesn’tsurprise you either, to find that he’s stuck glow-in-the-dark stars onto hisceiling in the shapes of his favourite constellations.

Tomorrow’s anelusive thing, tonight barely hinging on reality, but as you point out theluminous yellow of a plastic Lupus, you consider that even if the world hasshifted one step to the right, everything in it keeps the same radius. You’restill sleeping over at a friend’s, and you’re still going to the doctor’stomorrow, and the night has still fallen.

Sleep comesslowly, but sooner or later your brain slows to the deep rumble of a starry skyreplica. You fall asleep, and it’s been a long, long day.

Bokuto closes thecar door behind you, and takes your hand before you can object. You’re stiff,fidgety, and he stands right by you in the scorching midday heat until you takeenough breaths to lead the way. He falls into step beside you, letting you pullhim, fingers laced and tightened, through the doors of the hospital.

He has to pull youout of your reverie when the speakers finally call your name, but you get toyour feet without stumbling.

When the doctorcalls ‘come in’ from the other side of the baby blue door, you feel Bokuto bumpinto you slightly when he dodges a quick wheelchair down the corridor. A bravesmile curls itself against your cheeks, and you slide the door open.

This time, it’sokay.

#bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #sfw #female original character #hanahaki au #flangst #i writes the haikyuu

229 notes · View notes

imagineclaireandjamie · 8 years ago

Note

A Flood My Mornings prompt. Night check at the stables is often a separate shift from day shifts that start as early as 6am. It's usually around 9pm, often a separate employee does it from day shift workers during the week, and sometimes on weekends or holidays an owner or manager would do it. A 'night check moment' with Jamie and Claire might be fun, or even a Fraser family outing with Brianna in her little jammies :)

Flood my Mornings: Night Check

Notes from Mod Bonnie:

This story takes place in an AU in which Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

See all past installments via Bonnie’s Master List

Previous installment: Plymouth Trace (Jamie and Claire take the new car for a whirl. Yes, THAT kind.)

October, 1950

“Thanks for doing this, bud,” Tom said, pulling his coat off the hook by the lounge door and shrugging into it. “Really. I owe you big time. Honestly, I’d cover it myself, but I’ve had this special night out planned with Marian, and—”

“Dinna mention it, Tom,” Jamie said, gesturing reassurance. “Truly, I’m happy to be of help.”

Tom rummaged in his pockets for his keys, still looking regretful. “Was Claire spitting mad at me for stealing you away for the night?”

“No, no, not at all. On the phone just now, she bade me wish Nelson the best o’ luck wi’ his recovery. The gri–” Careful, man, “—that is, the Flu is a nasty business, and I’ve reason to know it.”

“Well, you’re a saint for stepping in last minute to cover his night watch shift, J—really really appreciate it,” Tom said once more as they walked out into the car yard.

It was approaching sunset, and the last of the horses were being led to the stables for the night. It would be a peaceful night, if a long one, Jamie hoped.

Tom opened the door of his 1946 Chevrolet Pickup (black, with silver trimmings and the special wide-base wheels) and sat behind the wheel, looking up at Jamie as he cranked the engine. “Jerry will be in at five in the morning as usual—Don’t you even think of staying to work tomorrow though, hear?”

“I hear. Have a good night, Tom. And give Marian my best, aye?” He slammed the door and waved Tom off on his way.

It was a peaceful evening, on the whole. He saw the last of the day staff off to their homes and made the rounds as night fell, changing water, food, and blankets and taking special care to inspect several of the beasts that hadn’t been given proper attention of late.

He loved being among the horses—always had, ever since he was a wee lad. The quiet strength of them, he supposed it was—the knowledge that they were large and strong enough to kill a man, but kind and soulful nonetheless. He loved speaking to them in Gaelic. He got a few odd looks for it during the day, to be sure, but other than Brianna, who understood and could speak a few words, the horses were the only folk in this new life to whom he could speak in his heart’s tongue, and feel as if he were fully understood. Claire, of course, knew his heart, regardless of the language; but speaking soft words to the horses, they seemed to have a knowing in their large, round eyes that transcended time and its changings. Aye, they seemed to say, you’re of long-ago stuff, man; and so am I.

“Or maybe you’re just a horse, aye, Val?” he said, rubbing the beast affectionately on the nose before closing the stall and heading back to the lounge.

He was dismayed to find it was only half-past ten, for the length of the day had caught up with him. He rubbed his eyes but couldn’t seem to shake their bleary view. If only he had a book with him—Just yesterday, he had gotten from the Library a tome on American government, and he’d been itching to read it and figure out this country once and for all.

He tried to make do with jotting notes in his wee book on the happenings reported by the man on the Wireless about the war in distant Korea. Though it pleased him that he was able to understand most of it, the news of the fighting chilled him, and he couldn’t make himself mind it for long.

Before heading back out into the chill to make another circuit of the stalls, he set about making coffee in the wee machine, now feeling weary in more ways than one. As willing as he’d been to come to poor Nelson’s aid, he would’ve given most anything to fall into a soft bed with Claire at that very moment.

As he was adding a dollop of whiskey from the cupboard above the Frigidaire, there came a small knock and a soft, musical, “Hel-looo-ooo?” from behind him.

To his immense surprise, Claire was standing there, wearing blue jeans, boots, and wool coat against the crisp chill of early October; In her arms, Bree, pajama-clad, covered over with a warm sweater and a knitted cap.

“Well, if this isna a pleasant surprise!” He said, hastily setting down the bottle and going to them. “I was just thinking of how I wanted to see my loves.”

“Horzzis, Mama?” piped Bree against his ear as he pulled them both close.

“Christ, but it’s late, mo nighean donn. Is everything alright? And how did ye get—?

“Everything’s fine, we just couldn’t sleep; took a taxi,“ Claire explained her voice sounding small and tired. She laid her head on his shoulder as they swayed. “Hope it doesn’t disturb you, we just— needed to see you.”

He squeezed them both tighter, kissed Claire’s cool cheek, and stepped back, feeling warmed to his core as he took Bree happily into his arms. “I’ll never say no to my lassies, no matter the hour.”

“Da-me-in-go–” Bree gasped out, brimming with excitement. “Da-n-go mitta-seeinn-th-horzzis, m’okay, Da-ddy? M’okay?”

He laughed and sputtered a bit as he took in the rapid fire. Brianna, little more than a month away from two years of age, had been making leaps and bounds in terms of her vocabulary of late, beginning to get the way of longer, more complicated sentences. Increasingly consistent in this endeavor she undoubtedly was, but it always took that extra second for Jamie to mentally translate the stream of almost-correct syllables, a delay that invariably peeved the speaker, who never could understand why folk were being so slow.

