#the amount of fics in car scene explicit? makes sense now

[hopeheartfilia]

just watched deadpool & wolverine, and i agree, it really is more deadpool/wolverine

[cherrylimeadebabe]

Hi ! I'd like to request a Eddie x reader one shot where reader is steve's bestfriend and they kinda act like lovers?? so eddie thought that they were dating. Reader confessed to eddie and eddie rejected reader because reader already has a "boyfriend" so both of them are now confused. at the end they date thanks

A Slight Misunderstanding: Eddie Munson X Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Underage drinking, somewhat suggestive scene towards the end but not explicit

A/N: Hey anon I'm sorry this took forever, I hope you enjoy it! I quite literally had 95% of this fic done but couldn't decide how to end it. Anyways I hope it's not too corny haha. xo

Tags: @digital-charlie

   It was a chilly Friday evening in mid November, the crisp breeze flowing throughout the streets of Hawkins. After a rather busy shift at Family Video, Steve and (Y/N) excitedly lock up the doors of the shop, their next destination being a little get together on the outskirts of Lover’s Lake. (Y/N) was sure that Eddie Munson would be there, and that tonight would be the night she would finally muster up the courage to tell him what had been on her mind for the past month or so. (Y/N) had completely platonic intentions when she offered to help Eddie study for midterms, sensing that he just needed some extra encouragement to finally get him the diploma that evaded him year after year. Unsurprisingly, spending an extended amount of time with him led her to become charmed by Eddie’s creativity and wit, and soon enough the majority of her thoughts were consumed by him. She laughed to herself as she flopped into the passenger's seat of Steve’s BMW, realizing her constant talk of Eddie at work wasn’t much different than Steve’s frequent lamenting of his dating life. Steve had never seen (Y/N) so enamored with someone before, and although he didn’t think of Eddie in the highest regard, he was just glad to see his best friend putting herself out there more. Maybe Eddie could be good for her, but then again….who is good enough for (Y/N)? Steve wondered as they idled along towards Lover’s Lake, the moonlight peeking through the clouds and maple trees, illuminating the road along with the slightly warm tint of the vehicle's headlights. (Y/N) rolled the passenger window down, the cold air breaking against her skin and calming her. She tried to contain her self doubt, and was determined to follow through with finally making a move on Eddie, even if it meant he might reject her.

Steve pulls off onto the side of the dirt road that leads to the lake, a dozen or so other cars parked along it. From the glow of a towering bonfire and the sound of new-wave melodies echoing through the otherwise pitch-black forest, it looked like they were in for a fun night. (Y/N) wasn’t much of a drinker, and yet Steve still usually ended up as the designated driver. He didn’t mind it though, he felt better knowing he had his wits about him and could keep an eye on her. The two of them exit the car and make their way towards the crowd surrounding the fire. As they approach the party, (Y/N) scans for Eddie, but from the looks of it he’s nowhere to be found.

“Aw, I guess he’s not here yet, if he shows up at all.” (Y/N) mutters in a halfway disappointed tone, somewhat relieved that she could possibly delay her confession to him.

“Yeah that would be really convenient for you, huh? You were talking a big game at work earlier today, now you’re gonna chicken out?”

Steve heckles her, bumping her with his shoulder playfully.

“I can’t control if he comes or not! Either way, we came here to have a good time so let’s find some drinks and, I don’t know, talk about something else.”

Steve chuckles, slinging his arm over (Y/N)’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s all good! you could definitely use a drink, help you unwind a little.”

The two of them mosey along to the nearest cooler and crack open some beers, mingling with a mix of strangers and old classmates. Conversation was light and predictably superficial, but in the act of dance they found common ground.

As the moon grew higher in the night sky, (Y/N)’s tipsiness intensified as Steve and her gleefully danced within the crowd. Her nerves had practically disappeared and she was no longer caught up in her thoughts, purely enjoying the moment. Steve spun her around, dipping (Y/N) down low to the ground in a dramatic fashion, causing her to burst into laughter as he whipped her back up to face level.

“Wow Harrington, since when did you get so much better at dancing?”

(Y/N) teases, wrapping her arms around his shoulders,

“Robin and I may or may not have watched Footloose like, three times this month at work. Guess you could say I took some inspiration,”

Steve lets out a light chuckle at his own admission, the two of them swaying back and forth, enjoying the music and warmth of the bonfire. 

From an outside perspective, Steve and (Y/N) looked like a picture perfect couple sharing an intimate moment together. So of course, when Eddie Munson arrived at the party with fellow Hellfire club member Jeff, he felt his stomach drop at the sight of them together. He had been thrilled to finally spend time with (Y/N) outside of studying, but there he was; Steve Harrington, fingertips tracing the curves of her waist with the biggest smile plastered on his face. He felt a twinge of jealousy hit him, but decided to approach the two of them regardless. He had planned on spending time with (Y/N) and that’s what he was going to do, even if they couldn’t be alone.

“(Y/N) (L/N)! My saving grace, my favorite tutor….and Steve Harrington. May I interest either of you in a drink?”

Eddie’s theatrical entrance startles both of them and Steve quickly releases his hands from (Y/N)’s waist. (Y/N) looks up at Eddie, eyes wide and glazed over, blatantly ogling him. Steve breaks the awkward silence, looking down at the silver flask Eddie was holding,

“I”m alright man, I’ve already had a few…gotta drive later anyways. As for her, well-”

(Y/N) cuts him off, her intoxication very apparent as she stumbles closer to Eddie,

“I would LOVE a drink Eddie, thank you, you got some cigs too?”

Eddie can’t help but grin at the sight of her in such a state for the first time, putting the flask back into his inner jacket pocket.

“Woah, princess! Maybe you should slow down on the alcohol, and uh, I thought you didn't smoke cigarettes?”

“She doesn’t….right (Y/N)?”

Steve interjects, crossing his arms.

“No, doesn’t count when you’re drunk….right? Or does that only apply to you Steve?”

She slurs in a sarcastic tone, rolling her eyes at him. Steve shakes his head at her, knowing the attitude she was throwing his way was just a result of her drinking. It was obvious she was a little too tipsy, and Steve was ready to take her home before she humiliated herself in front of her crush. He knew she would protest now, but figured sober (Y/N) would appreciate his decision.

“I’m gonna get you some water (Y/N), just stay right here. Eddie, can you keep an eye on her for me? I’ll just be a minute, and then we’re outta here.”

Eddie sends an exaggerated salute at Steve as he walks off, rolling his eyes the moment Steve’s back is turned away,

 “Aye aye, Harrington!”

“Psh, I’m not going anywhere! I only came here for-for you, y’know,”

(Y/N) casually mutters, poking Eddie’s chest with her index finger and chewing on her lip. Eddie takes the opportunity to indulge her while he has the chance, leaning in and whispering to her,

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t come here just to see you too.”

He treads the line of flirting, worried that Steve could come back at any second. There were so many things on his mind that he wanted to say, but she wouldn’t remember any of it by tomorrow, and Steve would probably kick his ass if he knew that he tried to seduce his girlfriend, he thought. His contemplations are cut off by (Y/N) snagging the sleeves of his jacket and pulling him closer to her, staring into his dark eyes,

“Eddie….can I tell you a secret?”

He inhales sharply at their closeness, knowing he should gently take her hands off of him, but having no desire to. He maintains a low voice, looking down at her,

“Yeah, you can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I….I want to be yours Eddie, I want us to be more….more than f-fucking study buddies.”

Eddie feels the warmth flow to his face, trying maintain his composure,

“(Y/N), as much as I like spending time with you, I don’t mess around with girls who already have boyfriends. Besides, you don’t really mean that….you’ve had a lot to drink tonight-“

“What? Wh-what are you talking about? Boyfriend?”

(Y/N)’s grip on Eddie’s jacket loosens, her hands dropping down to her sides. He gently wraps his fingers around hers, hoping to diffuse the situation,

“Look, I may be a freak but that’s one line I’m not willing to cross, and I know you wouldn’t cross it either. That’s not you. It’s just the alcohol talking.” 

The weight of Eddie’s rejection overwhelms (Y/N), her face getting hot as tears begin to form.

“I’m….I don’t understand….I thought you felt it too,”

She turns away from Eddie, unable to prevent herself from crying. In the most unfortunate timing, Steve returns, dropping the water bottle in his hand as he witnesses the tail end of the scene that just unfolded. Eddie panics,

“Wait wait! Shit, I didn’t mean to-“

“I left her alone with you for three minutes and this is what happens?! Save it man, I’m taking her home,”

Steve brings a comforting arm around (Y/N) as he guides her back to his car. Eddie watches as they fade into the distance, feeling regretful that he didn’t just confess his feelings right then and there. He and his Bandmate Jeff drank away the rest of the night, and while he was trying to distract himself from what had happened, (Y/N) was splayed on Steve’s bed, replaying the scene in her head endlessly until she could no longer stay awake. Steve wondered what could have possibly gone wrong, how could Eddie pass up on dating someone as special as her? He passed out on the floor beside his bed before he could ponder for too long.