“Horzzis, m’okay?” she repeated.

“Seeing Da and seeing the horses were on an equal footing, as far as Bree was concerned,” Claire said, smiling, but still sounding tired. “She’s never seen a horse in person, before.”

“Horzza-horzzis!” Bree insisted again, craning around for sight of one, then squaring back up to look him sternly, her hands on his cheeks. “Seein-th-horzzis–m’okay, Daddy?”

“Okay, a leannan,” he grinned, squeezing her tight and kissing her wee nose. Christ, but he loved this feisty wee baggage. “Let’s go see the horses.”

“What have you been doing to pass the time?” Claire asked as they entered Stable B.

“Oh, coffee, the Radio, thinking, talking wi’ the horses.”

“Do they make good conversation?”

“Oh, well enough,” he said, clucking his tongue to beckon Cornflower to the stall door.

Bree gasped at sight of the huge, grey flanks rotating in the stall. “Issa horz–AGHHH!!”

She squawked as Cornflower’s head came around and jumped so violently Jamie nearly lost his grip. “Och, come now, lass, it’s only one o’ the horses ye wanted to see, aye?” He took a step closer and turned so she could see Cornflower over his shoulder.

“Noooo!” Bree squealed, terrified, cowering under Jamie’s chin. “‘Inna like-’im!”

“Nothing to be scairt of, mo chridhe.” He reached out a hand and firmly stroked Corny’s soft nose. “See? She’s gentle—just like a big dog.”

“Notta dog!” Bree wailed sharply as she tried to get as far as possible from the beast, almost sobbing.“‘Ssa horssiz!”

No matter how much they coaxed and wheedled, Brianna could not be persuaded to touch Cornflower or any of the other horses. She would show interest in them from a distance, but when confronted by their huge toothy faces, she would wail and burrow– terrified–into Jamie’s chest.

They walked amongst the stalls, talking contentedly of Jamie’s day at Fernacre, Claire’s day at the hospital, and so on. Claire still seemed quieter than usual. Just as Jamie was about to put Bree down so that he might hold Claire close and ask what was amiss, Bree suddenly lurched her body toward the opening of the next stall and whispered. “Daddy! Is–horzzis is–’im sleepin’?”

“Oh, aye,” he said, encouraged by her interest, “that’s wee Valkyrie. And aye, she’s taking a nap. Here,” he said, opening the door and stepping gingerly inside, “shall we bid her hello?”

“No-oooo!” Bree began to squeal as they approached the horse, twisting in his arms to get away.

“Whisht, whisht, be still, a chuisle, there’s naught to be afraid of.” Holding Bree tight—the lass would have to get accustomed to horses, and that’s all there was about it—he knelt down next to the jet-black mare, reaching out a hand to gently rub her neck.

Val, who was evidently only dozing, whuffed in acknowledgement, and Bree actually giggled at the resultant spray of wind and spittle. She then froze and looked up at Jamie, thoroughly stricken, evidently taken aback by her own delight and in complete indecision over how to act with this monster. Bless her heart, there were tears already building in her eyes.

“See, lovey, it’s a nice horse,” Claire said quickly, seeing the impending meltdown and settling next to them, holding their Thermos of coffee. “What does the horsey say, pumpkin?”

Bree, eager for diversion, produced a startlingly accurate whinny, and accepted applause with good grace.

With a sudden flash of inspiration, Jamie reached out and laid a hand on the beast’s swollen abdomen. “D’ye ken something else, Bree? This one is a mama horse.”

“Mama-horzz?” she repeated, looking sharply at Claire.

“Aye, sweetheart. That means there’s a baby horse inside.”

“Beebee horzz…” she whispered, suddenly enraptured. Bravely, she slipped down from Jamie’s arms onto the ground and, stepping closer to the huge, recumbent body, laid both hands on the jet-black hide next to his. A moment later, she looked up in her usual business-like manner. “Munna lookint th-beebee-horzz, m’okay, Da?”

“No, lass,” he laughed, “we canna look at the babe, yet. She has to stay inside her mama to grow big and strong, first. Then when the right time to be born comes, the wean will––”

With a jolt of realization, Jamie snapped his head around to Claire.

Her courses would have started today—unless she were—

Claire met his eye directly….and shook her head.

“Oh, lass,” he moaned softly, his heart breaking to see the sadness and disappointment in her face, to feel the sorrow in his own heart. He reached for her, pulling her close.

“I know it’s foolish…,” she said, her voice quivering as she wrapped her arms around his waist and burrowed against his shoulder. “There’s no reason it should have happened on the first month…I just can’t help but feel the… loss.”

“It’s no’ foolish, Claire,” he said, being obliged to release one arm from around her to intercept Brianna, who—startled by a sudden shifting from Val—had scurried back, anxiously scrabbling against him. He held them both, but squeezed Claire tightest. “But dinna fash, mo ghraidh: ‘tis only a matter of time.”

#books-and-barns #;mod bonnie #flood my mornings

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emm-doubleyou · 8 years ago

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BONES 12x01: The Hope in the Horror - Recap & Thoughts from a Crazed Fanatic

I have decided that I simply cannot spend each and every week dreading the dwindling number of episodes remaining in this season. It’s not a sustainable mindset. Not for me. So, I am going to take a page from David Boreanaz’s script, and live this season “moment to moment.” At least during the actual episodes. I do not want to squander even one millisecond mourning something that is still playing out on my television screen. I’m not going to adjust my countdown each time an episode airs. Maybe I’ll break in a month or two. But for now, I just need to celebrate every precious moment with my beloved Bones.

Now, for the actual episode...

First and foremost, actually witnessing “Directed by Emily Deschanel” appear in the opening credits was just so wonderfully fulfilling and long overdue after all these years. Similar to her brilliant costar, she did an absolutely magnificent job. I have no doubt long hours, hard work, and shrewd attention to detail went into directing this hour. And really, just...Bravo. And that goes for everyone. The cast, crew, and writers- it was all just astoundingly brilliant. Period. NOT just “for a show in its 12th season.” For any show, any age. Bones always comes to play. But I have a feeling the show will be pulling out all the stops this season. The number of callbacks in this episode alone was impressive. And the premiere was an exciting springboard for the season ahead.

I suppose I cannot claim that I am currently speechless as a result of this episode. Because I am likely about to betray that assertion with a deluge of words. But I am completely awestruck. It’s not all that surprising. I have been consistently spoiled by this show, season after season. I always expect to be wowed. But somehow, it really does just keep getting better with age. What’s that saying? Like a fine wine? Disagree with me if you’d like, but my opinion is very much set in stone.

We have waited six long months for the continuation of this story. But in all honesty, it barely feels like as though a week has passed (for reasons I’ve cited above, but will cannot bear to address again). First and foremost, anyone who thought that the show was going to position Zack as an actual villain- well, I hope everyone feels a little better after this episode. To me, it always seemed like an impossibility. And the real story was so much more complex than that. While Zack is not yet fully vindicated, I think he has at least been absolved in our eyes.

The show picks up almost precisely where it left off back in July. Brennan is still stunned to see Zack Addy sitting across from her. At the very least, he lured her into the lab alone so he could take her against her will. The motive is inconsequential, isn’t it? Presumably, it’s not a situation she would prefer to be in regardless of his intentions. So Brennan makes an effort to get up and leave. But Zack had administered a sedative in order to transport her to this undisclosed location. He advises Brennan against moving, and informs her that she has been asleep for nearly two hours. Brennan attempts to persuade her former assistant to let her go. “If you don’t, Booth will find you. And when he does-” Zack interrupts, as he doesn’t wish to talk about “him.” I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that statement. Booth and Zack never had an easy relationship. Sometimes people are just too different. But Booth still respected his intelligence. And more than that, he respected Brennan’s fondness for him. He once gave Zack advice about going to Iraq. And he even sent him overseas with a harmonica. Booth and Zack essentially spoke different languages. But he was still one of Booth’s people. “We are all of us, your squints.” And Booth would have done anything he could to help Zack. Of that I am sure. Booth and Caroline are basically the reason Zack was not put in prison. “You're gonna give this one to Bones. You understand?” So what was the sudden aversion here? Also of note- Brennan’s confidence in Booth. It’s justified, of course. But she knows he will always find her. And vice versa. We have seen evidence of this time and time again over the years.

Brennan proceeds to ask the million dollar question. The question we have all been contemplating during this hiatus. At least the most physically obvious one: What happened to Zack’s head? Instead of answering, Zack notes that she has not been to see him in quite some time. I do not know the reason why Brennan stopped coming to visit. I’m sure she feels a bit guilty, especially given her current situation. And I know she still cares for Zack. But life happens. The last few years have been quite eventful for Brennan. There have been extreme highs and severe lows. It sounds like a weak excuse, but maybe Zack just fell through the cracks. The reason is really immaterial at this point. It is what it is. The past is the past. And she tells Zack she wants to help him now. He reacts oddly to this, and makes a comment regarding her previous position as his superior. “Today, the shoe is on the other foot.” It’s a bit unnerving. Why does he want to control her? Or at the very least, control the situation at hand. What are his intentions? If he wanted her dead, she would be dead. And I never actually believed that was his endgame.

Meanwhile, in the lab, Angela had been looking through security tapes of Zack’s movements around the Jeffersonian that evening. He turned off a few of the cameras remotely before taking Brennan from the bone room. And what was most suspicious is that there was no footage of the two of them leaving the building. Cam realizes that perhaps Zack is hiding somewhere inside the Jeffersonian. Hodgins is able to use an explosive trace detector to track the glycerin in Brennan’s hand lotion, which in turn helps him to track Brennan's path through the lab. “It’s like a digital blood hound.” He tracks “Brennan” up to an elevator. And a determined Booth takes over from there. While the elevator also goes five floors up, Booth already knows that he will find Zack in the basement.

Booth stealthily makes his way through the halls of the basement, so as not to startle an unpredictable Zack while he has Brennan. We see the infamous vault from so long ago, and already I love the callbacks this season. The old gilded skeleton makes an appearance as well. It’s certainly been a while. He finally hears Brennan’s voice echoing in an adjacent room. She’s pleading with Zack not to do something. Booth makes his move and comes face to face with the missing pair. He quickly points his gun at Zack, who happens to be holding a syringe near Brennan. But all is not what it seems. As Booth counts to three (before he shoots), Brennan lunges in front of Zack. She explains to Booth that Zack was not going to use the syringe on her. Zack chimes in and informs Booth that he intended to inject himself with the syringe- which actually contains a truth serum. “I need Dr. Brennan to believe me. I didn’t kill anyone.” And just as I suspected, Brennan’s disappearance is resolved before the credits. So how will the rest of the episode unfold? Short answer- in a strange, wonderful, and exhilarating way.

The episode resumes outside of the lab. The parking lot is flooded with law enforcement and flashing lights. With a solemn look on her face, Cam watches an officer escort Zack to the back of a car in handcuffs. Wendell shows up and asks Cam if she’s sure she wants to watch this particular scene unfold. “I needed to see him with my own eyes.” Had anyone been visiting Zack? Wendell admits he didn’t really know him, but just looking at Zack- “You’d think he was as harmless as a child. That’s what we all thought.” Cam finishes his thought. Wendell wonders what finally caused him to crack, as the lobbyist was killed years ago. Cam has no answer. She always knew “Zackarooni” would cause her pain. She was right.

Booth is frantically trying to get Brennan to see a doctor. I know she wasn’t missing for an objectively significant period of time. But once again, Booth truly felt as though he had almost lost her. Yet again. Even 12 seconds would feel significant. These two people have had to fear each other’s demise more than any normal couple can even fathom. Brennan assures Booth that she is fine, and nothing is wrong with her. Booth is upset because Brennan admitted to him that “maybe Zack didn’t do it.” But she doesn’t want to talk about Zack right now. She only wants to go home and see her kids. THEIR kids. They have kids together. Sorry, I never take that for granted, no matter how many years it has been. It honestly doesn’t matter if Brennan had been missing three minutes, three hours, or three weeks- there is always that chance that something more sinister can occur in their line of work. Booth promises her that their kids are fine. Hank and Christine are safe. But she so desperately wants to see them. He tells her that she just needs to calm down. By the sound of his voice, he sounds as though he is actually trying to convince himself to calm down. He must have been terrified beyond belief. Brennan shuts her eyes and nods. She knows she needs to take a moment. And a breath. The past few days, weeks, and months have been extraordinarily stressful- Worrying about this serial killer, and wondering when and where he would strike again. She was taken by someone who is unpredictable at best. This early in the episode, we don’t yet know Zack’s role in the serial murders. Brennan needed to take pause before throwing herself back into the case. Booth is of the opinion that Zack is guilty, and he reminds her of her nightmares featuring the “guy with burnt hands.” “I had nightmares because of evidence that insinuated Zack.” Booth gets worked up again and yells that “Innocent people don’t escape from sanitariums to proclaim their innocence!” I find it interesting how Booth’s opinion shifts over the course of this episode. For the moment, Brennan agrees with him to a degree. “What Zack did was completely illogical, I know.” Booth interrupts before she can finish her thought. “No, this is not right. There is no other way of looking at this. Zack is a convicted murderer. He tried to kidnap you, and he wanted to kill you.” Brennan responds with the question I think we were all asking ourselves at this point. “Then why didn’t he?” She goes on to point out that Zack could have killed her at any time, especially while she was passed out for two hours in front of him. But he didn’t. She is right. There is something more going on. There is an alternate explanation to all of this. Brennan attempts to maneuver around Booth and out of her office to go talk to Zack. But Booth pulls her into a hug. He tells her to stop talking. He just needs a moment with her. To hold on tight. And she surrenders to it, and falls into him. She softly tells him she loves him too. Because she needed this as much as he needed it. Booth had to feel her. To know she was there with him, and that she was safe. She needed that reminder as well. This ordeal was far from over. But these two will always find a way of giving me hope in even the darkest or most confounding moments. Always. They are so special. And I have watched this hug about 400 times by now. It will go down as one of the most beautiful moments between these two. Okay, there are about a million of those. But ask any Booth and Brennan fan what they thought about this particular instance and you will most likely be met with a series of guttural sounds and ear-piercing squeals.