“(Y/N), hey, wake up….hey,”

Steve gently nudged her arm as she lay on her side, causing her to turn towards the sunlight breaking through the window, groaning at the rude awakening of the blinding sunbeams.

“Ugh….what time is it?”

“It’s noon, you want some coffee?”

“Sure, mom,”

She teases Steve, trying to pretend she doesn’t vividly remember how she behaved the night prior. He had no plans of bringing it up anyways, assuming whatever exchange she had with Eddie was best left unsaid, at least until she felt comfortable to talk about it. She trails behind Steve downstairs to the kitchen, sitting down at the dining room table. Steve places a cup of coffee on the table and she takes it in her hands, silently sipping it. Steve goes back upstairs to get dressed, and by the time she’s finished the cup he’s back down, jingling his car keys in his hand.

“You about ready for me to take you home? I’ve gotta pick up Robin in a little bit, and then we’re headed to work.”

“Yeah, thanks Steve.”

On the drive home she contemplated what she really had left to lose after last night. She had already made a fool of herself in front of Eddie, and she was determined to get to the bottom of his seemingly made up reason for rejecting her. Once she is finally back home, (Y/N) hops into the shower and changes into some fresh clothes. She primps her hair, brushes on some mascara, and dots on some blush. She picks up her car keys from her dresser, taking one last look in the mirror, exhaling as she exits her house, getting into her car and heading towards her next destination: Eddie’s trailer.

She pulls into the dirt lot, the sound of loud metal music emanating from the dilapidated trailer. (Y/N) gives a firm three knocks on the door, pausing for a moment to realize he wouldn’t be able to hear it. She walks over to the other end of the trailer, vigorously tapping on Eddie’s bedroom window, still unable to get his attention over the blaring music. She starts jumping up to try and get into his view, waving her arms up and down, unconcerned with how goofy she looked in the process. Eddie sees the movement in his peripheral, looking up from his guitar and chuckling at the sight of her trying to grab his attention. He quickly gets up to turn off his cassette and runs to the front door, swinging it open,

“Over here, (Y/N)! I hope you’re not here to make me study on the weekend,”

“Oh! Of course not, I’m here for something else actually,”

She grips her shirt, startled by his greeting. Eddie’s lips pull into a half smile, curious of her motives,

“Oh yeah? Well come on in.”

She follows Eddie as he motions her through the front door, situating herself on the couch. She bounces her leg up and down, her nervousness very apparent and only exacerbated by Eddie throwing himself on the other end of the couch, back against the arm rest and slinging his legs over her lap.

“So, you gonna tell me why you came over unannounced? Not that I’m complaining, just curious,”

(Y/N) furrows her brows, scanning Eddie’s face, he raises his eyebrows at her, waiting for some sort of response.

“Don’t play dumb with me Eddie, I think you know why…”

Eddie purses his lips, realizing he was about to be in deep shit,

“Aha…Uh, I don’t actually?”

Frustrated, she turns towards him, pushing his legs off of her lap and sitting up,

“Yes you do! Last night, why did you reject me? Have I just been imagining the tension between us?”

Eddie is taken aback by her forwardness, looking up at her, mouth half open and cutting through the silence after a few moments,

“You haven’t been imagining it….but I told you the same thing last night, as long as you have a boyfriend, we can’t cross that line-“

(Y/N) cuts him off, grabbing him by the arms,

“Eddie! Where the hell is this boyfriend thing coming from?! I haven’t had a boyfriend since junior year!”

Eddie looks at her with a puzzled expression,

“Uh, hello? Harrington? I saw the way you two were all over each other last night, I felt a little sick at the sight honestly and-“

She slouches in disbelief, scoffing at Eddie’s assumptions,

“Eddie…are you serious right now? Steve is just my friend, We were just dancing!”

“Even if that’s the case, Seems like he wants to be more than your friend, (Y/N).”

He raises his hands in defense, still unconvinced of her explanation.

“Trust me, I am not Steve’s type; and think about this for a second: when have I ever mentioned having a boyfriend? All of this time we’ve spent together, not once have I mentioned one,”

Eddie leans back on the couch, twisting a bundle of his hair between his fingers, in awe of his own foolishness,

“Oh…right, yeah I didn’t think about that. I don’t know-I guess I was just…in disbelief when you came onto me last night. I just assumed you and him were a thing by the way he was touching you, and maybe you just didn’t wanna tell me,”

She leans in, placing a palm on his thigh,  causing him to flinch slightly at the contact,

“Is it really that hard for you to believe that I want to be with you?”

Their eyes meet, a softness breaking upon Eddie’s face as he places his hand atop of hers,

“It kind of is, yeah. I mean you’re like, my dream girl, as corny as that sounds,”

He lets out a breathless laugh, continuing,

“I mean you’re smart, funny as hell, you have great taste in music, you’re smokin’ hot…want me to continue? The list goes on,”

(Y/N) shushes him with her index finger, smiling from ear to ear at his compliments. She pushes him back down on the armrest of the couch, hovering over him,

“Always the flatterer, huh? Don’t you think it’s time someone gave you as much praise and affection as you give everyone else? I know you think you don’t deserve it, but you do.”

Eddie feels his face becoming flushed from her suggestive questioning. Although he was in disbelief that her advances were really true, he places his hands over the sides of her thighs, initiating contact. His breathing slows as he looks up at her with widened pupils,

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted, when you told me how you felt last night it was all I could think about, it seemed too good to be true.”

His grip on (Y/N)’s thighs tighten as their faces draw closer to each other. Her lips ghost against his, but she playfully pulls away before he can lock her into a kiss.

“Getting all sentimental on me now, huh? That’s surprising coming from you,”

Eddie’s crosses his arms, a tight lipped smile appearing on his face,

“It physically pains me to be that sappy, but I’ll do it for you, princess. Now can you kiss me for real this time, pretty please?”

(Y/N) can’t help but smile at his plea, grabbing the sides of his face and slowly leaning in to plant one on him. He quickly reciprocates the slow, deep kiss, and suddenly he takes the lead, scooting lower onto the couch and pulling her in by the waist until she’s practically laying on top of him. (Y/N) gasps at the sudden movement and closeness as Eddie grabs her hips, forcing her to be pressed against him. (Y/N)’s hands move up from his cheeks to tangle his supple hair between her fingers, lightly tugging at it. The sensation sends a jolt down Eddie’s core, causing him to break the kiss with a barely audible moan. Like second nature, he grinds himself up against (Y/N), making her very aware of his apparent excitement. Her eyes go wide, and with labored breaths she pulls away ever so slightly, looking down at Eddie as his eyes slowly reopened,

“Oh! Aha, uh….didn’t think I’d get you worked up this fast,”

His grip on her lower waist lessens as he adjusts himself, looking up at her with his brows scrunched in concern,

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable! it’s just….well maybe we should slow things down a little? It’s been a long time since I….you know.”

(Y/N)’s eyes darted away from his, feeling rather shy about the subject. She lifts herself from him, resting on her forearms and knees, now hovering above him. Her body language made Eddie suddenly aware of how his eagerness may have come off, and in his mind he was kicking himself for having so little self control. He gently brushes his fingertips along the side of her arm to get her attention,

“Hey, look at me. We can take things as slow as you want, I promise.”

He reassures her in a gentle voice, a soft smile appearing on her face as their eyes meet once again. (Y/N) gives him a light peck on the forehead and pushes herself up from the position, Eddie sitting back up so they were once again opposite each other, legs criss crossed.

“You really mean that?”

(Y/N) questioned, reaching out to play with a lock of his hair.

“Of course! And, I mean look at me, throwing myself at you like a sex crazed animal before I’ve taken you on a first date!” Eddie proclaims in a comically dramatic tone, grabbing (Y/N)’s thighs with a repentant expression, causing her to throw her head back in laughter.

“Oh yeah, you should just be ashamed of yourself!” (Y/N) teases, the two sharing a chuckle. After a few beats of silence she continues,

“So….a first date, huh? Does that mean we are officially….dating?” She smirks at Eddie,

“Is this your attempt at getting a formal request out of me?” He leans in, smirking right back at her,

“Yeah, not very subtle huh?”