Something else to consider here: This is essentially one of the scenes that was cryptically teased prior to airing. An interaction some people seemed to be unnecessarily concerned about. Booth and Brennan- AT ODDS regarding Zack. But in reality, it was exactly how I expected it to go. Because I know this couple. They would continue to disagree on how to approach this situation. Because they see the world a bit differently. They always have. Though, their individual viewpoints would adjust a bit as the episode progresses. At this moment, Brennan wants to know the entire story before ultimately making a determination. She wants to speak to Zack and hear what he has to say before concluding with any certainty that he is guilty. Something about his behavior is inconsistent with that of this serial killer. And maybe a small part of her would like to irrationally give him the benefit of the doubt. Though, remember, she still believes he killed the lobbyist. The bottom line is that Zack could have killed her, but he didn’t. So why did he take her? If his goal was to kill, then logically, that’s what should have happened. But it didn’t. That’s how her mind works. This would have to play out further before she can make a fair assessment. And Booth is still reeling from Brennan’s disappearance. Tensions are still through the roof. Right now, he only sees a possibly unstable man who kidnapped his wife. It’s not the last time they will disagree in this episode. But it’s also not something that will break them either. I fail to understand why people are so fearful of these types of scenes. It all ultimately comes from love. It’s passion. They can both be stubborn when they believe they are right. Especially as it pertains to the safety of their family. But it’s that heat that initially brought them together. The point is, let’s remember to take these teases with a grain of salt. Because this isn’t some marriage-threatening fight in which the two of them are engaging. It’s not going to forge a rift between them. Booth and Brennan are going to disagree. We have seen that enough over the years. But they are eventually going to come together, and at least make an attempt to understand from where the other one is coming. It’s how it’s always been. There is no reason to think that these two characters would act any differently at this point. Also, can I just point out the hug once again? In those few seconds, I could feel the love radiating between these two people. These characters are so deeply in love. These actors are so talented. And we are so lucky- and spoiled.

Hodgins has also been greatly affected by this situation. Zack was his best friend. And he really had a difficult time adjusting to the fact that his best friend murdered someone (remember, no one but Sweets knew that this was not the actual truth) and was put in an institution. For a while, he had no interest in getting to know the new interns. He didn’t want to work in Zack’s space. It really hit Hodgins hard all those years ago. And to have to revisit this pain, it’s not easy for him. He’s angry. And that is why he says that he would have shoved the syringe in Zack’s throat if he had caught him in the basement. But his anger would have to be put on hold, as his legs began to pulsate with pain. Wendell is there to help him through the spasming. Hodgins admits the pain in his legs is nothing like the pain he is feeling in his heart. He truly thought Zack was going to kill Brennan. Wendell wonders if there is any possibility Zack could be telling the truth. “Stop it, listen to me. Zack is guilty. End of story.” It’s the end of the conversation, but certainly not the end of the story. Hodgins is hurting. I’m not sure he ever really made peace with what Zack “did.” He thought he knew his friend. He trusted him. But his trust was betrayed. I think it does have to be said that Zack kept Hodgins from being injured in that explosion. Zack’s hands were never supposed to be charred. That was not part of the plan.

At the FBI, Aubrey is more than relieved to see Brennan. He envelopes her in a hug, which she does accept. But adds “so much hugging.” I just love these people. She jokes “perhaps I should be kidnapped more often.” But Booth and Aubrey are quick to disagree. Aubrey asks how the kids are. Moment to once again celebrate the fact that Booth and Brennan have kids. Should I be over this yet? It doesn’t matter. I will never be. Max had been taking care of Christine and Hank during this time. And Brennan added that they didn’t even realize she was gone. “Which...is a good thing.” Of course.

Aubrey leads the partners into a conference room to meet Dr. Roshan- the doctor in charge of Zack’s facility. Brennan inquires as to how Zack managed to escape the facility. Dr. Roshan does not know. But he does provide a box of Zack’s personal effects. “As you can see he was very fond of you, Dr. Brennan.” I have yet to determine whether Zack’s affection for Brennan has crossed the line at this point. Dr. Roshan adds that he is glad to see that Brennan is unharmed. They ask about the three victims who Zack allegedly murdered. The doctor doesn’t believe that Zack could have conceivably and continuously slipped out of the facility undetected to kill these people. But Aubrey shows him photographic evidence that Zack has been regularly “escaping.” There is no way to gauge how long Zack has been coming or going. Aubrey finally asks how Zack managed to sustain the scar on his forehead. It’s disturbing, as far as scarring goes, as it looks almost like a lobotomy scar.

The story starts becoming a bit clearer. We learn that Sweets was regularly visiting Zack over the years. And not just a handful of times. Sweets was there nearly every week. This leads me to believe that no one else in the lab had been visiting their old colleague. Bones time is always a little dicey, but it has been at least a couple years since Sweets was killed. And the others would have undoubtedly noticed his scar, had they been visiting. So why did Booth know precisely where to find Zack’s room in the finale? I cannot speak to that. My best guess is that he called ahead while en route to the institution that night. Maybe he had been there years ago, maybe he hadn’t. There is some sort of logical explanation for it. And no sense in dwelling on on something that is just not essential to the story at hand. Bottom line- it has been a while since even Brennan has seen Zack. Presumably much longer than just a couple years.