His hands move from her thighs up to her waist, pulling her closer,

“If I wasn’t such a dumbass I probably would have noticed a lot sooner just how unsubtle you are, in general I mean,”

She scoffs at his quip, tilting her head to the side and giving him an impatient look,

“Alright alright, as you wish. (Y/N)….will you be my girlfriend?”

She slings her arms over his shoulders, her face inching closer to his, and with a devilish smile she says,

“Of course, Eddie. Anything for you,”

She presses her lips against his, but pulls away just a few moments later. Suddenly she stands up from the couch, glancing at Eddie before making her way for the front door,

“Hey! Where are you going?”

She looks over her shoulder as she opens the door, Eddie staring at her, mouth half open,

“I’ve got errands to run! I’ll see you when you pick me up for our first date. Just give me a call beforehand so I know what to wear,” She blows him a kiss, and as she closes the door behind her, Eddie sinks down into the couch, still in disbelief that someone like (Y/N) was so eager to be his girl, so eager to kiss him the way she did. He spends the rest of the afternoon watching B-movies on TV and playing around with his guitar, trying to think of where he would take her for their date. (Y/N)’s afternoon was in fact not spent on running errands, but rather laying in bed and listening to love ballads and daydreaming of all the possibilities of this newfound relationship. Who knew such a heinous misunderstanding would lead to such a perfect outcome?

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis is pining for Harry. We hope you’ll enjoy this list. We also have a mutual pining rec list here and we will have a pining Harry rec list eventually. Happy reading!

1) Down On Your Knees, You Don’t Look So Tall | Explicit | 3445 words

Louis and Harry are friends, and best ones at that. Louis loves Harry more fiercely more than he's ever loved anyone, so he doesn't really have a problem with it when they start doing this thing. this wonderful, wonderful thing.

2) You Had Me At Hello | Explicit | 4529 words

Louis works in the shop next to Harry's cupcake shop.   Louis pines after Harry until he goes into a heat and Harry finally catches up.

3) Just Like Live Wires | Explicit | 5427 words

Harry climbs into Louis’ bed when he’s cold. Louis pines.

4) Something To Live For | Mature | 5535 words

After over a century of waiting for Harry to realize they're mates,  Louis gets his heart broken when his friend announces he's found his 'one' in a human girl named Teresa. Wanting only happiness for Harry, Louis accepts that it just wasn't meant to be and decides it's time to let go of the immortal life.

5) Five Times Harry Styles Was Jealous | Mature | 6184 words

Harry's jealous all the time but there were five times that definitely stand out. Five times that changed Louis and Harry's relationship.

6) On My Mind All The Time, Say You're Mine | Explicit | 9261 words

“Dude, we’re inside, and it’s night time. Those don’t look as cool as you think they do.” Louis could kick himself, he sounded so stupid, but it certainly got the guy’s attention.

It was at that unfortunate moment that he noticed several other things about this hot asshole, that he hadn’t noticed just staring from afar. First, when Louis spoke to him, his gaze was kind of unfocused behind his sunglasses, and secondly, that he had a red and white cane folded up under his arm.

“I’m… Blind,” the man chuckled, awkwardly.  

Louis wanted to melt into a puddle out of pure embarrassment.

“I— am so sorry. I have to go.”

“Hey, wait, wait,” the man soothed, grabbing at Louis’ shoulders before he could get away.

“I’m sorry,” Louis repeated, looking down at his shoes.

“It’s alright,” He cackled. “I get it a lot. More than you know.”

7) Let The Beating Waves Come Drag Me Down | Explicit | 9447 words

“Just try it, the worst thing that could ever happen it’s that you won’t like it” Niall had told him. And there he was, on the way to one of these pubs created for perverts, willing to break up the routine to try something new, something that terrified as much as excited him.

One night to get swept up in passion, one night to let the devil get in.

"Tonight, I’m going to make you scream of ecstasy Louis,” he said with a raspy voice full of control, making him tremble with anticipation.

8) Got It Right Such A Long Time Ago | Explicit | 9699

There are a lot of people Harry might expect to find on his doorstep at three o’clock in the afternoon these days.

It could be the delivery man, come to drop off the pair of boots Harry impulsively ordered online last week. It could be one of his neighbors, dropping by to complain about how a party he’d thrown weeks ago had clogged up the street. It could also be any number of his friends in L.A., who stop by unannounced most days to mooch off Harry’s food or whisk him away to try some new yogurt shop.

As a rule, it definitely cannot be Louis Tomlinson, although Harry’s blinked at least three times now, and it’s still Louis standing there, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag at his feet.

9) You Know What They Say | Explicit | 10232 words

Nice guys always finish last.

10) Call If You Need Me | Explicit | 10770 words

If anyone asks later on, Louis plans to tell them that it’s all Niall’s fault.

11) Love Is Like This; Not A Heartbeat, But A Moan | Explicit | 13150 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

In which Harry loves Louis, but Louis has been cold to him ever since he presented as an omega at age fifteen.

Eight years later, Louis approaches Harry with a request, and who is Harry to deny him?

12) Just Let Me | Mature | 14714 words

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

13) We’re the New Romantics | Explicit | 16054 words

Alternatively, a high school au where Louis pines and Harry is not who he seems to be. Featuring peanut butter banana milkshakes, motorcycles, and first times.

14) Wait For Me (To Come Home) | Explicit | 16066 words

A future fic of time stamps where Louis finally comes to grips with a love he'd denied for too long.

15) Deflower Me | Explicit | 20154 words

Louis is a proud virgin, and no matter how much society tries to make him feel like a freak for not acting on his natural urges, he doesn't suffer from his lack of experience. He has never felt drawn to someone in a way that made him want to get involved sexually with them, and he isn't planning on rushing himself so he can get some because people think it's what he should do.

In walks Fratboy, the Serial Haunter of His (wet) Dreams, who thankfully has a little business going on that might be just what Louis needs.

16) I Wanna Be More Than Friends | Not Rated | 20721 words

The one where Harry’s an alpha with no sense of smell, Louis’ an omega who isn’t allowed to scent his best friend, and that’s all they’ll ever be. Obviously.

17) The Way The Storm Blows | Explicit | 21649 words

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

18) Ours Are The Moments I Play In The Dark | Mature | 30830 words

Jane Austen's Persuasion AU. Nine years ago Louis Tomlinson was persuaded to break off his engagement to Harry Styles, a poor sailor. Since then Louis has come to regret being so easily convinced to give up his one chance of happiness. Now Louis' family is in debt and his childhood home is being sold. In a complete reversal of fortune, Harry has returned to England a wealthy bachelor looking to settle down. Events conspire to bring them together once more though Louis is- must surely be- the last man on earth that Captain Styles would think of now.

19) If Ignorance Be Bliss | Mature | 30429 words

Uni AU: Harry is too experienced, and Louis just wants to get to experience him.

20) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words

The accidental bonding a/b/o fic.

21) Mark My Word (We Gon’ Be Alright) | Explicit | 35524 words

"He’s always known that there would come a time when Harry would bond with some beautiful, quiet omega, and they would have lots of curly-haired pups and live happily ever after.

Knowing it and living it are two very different things, though. Watching the object of your affection desperately search for a mate and completely disregard you as an option is all sorts of painful, but it is what it is, and Louis is just going to have to learn to live with that."

22) Before We Knew | Explicit | 39831 words

Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

23) Eyes Off You I Explicit | 39396 words

A Charlie’s Angels inspired fic where Louis is the brains, Harry is the charm, Liam is the muscle, and Niall drives the getaway car - and Zayn is there, too. sometimes.

24) Kiss Me On The Mouth And Set Me Free (Nut Please Don't Bite) | Mature | 42074 words

Harry is the CEO of Flora Corp, Louis is his new secretary.

"...Louis wanted him so badly. Wanted Harry to pick him up, bite him, and break him. Make Louis his, make Louis cry, make Louis a beautiful, plump, pregnant omega..."

25) Let Me Touch You Where Your Heart Aches | Explicit | 46625 words

A Friends with Benefits AU, in which Louis falls in love and Harry is jealous. There is some Karaoke singing somewhere in there, because how do you write a romantic comedy without a Karaoke scene?

26) Underneath The Moon | Mature | 46927 words

In five years’ time, Louis would be the one saying to his students about how he knew the great Harry Styles, in a time before he had ever put out an album or performed on a real stage. Harry fucking Styles had been his best friend and he still loved him, he always would. But they couldn’t stay that way.

27) The Sidelines | Explicit | 47078 words

Note: There are mentions of Top Louis.

Or Harry and Louis play hockey for Penn state and can’t stand one another, since they can’t keep their hatred off the ice their coach and team do what they can to keep their hard earned spot in the playoffs and their two star players from killing each other.

28) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 59873 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

29) Pinkies Never Lie | Explicit | 83615 words | Sequel

AU in which Louis hates his job and loves Harry, Harry just wants a distraction, everyone else wants them to get their shit together, and Louis learns the hard way that new beginnings are only possible when something ends.

30) Inevitable | Explicit | 185917 words

AU where Louis and Harry used to be more than friends, but everything had to change the day Harry introduces Louis to his new girlfriend.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[captainclickycat]

Fic tag game

Cheers @lisea18 :)

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

15 total (I have two accounts, I just don’t use my old one much anymore)

2. What is your total ao3 word count?

Loads. I don’t know and I’m too tired to work it out.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

In terms of published works, just two: Good Omens and Sherlock back in the day. I’ve got tentative plans for some Wooden Overcoats fic and one Doctor Who reader insert which I sometimes get drunk and work on. If I ever publish that one it’ll almost certainly be anonymously.

4. What are your Top 5 fics by kudos?

Just going by my PollyPocalypse account for these. Top to bottom:

I Hardly Know Which Way is Up

The Art of Longstanding Deception and Sixpence and a Sugar Mouse (those two are tied)

An Ending Fitting for the Start

Here for Protection

5. Do you always respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to as a general policy. I love comments. But I’m also very flakey and occasionally forget to, or if the comment is rude or critical in some way I’m likely to ignore it, but luckily I don’t get many of those.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

My first thought was “I don’t do those lol” but then it hit me that it’s obviously An Ending Fitting for the Start. Even that one isn’t too grim, but it still leaves things on a pretty poignant note… but then what do you expect from a 60’s car scene fic.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Yes, but I haven’t managed to publish any yet. I’m trying to do a GO one now that crosses over with the ninth series of John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme in one chapter, but I don’t think that’s too outlandish. Also there’s this idea rattling around my head right now where a side character from Sherlock moves to Piffling Vale and befriends/dates some of the characters, but who knows if that’ll ever go anywhere

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope. A very small amount of unsolicited criticism on one or two, but overall reception’s been very friendly

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not yet, I don’t think. Usually sex scenes are described in pretty sparse detail or in a “fade to black” sort of way, like the section ends with the characters trundling off into the bedroom together and then after the break they’re lying in bed all sated and shit. I do toy with the idea of writing something more explicit one of these days… like I’ve thought about doing a version of Which way is up where the sex scene is described in more extensive detail, which would make sense since it’s so integral to the story. Admittedly I do have some hangups about it because I feel like whilst all writing has the potential to be bad, sex scenes have the potential to be hilariously bad and that’s a pitfall I’ve always been a little afraid of. That said, it would be a good hurdle to overcome, so we’ll see.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Thankfully not, at least as far as I know.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not to date. I like the idea though; it would be a good motivation.

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Unofficially probably the weird Final Fantasy/Jack and Daxter OC crossover I wrote with a friend in secondary school (so I suppose technically I have collaborated…) Sherlock was the first one I published anything for though.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I am way way way to flighty for all-time favourites lol. I suppose Azcrow is still my main oneat present, although I’m having a bit of a fandom hiatus rn for Reasons (I’ll be back)

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

How dare you ask me to choose between my children :P

That said, I suppose the first one that comes to mind is An Ending Fitting for the Start, just because it was so easy to write and felt so tidy and self-contained. The idea just came to me and I knocked it out in a couple of hours, which is rare for me. In terms of comedy value, though, I think Delightfully Devilish might be the best (and that is something I tend to value in GO fics, seeing as how the source material is a comedy) but then again Longstanding Deception gets a look-in for being my first multi-chapter, and Which Way is Up was the first fic I wrote on my new account and I still really love the “it’s not kind of me to love you” paragraph, and aargh. Forget it.

Tell you what my favourite personal author signature is though: I name a different brand of whiskey in all my GO fics. Go back and read them, there’s one in all of them (except Here for Protection, but that’s part of a series that still names a brand overall). I mentioned Talisker in my first one and then for some reason just decided to keep going. It’s got to a point where I now have to stop writing and go and research for a new brand name I haven’t used yet when I’m working on a new fic. To my knowledge nobody has ever picked up on this. It’s quite possibly the most pointless thing I’ve ever done.

Err who do I know. @sew-birb @jenna221b @monster-girlfriend-appreciation maybe? And anyone who wants to. No, seriously. If you see this and want to do it, I’d better not see you not doing it. Tell them Clicky sent you.

[yelpfic]

2020 Writing (Year in Review)

In 2019, I posted 3K words on AO3.

In 2020, I posted 214K words on AO3.

I have probably written more fic this year than I have in my entire life... and I didn't even start until April.

Since I feel like I'm new to writing all over again (the last time I wrote regularly was probably about a decade ago), this has been a year of experimentation. One obvious change is that I'm writing from this "alt" account, where I've been posting whatever the hell iddy, gratuitous, self-indulgent stories happened to fall out of my brain. (Perhaps as a consequence, I noticed that the ratio of public bookmarks across all my fics clocked in at around 50%. In other words, half the people who bookmarked my works chose to do so privately!)

I also experimented with:

participating in fic exchanges and prompt memes

writing for a variety of fandoms: big and small, new and dead

varying up my writing style: using present and past tenses, ranging from super florid descriptions to conversational prose

self-promotion on Tumblr, which meant attempting to learn how to use it. I'm sure I still don't have all the etiquette down, but no one's complained yet I guess.

My main project this year has been Once a Runner, the fic that got me started writing again, so I owe quite a lot to it. It's also sucked me deep into Eyeshield 21, a fandom that was active 10-15 years ago but still somehow has a few loyal fans. I am deeply grateful to these folks for... well... existing! In addition to OAR, I've written four other ES21 fics this year, each with a different pairing. In all but one fic, I managed to use a different obscure character tag that has never been used before!

This year, I've done a decent job (mostly) working on one big project at a time. I'm starting to get used to the feeling of always having an active writing project again, letting it churn away in my brain in a background process. Sometimes I'm rewarded with a scene or a plot idea that comes out of nowhere, like a plant that produces mysterious fruit - both delightful and worrying at the same time.

I wrap up this year embarking on a new project, Solid as Stone, which, as currently planned, is going to take me even further out of my comfort zone.

AO3 stats and meme responses below the cut.

My AO3 stats at the end of the year:

Meme questions:

Best title: Cloak and Dagger, Cape and Cowl

Worst title: Lightbringer Mine

Longest title: Their offers should not charm us (their evil gifts would harm us) (65 characters)

Shortest title: Talisman (8 characters)

Best first line: "Don't," the witcher's arm shot out, barring his companion mid-step, "touch."

Worst first line: Yeah, in hindsight, Sena shouldn't have answered that doorbell.

Best last line: "It will be done," he agrees, and presses the lilies into her hands. "My promise is solid as stone."

Worst last line: "I can't win or lose until you bring your strain to market. All I ask is that you hurry up and regrow, so we can really compete."

Conclusion: I need to work on endings.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted? I wrote more than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year? Everything. I wasn't into any of these fandoms last year.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. OAR, for sure. It got me back into writing, and I devoted an enormous amount of mental energy to it. Runners up (pun intended) were any ES21 rarepair fics where I lamented the lack of content for a pairing I loved, tried to explain everything I loved about them in fic form, and basically turned into my ship manifesto/soapbox. In fic form.

Okay, NOW your most popular story. Solid as Stone. OAR comes close by sole virtue of being a long, multichaptered work posted over 8 months, but with a single chapter of under 3K words, and having been up for under two weeks, SAS is already beating OAR in some statistics. I never realized Genshin Impact was such a hot fandom, even for a rarepair like this.

Story most underappreciated by the universe? All my stories got quite a bit more attention than I expected (thank you, everyone, sincerely), but I'd say Cloak and Dagger, Cape and Cowl. It's original, it was written in an exchange, and it has a decent plot (if I do say so myself) and even a bit of smut. Perhaps F/F work is not so popular?

Story that could have been better? I could probably list multiple things I'd want to improve about each story, but let me just limit myself to one. Lightbringer Mine had more story in it that I didn't get around to telling, and the ending felt a little abrupt. I feel a little awkward extending it now, though, as it was a gift fic.

Saddest story? Hmm, I think just about every story I wrote had a happy-ish ending. I suppose I'll go with C&D,C&C.

Most fun? TBH, the same? There are several lighthearted moments and a heist scene. 

Most fucked-up story? Stars and Stripes Forever (lack of link intentional)

Hardest story to write? Once a Runner

Easiest/most fun story to write? Always Knew I'd Fall. I went skeet shooting once, and as soon as I had the idea that Kid and Hiruma might be good at it, the story basically wrote itself. I also thought the song from the title was too perfect of a Kid song to pass up.

Top five scenes you would like to see illustrated: I would die happy to see any scene from OAR illustrated. Off the top of my head, the Hiruma and Sena bathtub scene, haircutting scene, or Hiruma taunting Monta in the car when we first meet Monta. From other fics, Kid walking around the course with Hiruma and making him carrying his gun properly in "Always Thought I'd Fall", and Sara Spectacular blocking the shadow bolts in "Cloak and Dagger, Cape and Cowl".

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? I experimented with posting explicit works, and as it turns out, sex sells. I also really put my kinks out there (sexual and otherwise) and was surprised and gratified to find others who appreciated it. Conclusion: it's okay to write the fic that you've always wanted to write. Even if it's embarrassing, or if some will judge you for it, writing for likeminded souls makes more sense than writing to avoid critics.

What are your fic writing goals for next year? I have a lot more ideas for SAS, so I'd like to make that my next big project. I'm also signed up for Five Figure Fic Exchange, so that means I have a 10k fic due by the end of the month that I need to... start... Beyond that, I'd like to write more original works, perhaps something that I can even publish under my real name?? Is that crazy, brain??

Some specific things I've struggled with this year that I'd like to improve: titles and character names, physical descriptions, making my endings less abrupt

[five-wow]

here are some thoughts from my (first, somewhat late) watch of 10.15!

we start off with adam intimidating a minion and threatening his life while they’re reburying three bodies. cool. this is totally something he can come back from.

joanna! danny’s mystery woman has a name! i very vaguely caught some annoyance/confusion about her name here on tumblr because apparently somewhere else (outside of the episodes, i assume?) she’d been called something else, if i understood correctly? but seeing as i missed most of that, i’m honestly just glad she has a name now.

also! joanna texting her sister/friend (i don’t really know who she is for sure?) that she met a guy at a bar - thank god, tbh, because last episode it looked like she just randomly had sex with a stranger (which is fine) and then got into his car to let him drive her home (which is not fine, because we may know danny is an okay guy, but she had no earthly way of knowing that).

“it wasn’t your fault. you did everything you could. it means a lot to me that you’re here.” kudos to sister/friend for not falling into the trap of blaming danny and piling onto his guilt subplot!

STEVE is WAITING OUTSIDE when danny leaves the morgue, oh god. that makes total sense and i’m glad for it, but i somehow didn’t expect them to show that.

steve: “you wanna talk about it?” nothing super clever to say here, but it just make me really, really happy every single time steve asks danny if he wants to talk about something (or just pushes him into it, ocassionally) because!! that’s good!! that’s healthy!! that’s a really good friendship, and i’m proud of steve. (on a slightly related note, i’ve been watching a lot of 9-1-1 and reading some fic and while a lot of that fic is really fun, i kind of feel like many of the writers in that fandom give eddie at least double the capability to deal with emotional turmoil in himself or others that he is shown to have in canon. eddie diaz is basically what danny sometimes accuses steve of being, only eddie is actually closed off and struggling with repressing everything he ever feels that much, and steve has by this point had years to learn healthier ways of coping and he is not that person anymore, at all. he knows how to talk about emotions and he does it, too, and the funny thing is that i’m pretty sure he learned a lot of that by making danny talk to him about danny’s emotions, which steve did all the time right from the very start because he cares about danny and wants him to be mentally happy and healthy, and tl;dr, steve and danny’s friendship makes them both happier, more emotionally stable people and that makes me emotional.)

tani teaching a class at the police academy and bonnie (grover’s niece) absolutely acing all her classes and tani and bonnie hanging out and getting lunch together and tani subtly mentoring bonnie IS ALL VERY GOOD.

fdjfkdjkfd oh god. i was so happy with this scene and then suddenly bonnie has a boyfriend and it’s the dude who buried bodies with adam a moment ago. so... is he a bad guy (i hope not, because i’m already a little tired at the idea of another cool female character getting in trouble all the time because she’s dating yakuza and that’s for some reason the most interesting thing the writers could think to do with her), or is he undercover? is adam undercover? are they BOTH undercover but they don’t know it about the other guy so they just keep committing crimes to look like badass criminals when really they’re just both trying to catch the other in a seriously bad crime?

oh god, there’s this whole scene with the academy recruits on the shooting range and tani keeps drilling them on shooting faster (which i have... thoughts about, too, but let’s not get into that) and they make it really explicit that bonnie is the fastest and definitely faster than her boyfriend and this, uh, really looks like foreshadowing for bonnie ending up having to draw her weapon on the boyfriend at some point.

adam to lou: “thanks for the coffee date.” i must say, very unexpected ship they’re pushing now. :p

adam: [starts saying things, possibly making up excuses] lou: “no, no, come on, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” let the man talk, lou!!! if you don’t want to hear it, i do.

ahhhh, lou is keeping adam occupied while steve searches adam’s apartment. things are making more sense now. (though lou does call steve to tell him to wrap things up like a minute after his coffee date with adam started, and also at most a dozen feet away from adam where chances are definitely above zero of adam being able to hear him, fjdkdf.)

steve had “a feeling” about adam. no need to be so jealous, danny.

wait, wait, adam is back on five-0? i... they probably showed or mentioned that in a recent episode, i think, but apparently i’ve really just been turning my brain off during this subplot because i do not remember that at all. (this is why i like bingewatching things, because at least then i have a clearer picture of what happened in the episodes right before, gosh.)

danny: “... but the point is that if i was a human being...” love it. love the subtle implication that danny is not a human being, but in fact an alien from new jersey, which as we all know is in outer space.

bonnie’s boyfriend is not officially bonnie’s boyfriend yet and she thinks he might be seeing someone on the side, and this is sad because as viewers we all know that that someone IS ADAM (and three dead guys). just not like that, though. probably.

bonnie: [tells tani her potential bf has two phones] tani: “hm, okay. this one’s easy: run.” YES. PLEASE DO.

quinn!!! i was starting to wonder if this was one of those mysteriously quinn-less episodes.

oh nooo, bonnie sneaks around potential bf’s house and then STEPS ON A TWIG. c’mon, girl.

fdjkfd the guys catch her and now i remember that this episode description said she was going to get kidnapped and adam would help get her back. this will be... interesting.

quinn’s awkward face while lou is yelling in surprise about bonnie having a boyfriend is absolute gold.

lou yells at tani for not telling him anything about the boyfriend yesterday but honestly, she does not deserve that.

also: all those dramatic shots on adam’s face, oh dear. is the rest of the team seeing that expression he has? are they seeing all these close-ups?

adam threatens his yakuza rival in an effort to help get bonnie back. is this supposed to be redemption for adam? i’m confused.

lou says it’s not tani’s fault and he apologizes! this is an episode of people realizing they shouldn’t put the blame on innocent bystanders (instead of one that attempts to heighten the drama by milking misplaced anger for all that it’s worth) and i like it.

siobhan has been tied up in some shed in the woods and endo (the potential boyfriend) is feeling bad about it but is unwilling to untie her, god. (quick detour, though: i’ve been wondering this since the beginning of the episode, but how is siobhan even at the hpd academy now? i was under the impression during her first appearance this season that she was in her last year of high school, so when did she even graduate?)

i do feel for endo (which i like! it’s cool to see a Bad Guy be not pure evil but believably conflicted), but leaving your almost-girlfriend in a cabin in the woods for your godfather to “take care of it” with a sad look and “i’m really sorry” is not the best of moves, my dude.

tani and quinn: we have good news! hpd intercepted endo and steve and lou are about to question him! adam: [sweats]

endo lies his ass off in interrogation which makes him interesting but also costs him a lot of sympathy points from my end.

lou pretty much assaults endo while he’s cuffed to a chair in the interrogation room. i get why these emotions make for good tv, but uh, hm, maybe five-0 should at some point consider a policy of not letting people who are personally involved in cases near suspects, because this does kind of seem to keep happening.

jfdkfd, adam confronts endo in lock-up, endo taunts him and says adam can’t tell anyone in five-0 what he knows because he’d have to tell them how he knows endo, the team finds out that endo has yakuza ties and go to confront endo about it and he’s gone. omfg, adam, how are you managing to fuck your own life up this effectively in such a short amount of time, after you fought all those years to get away from everything you’re doing now?

siobhan gets herself free!!! and then runs right into guys with guns outside the cabin, of course, because this is tv timing, but still, WELL DONE.

fdjkfdkjfd, adam’s brilliant plan to solve the situation is to call up the rival yakuza boss and threaten to kill his godson out of revenge. this is. this is maybe not a great idea.