Zack’s reaction to Sweets’ murder was apparently startling. He could not process the trauma. In a fit of rage, he caused the injury to his head, himself. “Since then, Zack has been different. ‘Withdrawn’ I think is the best way to describe him.” Aubrey wishes to speak to Zack first. But Brennan wants to be present. And of course, Booth is not on board with that. “Aubrey’s right. Zack wants you, which is the last thing we should give him.” I can certainly see the logic in that. Until they know his true motive, it’s safer to keep Brennan away. She, Booth, and Dr. Roshan watch Aubrey interrogate Zack from behind the glass. Zack has no desire to speak to Aubrey, however, due to his “lesser intellect.” I’d say it was insulting, but Zack only meant it as an objective statement. Aubrey takes no offense, and asks Zack to explain why he told Brennan he was innocent. “I am innocent.” He claims that the “escaping and kidnapping were necessary evils. I knew her life was in danger.” Aubrey then wonders why Zack didn’t just call Brennan. “I’m not well-versed in social etiquette.” That may be. But kidnapping seems a bit less rational and rather extreme. He only wanted to see her face to face. I suppose this seemed like the most sensible way to him? Booth wants to know how Zack even knew about the killer if he’s innocent. The case has been kept well under wraps and out of the news. Zack admits that he has been routinely reading Brennan’s emails. “Given the evidence (contained in her emails), it was only a matter of time until I was considered the prime suspect.” Zack goes on to explain how he has been “allowing” himself free time outside of the sanitarium. He broke into a library and accessed the computers so he could keep tabs on his “friends and colleagues.” He names Brennan, Hodgins, Angela, and Cam. I don’t quite understand why he initially decided to start hacking into his friends’ accounts. Was it just because he wanted to feel close to them? Did he miss them? Was he worried about them? This appears to have been going long term. Aubrey notices that Zack left out Booth off his list, and asks if he has been spying on the agent as well. “No. Agent Booth and I are not friends.” This was more than a little disconcerting. “So, how did you feel about Agent Booth marrying Dr. Brennan. And then having two children with her?” Another moment to remember that these two characters are married with children. I don’t care if it’s irritating. I couldn’t be more proud. Aubrey produces one of Zack’s photos of Booth and Brennan from their wedding. And it was quite clear that Booth’s head had been ripped off. Now I’m a bit more disturbed. Zack may be innocent of this crime. But he was never really bitter about Booth when we knew him. More often, he was seeking approval from the agent. It’s all a bit eerie.

Angela is now in possession of the library’s computer, and is able to sift through all of Zack’s activity. He created sub folders for each member of the team in his email account. Angela was slightly relieved that Zack didn’t open any of the photo attachments between Hodgins and herself. Firstly, what in the world are those two sending each other? I can only imagine... And secondly, why were they using their Jeffersonian accounts to send promiscuous material? Maybe Zack accessed all email accounts- personal and professional. We’ll go with that explanation. Lucky for Cam, she and Arastoo don’t exchange any illicit material- at least not over email. Cam asks Angela to look through an “untitled” folder she notices on the screen. And the two of them discover that Zack has been masquerading as a Dr. Bancroft. A mystery for the time being.

Back on the platform, Hodgins is showing Brennan all the evidence they have gathered from The Puppeteer’s lair. Wendell is examining the bone shards they found, and subsequently matching them to the appropriate victims. Angela then rushes to the platform to talk to Hodgins. She tells him what she found on the computer Zack was utilizing. Not only was he reading their emails, but he set up a dummy account under an alias- Dr. Alexander Bancroft. Wendell recognizes the name from speaking with Hodgins- he is a “world renowned neurosurgeon” with whom his physical therapist has been consulting. But not so fast. Dr. Bancroft is actually Zack. “He’s the one who developed the protocol to restore feeling to Hodgins’ legs.” Zack had been emailing and calling on a burner phone. “Zack is the one who is going to make it so that Hodgins can walk.” Well that’s certainly a twist. One of a few, in this episode.

Booth remains undecided as to whether Zack is guilty or not. But he is of the opinion that what Zack did for Hodgins was nice, regardless. Aubrey reminds Booth that it doesn’t necessarily mean that Zack is innocent. They run through the killer’s M.O. once more. And while the evidence all still points to Zack, Booth is simply not convinced. He wants some outside help from a profiler. As if on cue, Karen Delfs walks back into Booth’s office. She’s back from Kansas City and wants to lend a hand.

Wendell lets Brennan know that he has identified the majority of the bone shards. She wants to know if he has found any evidence to either “exonerate or convict” Zack. He hasn’t. And he informs her that he wasn’t looking for any. “You always taught me to examine the evidence without any preconceived bias.” Brennan is quite pleased with his answer. It cannot be denied that she is an excellent teacher. And the is really proud when she sees the impact she’s made on her students. Brennan then asks for Wendell’s opinion. She has been examining a chipped tooth fragment and found tetracycline banding- evidence of antibiotic use prior to age 8. This banding was not present on any of the victims. So there must be a fourth victim. The plot thickens.

After pouring through the evidence, Karen posits that the killer could have Dissociative Identity Disorder. Although Zack has never been diagnosed, it could be a result of his head trauma. He wouldn’t necessarily be aware of the additional personality, and memory loss is a symptom. “One personality isn’t cognizant of what the other is doing.” Booth wonders about Dr. Faulk, the rather unnerving psychologist from the finale. Karen believes that he too is a viable suspect. His parents were killed when he was 7 years old, and that’s the kind of trauma that could bring on Dissociative Identity Disorder . There was definitely something off about that man, when last we saw him. But a motive remains elusive. Booth wants Faulk to be tracked. At that moment, Booth receives a call from Cam letting him know that Brennan had left the lab.

Booth reaches his wife while she and Wendell are descending the staircase to The Puppeteer’s basement. Booth is more than a little upset that Brennan left without telling himself or Cam. Brennan wasn’t aware she needed permission to leave. She doesn’t. But it’s only been a day since the kidnapping. Booth is understandably upset at this point. They are all under a lot of stress to solve this case. It’s personal. The cost of being wrong about anything at this stage could be detrimental. She assures Booth they are safe since “in all likelihood” Zack is guilty and he is in custody. To be fair, that is the same assumption she made at the end of the previous episode. Brennan went off alone because they believed Dr. Faulk was the killer, and he too was in custody. And we know how that turned out. There is no room for error here. And none of them could be too careful. Booth is not having it. He wants her out of the basement, and rushes out of his office to go get her. We hear Brennan in the background telling him she’s fine, just as Wendell appears to have found something. For some reason I truly expected something awful to happen at that moment. It was a combination of the music and the camera angles (EMILY!). But Wendell had actually just discovered a hidden door. And when the two of them pry open this door, the skeleton of the fourth victim is waiting inside.