adam: “in case you haven’t been paying attention, kenji, i’m not afraid of much these days.” oh adam, buddy, don’t brag about misplacing the entirety of your common sense.

the team is watching adam load endo into the back of a car on tape and it’s honestly kind of hilarious. steve asks danny how he would explain this and that’s hilarious, too, because they’re seeing their (ex-?)friend load a stolen suspect into a car to run off with him, thereby betraying all of them and everything they stand for, and steve is taking this opportunity to turn to danny and go “see, i was right”. fjdkfd.

steve’s gut says adam will come through for them in delivering siobhan, and we all know steve’s gut is secretly psychic, so that’s a spoiler. :p

and it does happen!!! i’m glad to see bonnie back in a safe place.

oh god. adam randomly appears from between the foilage to look serious and share a meaningful nod with steve. is he... is he officially on the other side now? they’re not still going to let him be part of five-0, are they?

domestic steve and danny in the(ir) kitchen!!! steve is giving eddie danny’s breakfast!!! and then there’s something about endo having hacked into hpd’s database, because of course they need to attach some ongoing threat to this, but honestly, who cares about plot when there’s “don’t shame my dog. i’m cooking you eggs, alright?” and danny saying steve doesn’t have to cook him eggs but steve already doing it anyway while danny is once again randomly sitting on the kitchen counter and steve cuts danny off before danny can request his eggs a little burned because steve already knows how danny likes his eggs, obviously, because steve is a stalker when it comes to danny. yes!! this is stuff i like a lot.

danny is saying he could probably get out of steve’s space soon and steve has the excuse of very intently (and yet somehow also very badly, it looks like) scrambling those eggs, but he’s also definitely, 100% avoiding looking at danny in that moment, and then he starts saying how there’s no paint yet and that’s bad and danny should stay. just. just move in together officially, you guys. just do it. nobody would be surprised. you know it would make both of you very happy. this is not even a ship thing, but just, oh my god, these two humans so clearly want to be in each other’s space and they keep coming up with excuses and getting this close to admitting that maybe neither of them wants danny to leave and then yelling at each other about eggs and how it’s not bacon day. it can be bacon day, steve. it could even be pancake day. it could be pancake day every day for the rest of your natural lives if you just told danny you wanted that.

overall, this was a very fun episode! i’m honestly just really happy with this season in general - quinn being added to the team does maybe not look like much progress on the subject of female characters, because she’s just one person, but there have been SO MANY scenes of her and tani together by now and genuinely, their friendship is healing my soul and watering my crops. i’m still not sure what to make of the adam subplot, but if they’re doing what it kind of looks like they’re doing - permanently putting him on the other side of the fence, back with the yakuza - that could actually be somewhat interesting. i’m just really, really scared that even after all of this they’re going to try to give him some kind of redemption arc that just has no chance of making sense anymore after everything that’s happened.

[trashpandaorigins]

Groot Steve Rocket Bucky Scenes from a Life: Free Will

From the team that brought you The Shrapnel in Your Heart, who really should have had their Tumblr messenger apps taken away by now, comes an intimate portrayal of a retired life of leisure, except for when it’s not. Based on the ridiculous head-canon that Groot, Steve, Rocket and Bucky all live together in a New York City apartment after Infinity War. From misadventures, pranks, and drinking shenanigans to harrowing reckonings of their past, Groot, Steve, Rocket and Bucky will eventually carve out an odd little family for themselves. That is, if they don’t kill each other first. A series of incorrect quotes, flash fics and funny scenes/dialogues. Lots of humor and fluff, some angst….okay, moderate amounts of angst.

Read the entire GSRB Scenes from a Life Series on A03

Check out the work of my partner in crime at Skarabrae_stone on A03 and follow them here @captaintoomanybattles

*Warning: This fic contains EXPLICIT discussions of torture, animal abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, and ptsd.*

89P13 strained against the metal clamps that held him down to the table. A  figure loomed over him, saw in hand. “

B….barnes…?” 89P13’s body shook so hard he could barely form the words. Bucky’s blue eyes narrowed, his mouth obscured by the mask he wore. He picked up the saw. 89P13 braced for the pain. “Barnes! B..Bucky! Wh...what are yah’ doing?!” In answer, 89P13 felt the serrated blade carve through his arm. He looked, pleading up at Bucky, before his vision went black.

Rocket shot upward, fur on edge. Safe, you’re safe. Just a nightmare. In the darkness he scanned the room, pitch black but for the red and white traffic lights that danced against Groot’s bark like light above water. Groot sat upright, thin branches anchoring him to the wall, a drop of sap leaking from the corner of his mouth. Good, didn’t wake him this time. Rocket smiled, hopping down from where he had scrounged together an amalgamation of discarded blankets, quilts and pillows for a bed. There was no point in trying to get back to sleep; only more nightmares would await him. Rocket walked towards the door, stopping to brush up against one of Groot’s legs. He nuzzled against it affectionately, closing his eyes as he did so. In his sleep Groot reached down stroking his fur. As always the comfort of his friend soothed his heart back to normal. That solid presence, always ready to hold him and guide him from his memories. Groot rumbled, cracking an eye.

“It’s okay, don’t get up,” Rocket murmured, nuzzling against the flora colossus once more before standing and leaving, closing the door gently behind him. He padded down the hallway, stopping as he made his way to the living room. Bucky sat on the couch, the couch where--three nights earlier--he had revealed to Rocket the truth behind his creation. A prototype developed by Hydra before they attempted their cybernetics on humans, or one specific human, Bucky Barnes. That had been Rocket’s purpose, the reason for his torture. A terrible reason, but a reason filling what was once the black hole of ambiguity.

“Can’t sleep?” Bucky asked. Rocket nodded, coming closer. “Yeah, neither could I.”

There was no point in telling the humie about the nightmares. Poor bastard already blames himself for every other thing he’s done. No sense in making him feel worse. I already burden Groot enough with this stuff, he thought, scratching his ear nervously. It wasn’t the humie’s fault that Hydra wanted to do their experiments on animals first. Animal, the word left a sourness in Rocket’s belly.

“Nightmares?” Bucky asked, as if reading his mind.

Rocket nodded.

“I get them, too.”

The raccoonoid did his best not to imagine. Silence descended once more around them.

“How’d you get out?” Bucky wondered aloud after a moment. “Did Groot...help you escape?”

“Nah,” Rocket dismissed with a wave of his hand, coming closer. “Groot’s got his own story.”

“ So how…?”

Rocket held up a finger, cutting Bucky off as he made his way to the kitchen and grabbed two bottles of beer, cracking them open with his claws.

“I don’t need….” Bucky attempted.

“You asked, you drink.” Rocket ordered, handing him the bottle. The humie nodded, taking a gulp. For his part, the raccoonoid drank down half the bitter foamy beverage before he hoisted himself up on the couch next to Bucky.

“ If what you told me is true then they were trying to make me a weapon like you,” he said carefully, “but it was tough, giving us sentience.” Rocket took another sip, staring at the shadowy rug before them. “Wasn’t long until the scientists figured out ya couldn’t get sentience without free will, no matter what they tried.” Rocket shivered. “And they tried a lot. Free will means ideas. Choices.”

Bucky nodded, wringing the bottle he held in his hands.

“They never gave us no choice, but pretty soon I started getting ideas of my own.” He flashed a toothy grin that made Bucky shudder.

Rocket took another swig of beer, waiting for that warm fuzziness to dull his mind. “I tried to get out six times before I eventually escaped.” At this, he pointed to his wrist, pushing the thick fur aside to expose a nasty car. Bucky looked at with recognition. “One,” Rocket pointed to his right foot,  showing a similar abrasive scar on the ankle. “Two,” the punishment for escaping the third and fourth times were marked on his opposite limbs. Bucky took in each one with an understanding nod. Rocket had seen only a fraction of Bucky’s own scars, down his remaining arm. “Five,” Rocket tilted his head to uncover a bulbous knot of scarification around his neck.

“Six?” Bucky asked. The raccoonoid blinked, glancing at the man and quickly looking away, shaking his head. There were some scars he’d never show. Luckily, for the first time in his life, someone understood that very well and did not press further. The lights of a passing car cascaded through the dark of their living room and Rocket took another drink.

“So how did you...” Bucky began.

“I killed a lot of people,” the raccoonoid snapped. “I murdered all the fuckers in that lab. Even the orderlies who never did nothing to us, but didn’t do nothing to stop it either.” He shook, each hair on his body raised with tension. “I finally found the freak responsible for these--” Rocket gestured to the implants on his collar bones.