At the lab, Brennan and Wendell discover that the victim was a teenage male. This is actually inconsistent with the other victims in this case. Angela wants to make sure to point out that he is (quite obviously) missing the lower half of his body. Evidence on the bone suggests that the victim was killed 10-20 years prior. “So that means this victim predates the others.” And that Zack could have feasibly been in his teens when this young man died. Brennan asks Hodgins to swab for particulate evidence, but has not realized that Hodgins had left long before. Cam got a laugh at the fact that Brennan only now noticed he wasn’t there. “We couldn’t stop you from going.” Even in the most stressful of times, Bones always find a way to properly and appropriately infuse humor.

After learning that Zack was the one consulting on his medical case, Hodgins decides to speak with him face to face. Zack already appears to be acquainted with Karen, which struck me as a little odd. She is surprised he remembers her. Apparently Zack allowed her to interview him for her dissertation. Interesting. “Ms Delfs is just one of many who came to see me. It is odd, but being perceived as a murderous cannibal does have some advantages” I would have to wait to infer anything meaningful from this statement. Hodgins has questions, but refrains from speaking at first. He just stares at his former best friend. He finally asks Zack to look at him. And he tells him that Angela found the emails he sent under Dr. Bancroft’s name. Zack admits that he understands Hodgins’ anger. And I fully expected the entomologist to unleash some degree of rage. But instead, Hodgins commends him for his work. Thanks to his “medical” advice, Hodgins now has feeling in his legs. Zack informs Hodgins that he shouldn’t really be thanking him. Because ultimately the treatment is unlikely to succeed. Zack goes onto explain the science behind the pain he has been feeling. And tells him that he only has a slim chance to ever walk again- “less than 1% that you’ll regain mobility.” Zack’s emotions are coming out, which is sometimes a rarity. I can truly sense that he is saddened by his old friend’s prognosis. He wanted to help him in the only way he knew how. So he tried to give Hodgins “hope,” as he understand that hope can occasionally have healing powers. Everything else aside, it’s really admirable. The lengths he went to in order to help his friend are impressive. Zack is remorseful over his actions at this point, as he fears that all he has done is brought Hodgins pain. I feel as though Hodgins is reconsidering his feelings about Zack and his role in this case.

Hope is really quite an interesting phenomenon. Zack is not usually one to believe in the intangible, but he can believe in scientific evidence resulting from one’s belief in the intangible. Was it wrong to give his friend false hope? Hodgins originally hoped that he would walk again, before losing hope completely last season. He fell into a dark state, and it almost consumed him. Only after he finally made peace with his prognosis did he regain some of that hope once again (a result of “Dr. Bancroft’s” recommendation). But this time I do not believe he will endure that same fate. He is in a good place. And he is too touched by Zack’s actions. Hodgins now understands that his paralysis isn’t a death sentence. It was an adjustment, sure. But he knows he can still live a full life. Would he want to walk again, given the chance? Of course. But if not, he still has it all. I’ll wait to comment more on this, as the story is still developing. But I don’t think it was wrong of Zack to provide Hodgins with a glimmer of hope. Because it came from a good place.

Booth and Brennan return to Dr. Faulk’s office, looking for the suspicious psychiatrist. But the office is dark. As Booth is calling Aubrey to put an APB out on this man, he suddenly emerges from the shadows. He notes that he is glad to see that Brennan is unharmed. But it all seems a bit disingenuous. Or maybe I’m just really turned off by this character at this point. Regardless, I don’t think he cares much about Brennan’s current state. Booth and Brennan question the doctor’s prior relationship with Zack. Dr. Faulk shares that the average murderer has an IQ of 90, and he wanted the chance to confer with one who boasts an IQ twice that. He believes there is nothing strange about his reluctance to mention he had seen Zack in previous interrogations. It wasn’t pertinent. Though I disagree with that. It’s entirely relevant to the case. But Dr. Faulk does find it strange that Brennan didn’t equate the man in her nightmares with Zack- “which could either be denial, or you think Dr. Addy is innocent.” I suppose this is why he was essentially screaming “who is he” at her in the previous episode. Because he knew Zack’s past. And he knew her involvement in Zack’s life as a result of talking with him. Brennan considers the doctor’s words. You can always tell when her brain is hard at work. Is there a part of her that believes Zack is innocent? The evidence certainly isn’t conclusive. Time will tell.

There is something really unsettling about this man. He seems skittish, and quite nervous. He called some uniformed men into his office, and instructed them to escort Booth and Brennan out of the building. But what is he afraid of? What is he hiding? He has also gotten himself a restraining order against Booth for pulling his gun on him. There is just something off. Booth is not giving in that easy. “We’re not done here.” And that is when Dr. Faulk gets nearly sinister. “Word of advice- the person you’re searching for has a pathological need for control. He or she will want to get as close to you as possible to manipulate you.” He smiles at Booth, and warns him to be careful. Brennan lightly puts her hand on her husband and tells him they should go. But Booth stares the psychiatrist down before he leaves. I suspect this was an attempt to both convey he will not be intimidated, and to also get a better read on the man. But Brennan’s touch has a calming effect on her husband, and they leave the room.

Karen comes up with the idea that Zack should consult on the case. But Booth is not having it. Karen assures him that it could go two ways: Either Zack is innocent and doesn’t find anything, or he finds something that they missed. I think there are probably a few more permutations here, but I suppose there is really no harm at this point. Karen believes Zack is guilty, and wants to confront him with what he has done. “Because then maybe his other personality will present itself.” Karen is eager to talk to Zack, and Booth eventually consents. But Booth has other plans. He pulls Aubrey aside, and tells him to investigate why Karen left the Kansas City office. No stone left unturned. No one can really be ruled out in this case. And to be honest, her return was a bit coincidental.

Wendell discovers evidence of severe scoliosis on the most recent (oldest) victim, and Cam notes that she sees no indication of corrective surgery. As for the severed spine, a surgical saw was the likely tool. Cam finds traces of propofol in the tox screen, so it is reasonable to hypothesize that this man died on an operating table. This definitely strays from the pattern of this particular killer. And Angela has found no missing person matching her facial reconstruction. As Hodgins states, they basically have nothing.

Zack has been going through all the evidence in the interrogation room for hours. Brennan comes in to check how he’s doing. And there has been no evidence of any other personality surfacing. Brennan wants to speak with him. Booth thinks it’s a bad idea, while Karen thinks it’s necessary. She wants to keep pushing Zack so that his “alternate” identity comes forth. “What if it’s not him?” “Well...then your wife will be in no danger whatsoever.” Brennan asks Booth once more, as she feels she needs to do this. But Karen pushes her out of the room before he can answer. I suppose the decision has been made for both of them. Zack is happy to see Brennan. He notes how long it’s been since they have worked together. She smiles back at him. While I’m sure she is feeling a “jumble” of different emotions, she is able to keep them in check and calmly engage with her former assistant.