He grinned wickedly, eyes far away “….gave him some implants of his own. A taste of his own medicine.” Claws tearing, screaming, bloodlust.“Opened him up and pulled things out,” the grin disappeared. “Stuffed other things in,” he whispered.

“Did you shoot him afterwards?” Bucky asked softly.

Rocket took a dreg of his beer and shook his head. “Nah, that would’ve proven his success.” He took a deep breath, staring at the ground. “I did what instinct told me to do.” He swallowed the image. “I clawed his eyes out and...I mauled his face off. It wasn’t quick. I made sure of that.” Rocket licked his lips before taking another drink. No amount of booze had washed the taste of his creator’s blood from his tongue.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky lowered his head, rubbing his face with his hands.

“After that, I ran, shooting anyone in my way….I found the weapons storage facility, took all I could, rigged some explosives, and blew up the building.”

“The explosion of Building 19.” Bucky remembered the red alerts. “They assumed it was a Shield operative.”

Rocket bit back a grin at the thought.

“And the others in there with you?” Bucky probbed gently.

The raccoonoid turned to him, tail twitching. He shook his head, red eyes glowing in the darkness, but there was sorrow there, regret.

“I got off that planet as soon as I could,” Rocket continued, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“What did you use to blow up the building?” Bucky asked.

The raccoonoid was silent for a long time before his lips curled into a grin. “A rocket.”

“I’m glad you got out.” Bucky looked at him and raised his bottle. “To freedom.”

Rocket raised his own and toasted. “To freedom.”

They finished their drinks and sat in silence, neither wanting to go back to sleep. They talked on the couch until the booze began to make Rocket’s head swim. He fell into a comfortable sleep, and may or may not have remained so when Bucky’s large hand began to stroke his fur.

“Buck?” Steve asked sleepily the next morning, rubbing his eyes as he came into the living room the next morning. “I heard you get up last night, are you ok….”

“Shhh!”

Steve stopped in his tracks and his heart nearly melted. Bucky sat on the couch, a finger to his lips, and pointed. Curling in his lap lay Rocket. The creature was as snug as Steve had ever seen him, his ringed tail wrapped around himself and hiding his snout. Bucky continued to gently run his hand down the raccoonoid’s back, grinning from ear to ear with pride.

“I’m getting the camera...” Steve started, but Bucky held a finger to his lips.

“No! He can never know!” he whispered.

“I am…” Groot stopped short behind Steve, looking at the two on the couch, and beamed. After a few minutes, Bucky lifted Rocket up and placed him in Groot’s waiting arms, in way someone would move a sleeping infant. Bucky gave Rocket a final pat on the head.

“No nightmares now, huh?”

Rocket’s little snores were his own answer.

[unfolded73]

This Graceful Path (8/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.) 

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and also will accompany later chapters. Thanks to the CSBB mods (@sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 8

The sound of softly beeping machines reached Emma’s ears as she walked into Killian’s hospital room. He wore a light blue hospital gown and was tucked in securely under a plain white blanket. His eyes were closed, his long eyelashes casting shadows across his cheeks, but as soon as she neared the bedside he opened his eyes and smiled.

“What’s the news, Swan?”

“Doctor Whale tells me other than the cracked ribs and a few bruises, you’re in decent shape for a man who was hit by a car.” She pulled a chair over and sat down at his side.

“I’m a survivor. Nothing can keep me down for long.” He tried to wink at her.

“Seriously, Killian, I can’t thank you enough for what you did back there. If you hadn’t pushed Henry out of the way—”

“Anyone would have done the same, had they been close enough. I was just in the right place at the right time.” He pulled his arms out from under the covers and tried to lever himself into more of a sitting position, wincing in pain as he did so.

“Ugh, Killian, stop.” Emma picked up the bed controller and pushed the button to elevate the head of the bed. “I don’t think anyone would have done the same.”

“Well,” he said, flashing her a wicked smile and bringing his finger to his lower lip. “Perhaps gratitude is in order now.”

Emma laughed. “How about when you’re feeling better, I take you out for coffee?”

His face fell a little bit. “I’m only joking, Swan; you don’t owe me anything, and I certainly wouldn’t want you to go out with me out of a sense of obligation.”

“I’m not. I just….want to. Is that okay?”

“As soon as I’m mobile again, yes. But allow me to plan the date.”

“I know how to plan a date!” she protested, frowning.

“You know how to chase bad guys. I know how to plan an evening out.”

“Okay whatever, Casanova.” She pointed to his forearm. “What’s the tattoo?” He’d briefly turned his arm and she’d caught sight of a heart with a dagger through it, along with a name.

He hid his arm under the blanket self-consciously, not letting her get a better look. “Just a memorial to an old love, darling. Nothing more.” He shifted in the bed, wincing in pain again. “Bloody hell, that hurts.”

Standing up, Emma awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. “You think you’re in pain; I have to go back to the sheriff’s station now and write up an accident report for all of this. Did they say when they’re releasing you?”

“Tomorrow, most likely.”

“That’s good news.” She hesitated before leaving him. “Feel better, Killian.”

He raised his prosthetic hand. “See you later, Swan.”

She let the door swing shut behind her, standing there in the hospital hallway and trying not to think too hard about the fact that she’d arranged to go on a date with Killian Jones. She had absolutely sworn to herself that she had no interest in him romantically (yeah right, Emma), had sworn that getting involved with him was a terrible idea. It was. It was a terrible idea. So why was she biting her lip to suppress the smile that was threatening to burst out over her face?

“Sheriff Swan, how are you?”

Blinking, she looked up and saw Archie, Henry’s therapist.

“Hey, Archie.”

“You here because of Mr. Jones?” he asked, indicating the door.

“Yeah, he pushed Henry out of the way of a car this afternoon, and… wait, are you here for Killian?”

“I was called in for a psych consult. The emergency room doctors reported he exhibited a high level of anxiety when they brought him in. Said some things that concerned them.”

Emma frowned. “What kind of things?”

“I’m afraid I can’t go into any detail,” Archie said, and it occurred to her that he’d probably said way more than he should have anyway.

“Well, he got hit by a car, wouldn’t that make anybody anxious?” Emma said, feeling defensive on Killian’s behalf.

“I’m sure it won’t do him any harm for me to at least talk to him,” Archie said.

“Yeah. Actually, now that you mention it, he has mentioned insomnia and nightmares to me.” Perhaps seeing a psychologist wasn’t the worst idea, she thought. Maybe Killian could even get a handle on his drinking if he got into therapy.

“Just now?” Archie asked.

“No, another time.” She shrugged. “A few days ago.”

“Thank you for the insight, Emma. I truly appreciate it.” Emma stepped out of the way, and Archie pushed his way through the door into Killian’s room.

~*~

“This is a waste of time. It’s been two months since the murder.” Emma kicked at the dead leaves on the ground. “I’ve combed over this part of the forest so often at this point, I’ve got it memorized. If there were any more clues, I’d have found them before now.” They’d been going over the scene of the crime for almost half an hour. Her nose and ears were numb with the cold, and it was making her grouchy.

David was crouched down where Emma had indicated the body had once lain, scrutinizing the forest floor. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He gave her a half-smile. “You just looked like you needed to get out of the office.”

She sighed. “Maybe. Not that it helps me with my latest Regina problem.”

“Regina problem?” He dug around under the leafy ground cover, his gloved hand getting muddy in the process. The ground was damp with recently melted snow.

“As soon as she heard that Henry had been with me when he almost got hit by a car, she demanded that I never see him again.”

“Hasn’t she said stuff like that before?” David asked. Off of her raised eyebrow, he admitted, “Mary Margaret may have mentioned it.”

“I’m not sure you guys are making the best use of your stolen moments together, talking about me and my problems. And yeah she has, but this time she really means it. She’s picking him up directly from school every day, so I can’t meet him at Granny’s for an afternoon snack anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Emma. Not getting to spend time with your child — I can’t imagine what that must be like.”

Emma jammed her hands in her pockets, prodded a tree root with her foot and shrugged. “I gave him up, David, and she’s legally his mother. I don’t know what I can do.” She watched as the toe of her boot sank into the rich soil.

He stood up. “I should probably give Killian a call, see if he wants me to pick him up something to eat.”

Whirling on him, Emma’s eyes widened. “How’s, um… how’s he doing? He came home from the hospital yesterday, right?”

David nodded. “He’s in a fair amount of pain, but otherwise I think he’s okay.”

“Will you tell him I was thinking about him?” she said, then blushed and shook her head. “No, don’t say that. Don’t tell him anything. Forget I said that.”

He smirked. “Do you want me to pass him a note in fourth period?”