In the interrogation room, Karen asks Zack what he thought of her profile of the killer. But Zack informs her that his opinion is “immaterial.” “My expertise is in forensic anthropology, not psychology.” Karen apologizes but wants to ask one more question- blackouts. She inquires as to whether Zack recalls experiencing any in the last year. He refrains from answering. But Brennan tells him that he must answer the question if they are going to continue working together. Zack admits to certain “lapses in memory,” and attributes them to changes to his medication. He wants to continue. But he appears to be far more agitated than he was when Brennan and Karen first entered the room. She hit a nerve. He continues to “confer” with Brennan on his observations, and seems to violate any semblance of personal space she may have had. It is a bit startling. Why did he need to get so close to her? Karen adopts my own reaction, and looks toward the two-way mirror in Booth’s direction. Aubrey enters the observation room with Booth, and relays some information relative to Karen. When he called the Kansas City office, they said they legally could not comment on why she left. This could imply a number of scenarios, and Booth wants her to remain on the case for the time being. Dr. Roshan then joins the agents with some suspects he wants to run by them. The folder he hands Booth contains profiles of former inmates who all spent a considerable amount of time with Zack during their time at the sanitarium. And each of these inmates suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder. As Booth hands the folder off to Aubrey, there is a frantic knock on the mirror coming from Karen. Booth runs into the interrogation room with the other two men in tow.

Brennan is fine, thankfully. But Zack appears to be in distress. Brennan explains that nothing happened, but that they “may have come to a conclusion.” In tears, Zack tells Dr. Roshan he would like to return to the institution. “This time to maximum security.” After reviewing all the evidence, Brennan and Zack came to the same conclusion- “The evidence is conclusive. He’s guilty.” This was initially a shock to me. Because I knew that Zack could not be the villain. And he definitely had no plans to harm Brennan. Then how could two highly intelligent geniuses come to the same conclusion regarding his guilt? How would this all be resolved without ultimately implicating Zack. The short answer is, whoever was behind all of this knew enough about Zack’s history to set him up.

Aubrey wants to help Booth with the paperwork, but Booth claims he is fine. Even though all the evidence points to Zack, Booth still isn’t so sure Zack is guilty. “It’s just a gut feeling.” But so often, Booth’s gut feelings are spot on. It’s definitely something they should not disregard. “Maybe your gut needs a probiotic.” Thank you, Agent Aubrey. Booth isn’t in the mood for jokes. He understands that Aubrey believes Zack is guilty, but “once again” his gut is telling him something else. The “once again” didn’t get past Aubrey who asked Booth if he thought Zack wasn’t guilty of that first murder either. If that’s the case, his gut is entirely accurate here.

Brennan attempts to enter the bone room, but Karen seems glued to her side. Brennan is not one who appreciates someone shadowing her, and is clearly irritated at this point. She asks Karen to stop following her. But Karen won’t leave, as she just wants to "help” her. I will admit this scene got me for a minute. Thinking back to what Dr. Faulk said, Karen could be a viable suspect. She has definitely influenced the direction of the investigation with her ideas. And her departure from Kansas City is still something of a mystery. But it also just doesn’t feel right. Especially thinking back to her previous episodes. She’s quirky for sure, but a killer? Brennan very gravely requests that Karen leave. This woman is clearly making her nervous. Karen speaks to her in a very “soothing” voice. She assures Brennan that that it’s over, and there’s no more work to be done on this case. She’s safe. Brennan finally comes right out and tells Karen to stay away from her. Karen then requests that Brennan come with her. And that’s about the moment I was yelling expletives at the television because I did account for this particular scenario. Brennan removes herself from Karen’s grip and tells her about Dr. Faulk’s warning. “Someone would insert themselves into the case, manipulate it...the killer would need to feel in control.” Brennan ensures that there is enough space (and a table) between herself and Karen. Karen begins laughing, which could either be because what Brennan is saying is so absurd or because she’s maniacal. It’s not immediately clear. “Are you serious?” Brennan is very serious. She demands to know why Karen left her last job. That’s actually an easy answer- her married boss was hitting on her. So she hit him back. Simple explanation. And now I feel foolish for playing into the show’s hand. For just a moment, they truly had me considering this woman.

Wendell enters the bone room at that moment and wants to make sure Brennan is okay. Karen comments that everything is fine except for “a whole lot of crazy” going on. And Brennan assures him that she’s fine. He actually found something probative on the bones. With Wendell’s discovery, Brennan figures out why there is no lower half to this body. It’s not missing. It never was. This victim was a conjoined twin. Karen chimes in. After being separated from his brother, the killer likely adopted the “dead twin’s” personality. “Zack didn’t do it. Aside from the one on his forehead, he has no scars on his body.” Karen’s mind went a bit too far into the gutter on that one, and notes that she has no desire to learn how Brennan knows this information. I don’t think it’s odd at all. Brennan has a clinical side to her. She undressed Booth in the lab once in order to collect evidence. Though I think that one got her a bit flustered, actually. So I’ll just move on.

The team turns to Angela for the final piece of the puzzle. As Angela is aging her reconstruction of the victim, Hodgins admits he cannot believe Zack didn’t do it. “The killer manipulated us into believing that he did.” Yes, that is right. So whoever really committed these crimes knows Zack “intimately” and knew how to steer the evidence in his direction. He also had to be more intelligent than the average murderer. It was in that moment that everything became clear. With the necessary alterations made to the reconstruction, Brennan also knows exactly who the killer is. She rushes to call Booth.

Side note: I don’t know why it gives me such pleasure to see that her name is “Bones” in Booth’s phone. Why would it be anything else? It wouldn’t. To him, she’s “Bones.” But just to see it makes me incredibly happy. Brennan informs Booth that Zack didn’t commit the murders. It was Dr. Roshan. She has proof, and asks him to trust her. But with both Brennan and his gut telling him the same thing, Booth doesn’t need much more than that. He makes a dramatic U-turn, and is on his way to the sanitarium.

It’s interesting when you finally know who the killer is. I mostly didn’t give this man much thought, though at times he and Dr. Faulk seemed like the only plausible alternatives to Zack. But now he seems so sinister. And Zack appears both doomed and helpless. The doctor wants to administer something to help Zack relax. But we all know that he has other plans. Right before Dr. Roshan can inject the drug, Zack notices the label. It’s succinylcholine, which induces muscle relaxation during surgical procedures. Though when I googled it (yes, I am that serious when I watch this show), there were some articles about how it’s the “world’s most discreet murder weapon.” Because if you’re not in a hospital with respiratory support when the paralysis sets in, you will die. That was a good learning experience. Zack shoves the doctor away from him, and they get into a scuffle. He knocks Roshan to the floor and picks up the syringe. But he cannot inject the doctor. Dr. Roshan takes that opportunity to stab Zack with his pen, and attempts to inject the syringe once more. But Booth shoots Dr. Roshan before he can proceed. Another strike on the cosmic balance sheet. But as always, it was to save another life. Booth saved Zack. And Zack confesses to Booth that he couldn’t kill this man. He was faced with the opportunity, and he couldn’t do it. If he could not kill this man in self-defense, then he likely couldn’t kill the lobbyist in cold blood all those years ago. Well, we already know he didn’t. But Booth is on the same page. My heart aches for Booth every time he is forced to end a life. I know the episode doesn’t dive into that, but every life has a price. Every kill weighs heavily on his heart. And this is why I will always support Brennan’s frequent reminders that he is a good man.

The mood is a somber one back at the Jeffersonian. Cam enters Angela’s office to tell Hodgins and Angela the good news- Zack and Booth are fine. Though Dr. Roshan is clearly not. She notices that the two of them look devastated. Cam asks if Hodgins is okay. He tells her that he’s just really relieved that the case is over. But that’s obviously not it. Angela urges Hodgins to let her know what’s really going on. But he cannot speak the words. So Angela informs Cam that Hodgins has officially lost all feeling in his legs. And it’s probably a permanent change. These people have just been through so much. I know Zack wanted to give Hodgins hope. Hope can be healing. But it can also lead to disappointment as well. When you allow yourself to consider a certain outcome, even if there’s only a slim chance, it hurts just a bit more when it doesn’t turn out the way you imagine. Hodgins is obviously sad. But this isn’t like the last time his dreams of walking again were dashed. He looks at his wife and tells her that he’s okay. “I’m not in pain.” And I think that’s enough for her. She loves Hodgins whether he walks or not. She was just devastated for him. Once again, they have to face another disappointment. It breaks her heart to see him in pain. But like he said, he is okay. He will not revert back to those dark days from all those months ago. They are going to just go on living their life together. This is not a setback. On the bright side, he doesn’t have to endure that excruciating pain any longer. I am still of the opinion that there shouldn’t be a magical miracle cure. This is life. And they are going to go on living their lives, just as they have been. Hodgins paralysis is inconvenient at times. But he doesn’t need to be “fixed.” I don’t care for the implication that people with disabilities are constantly searching for a way out. He lives life a bit differently than he used to. But he still does most everything he used to do as well. I know there are those who just want Hodgins to be happy. And these people cannot seem to catch a break. But Hodgins is happy. Angela makes him happy. His son makes him happy. His friends make him happy. And his job makes him happy. He loves his life. And I think that we should consider that before mourning on behalf of him.

In the final scene, Booth and Brennan are visiting Zack at the institution. Finally. Zack appreciates that it’s not an “adversarial climate.” Brennan informs Zack that given everything that has happened, she is looking into having him transferred- but only if that’s what he wants. Zack goes a little too far and tells the couple that he believes he’s ready to reenter society. But Booth emphasizes that this is just a transfer. "I never killed the lobbyist.” Zack adds that he confessed because he thought he would kill if instructed. We knew that much. But now we have seen firsthand that he cannot kill someone. He had the chance, and his life was threatened. Even then, he could not kill another human. “I’m not capable of killing. Not even to save myself.” Brennan looks at him and tells him she doesn’t believe it. “You confessed!” He did. But he reiterates that he did not kill anyone. And that the evidence from that case should be reexamined. Booth believes him. And assures Zack that they are going to help him. “You served your time.” Zack goes to hug Booth, (I guess he is past whatever disdain he harbored for the man earlier in the episode) but Booth stops him in his tracks. “He doesn’t like hugs.” Unless they are from Brennan. Brennan pats Zack’s shoulder with an open hand. And we know what that communicates from years ago. And that’s it. That’s the premiere.

It was complex, exciting, and dramatic. It was as brilliant as I imagined it would be. That’s a lie. It was obviously more than I ever thought it could be.

I will be the first to admit that I was never dead set on having Zack return. Life is just a lot of loose ends, and closure is an illusion. But I trusted in the writers, and knew the story would make sense. And having seen this episode now, I appreciate this particular loose end being tied up. It has yet to reach a full conclusion. But I thought the story unfolded in a really smart way.

Back to my earlier statement about the teases for this episode. Booth and Brennan still remain on opposite sides of this issue. While Brennan understands that Zack was exonerated for The Puppeteer murders, he still confessed to killing the lobbyist. Why would he lie? The evidence was clear. She will need to be the one to examine the evidence before she can believe him. But Booth understands people- even Zack in this case. That’s really all the tease meant. Booth and Brennan are different. In turn, they are looking at this situation different. Rather than fight about it, I think Booth will find a way to help Brennan reach an objective conclusion about Zack’s innocence based on the evidence. Maybe that’s what the whole “I have faith in you” line is about. The case has been closed for years, but she’s the best. And she can find something to help her friend. Just as with Clark, she will remain objective. But she will search tirelessly for the evidence. That’s the best way she can help Zack.

I have such mixed feelings about this season. Not in terms of quality- NEVER. I absolutely know this will be a gift of a season. I’m not prepared for the emotional toll some of these stories will take on me, but the performances will undoubtedly be stellar. These actors are the most underrated on television. These writers are clever and creative. Everyone on this show wants it to be the best most quality program it can be. Maybe every other show seems that way. But there’s something about the way people talk about the cast and crew of Bones- it’s the real deal. It always has been. From start to...finish? I am not ready to say goodbye. I will never be. Maybe some people can handle it. But it’s a profound loss. This show is a part of me. A part of my life (my REAL life). It’s the only “place” I truly feel at home. It’s the reason I have met some of the best people in the world. It’s the only thing that makes me feel whole. It’s my best friend. It’s my family. And it will be that way forever. Whether it’s today or 50 years from now. But I AM ready for more Bones. I am ready to see these wonderful characters continue their journey through life. Together. I’m ready to witness the laughter and the love. And even the heartache. I’ll reiterate an earlier point- even in their darkest moments, these characters come together and endure. Always. They give me hope. They have inspired me, and will continue to do so throughout my life. It is because of them that I have this life today. It’s because of them that I have any life at all. I digress. All I am saying is that I am ready for ALL of it. Levity and angst. Because every single second we have left is precious. And every moment will be brilliant.

#bonestv #bones #12x01 #the hope in the horror #recap #review #thoughts #dunno #i'm baaaaack

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