“Shut up.” She kicked the tree root again more forcefully, or she tried to, but she missed and her toe collided with the tree trunk itself.

“Ow, fuck,” she said, hopping a little on her good foot.

David walked over and patted the tree gently. “She didn’t mean it, tree. She’s just cranky.” Then something appeared to catch his eye in the leaves piled on the ground, and he bent over. “What the hell?”

Emma limped over and looked at what David had picked up: a silver ring on a broken chain. “I wonder where that came from?”

He shrugged. “I happened to see a glimpse of it, buried in the leaves.”

Taking the chain from him, she examined the broken ends, the way the tiny links had been ripped apart. “You don’t think this could have come from our murderer? Ripped off in a struggle with Gold?”

“Could be. I don’t know if there’s any way to tell.”

Emma pocketed it. “Maybe I can find a way to use it, if I can ever get an actual suspect. Let’s head back to the station.”

They started to make their way to Gold’s cabin where the cruiser was parked. Emma winced at the sharp pain in her toe, trying not to limp so that David would notice.

“Don’t think I don’t notice you limping,” he said.

Shit. “I’m fine.”

He ignored that, putting an arm around her and steering her over to a fallen log. “Sit down and let me take a look.”

“No, David, let’s get back to the car. We’re almost there.”

He met her gaze, calm and impassive and brooking no argument. “Sit down, and let me take a look.”

Emma huffed. “Fine.” She gingerly settled herself on the log and stuck her booted foot out for him. He knelt down, easing the boot off and murmuring an apology when she hissed in pain.

“Wiggle your toes for me,” he said. Emma did as he asked. “How badly does that hurt?”

“Not too bad,” she said, her eyes gazing off into the forest. She could see the edge of the clearing where Gold’s cabin was, and beyond it— “What the hell is that?”

“Do you feel a scraping inside your toe?” David said, his face etched with worry. “Because that—”

“No, not my toe. That.” She pointed. From her vantage point, she could see a part of the dirt track that led between the main road and Gold’s cabin, and in the midst of a cluster of shrubbery, she could make out what looked like part of a car bumper.

“Is that a car?” David asked.

“Put my boot back on and let’s check it out.”

“I’m not done—”

“My toe is fine; I’ve had a broken toe before and this one isn’t. Put my boot back on,” Emma said.

Once David had done as she instructed, they made their way toward the car; carefully in case anyone was around. But it very quickly became clear that the car had been there for a long time. “This is Tom Clark’s car,” Emma said as she pushed the low branches aside to reveal more of the hidden vehicle.

“What?”

“Mr. Clark reported his car stolen the day after Graham died. It hasn’t exactly been my top priority, to be honest, but it was another open case. And now here it is, hidden near Gold’s cabin.”

David made a face. “You don’t think… Tom murdered Gold?”

Emma couldn’t help it; she burst into giggles. “I mean, I’m not ruling it out, but…” She opened the driver’s door and knelt down, holding up the wires that had been ripped out from underneath the dash and were hanging down. “No, someone hotwired this car, probably to follow Gold out here, and then abandoned it.” She stood up and brushed off her jeans.

“We’re getting closer, Emma. I know you’ve had your doubts, but I really believe you’re going to solve this thing.”

Emma grinned, the pain in her toe barely noticeable now. “Me too.”

~*~

Juggling a large pizza box and a six-pack of beer, Emma knocked on the door, then immediately felt guilty and opened the door a crack. “I can let myself in, you don’t have to get up!” she called out.

Killian came shuffling into view, dressed in a thin long-sleeved t-shirt and track pants, his feet bare. “It’s fine, Swan, it’s better if I move around a little bit.” He took the beer from her and motioned for her to come into the apartment. “As I said on the phone, you really didn’t have to bring me food.”

She set the pizza down on his small kitchen table. “I know I didn’t have to, but David mentioned he was bringing you something to eat yesterday and I thought…” She shrugged. “Shit, you probably can’t drink with the painkillers you’re taking, can you?”

He moved gingerly to the refrigerator, setting the beer inside and then pulling two bottles out. “I’ve stopped taking them, so the beer is fine.” He handed her one of the bottles, then popped the cap off of his with an old-fashioned bottle opener that was mounted on the wall. The cap dropped into a little bucket below with Coca-Cola inscribed on it in flowing and familiar cursive.

“You’ve stopped taking them? Isn’t it too soon to stop taking them?” Emma popped the top off her own bottle, stepping close to Killian to do so. She could feel the heat from his body as she brought the bottle to her lips. Fuck, she thought, she’d been in his presence a grand total of one minute and her body was already humming like a live wire.

Killian shrugged. “They were making my nightmares worse.” He took a drink, the muscles of his neck moving as he swallowed. It was infuriatingly distracting, and Emma took a step backward, out of his personal space. “It’s hardly the worst pain I’ve experienced,” he said, lifting his prosthetic hand.

“No, I guess not,” Emma said, trying not to imagine what losing a hand would feel like. “Probably not as bad as childbirth either.”

With a chuckle, Killian turned to the cabinet and got down plates. “I very much doubt it.” She could see his teeth clench in pain as he moved.

“Let me get that,” Emma said, reaching to take the plates, her fingers brushing against his as she did so. “Should we take the pizza to the sofa? Where would you be most comfortable?”

Killian visibly relaxed a little. “Yeah, the sofa would be good.”

Emma put a couple of slices on each plate and followed him into his living room. There was a collection of water glasses and mugs of half-finished tea on his coffee table, along with a haphazard stack of books, and Emma resolved to help him clean up before she left.

Killian sat down with an audible groan. “Bugger.”

She handed him his pizza, sitting as far away from him as the sofa allowed. “I wish I could do something to make you feel better,” and then immediately blushed as a dirty grin unfurled on his face. “How about we forget I said that.”

“Your company is a balm to my wounds, love. No additional favors are required.”

The sincerity on his face filled her chest with a bloom of warmth, and Emma felt herself smiling. She took a bite of her pizza. “So how long will it be before your ribs are healed?”

“Four to six weeks is what the doctor told me. In the meantime, I’m supposed to stay active but not lift anything heavy. And I’m supposed to breathe as deeply as I can, even though it hurts like the dickens to do so.”

Emma frowned in confusion. “Why do you have to breathe deeply?”

“It prevents lung infection, apparently.”

“Oh.” She sipped her beer. “Listen, Henry feels terrible about what happened. So do I. If I hadn’t upset him, then he wouldn’t—”

“Children make mistakes, Swan. I assure you, I hold no ill will against either of you. I’m just glad I was there.” He took a bite of his slice and smiled. “But I won’t say no to free food,” he mumbled.

They ate in silence for a while, Emma realizing that it was probably a good thing he wasn’t healthy enough for sex (hearing that last part in a pharmaceutical commercial announcer voice), because otherwise she’d be tempted to jump him right here on his sofa.

“Can I get you more pizza?” she asked when his plate was empty.

“No, I’m fine, love.” He set the plate on his overflowing coffee table and reclined back, still nursing his beer. “So tell me a story, Emma Swan.”

She laughed. “A story? Like ‘Once upon a time…’”

“No, something about yourself.” He pointed to the side of his chest. “Tell me about your most dramatic injury.”

“Well, I don’t have anything to rival getting hit by a car, and I still have all my limbs, so…”

“Come on, Swan,” he whined. “I’m in pain; entertain me.”

She sighed. “Okay. When I was eight, I broke my arm.”

“How did you do that?”

“I was on the swings on the school playground, swinging by myself. Pumping my legs to go higher and higher. And when I got as high as I thought I could possibly go, right as I got to the top of the… you know—” She mimed the path of a swing with her hand.

“The arc?”

“Yeah. Right at the top, I jumped.”

Killian’s eyes widened. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I don’t know, I think I thought I would—”

“Fly?” he asked with a smirk.

“No, not fly, but I thought I would… I don’t know, follow this graceful path to the ground.” She laughed. “It wasn’t graceful. I landed on my arm and heard this snapping sound. I’ll never forget that sound.” She shuddered. “So I got a cast which no one signed, and my foster family was pissed at me for getting hurt because it cost them money.”

Killian’s expression turned sad. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to unearth a unhappy memory.”

Emma waved off his concern. “It’s no big deal. Most of my childhood memories are sad, to be honest.” She searched for something to lighten the mood and came up empty. “So, what do they do with broken ribs? Do you have, like, a brace on or something?”

Shaking his head, Killian lifted his shirt. Her eyes were greeted with a Rorschach test of bruising on the side of his chest, but it was easy to look beyond that to see the nice shape of his muscles and the line of hair down his abdomen. “Apparently they don’t do that anymore,” he said, and then committed the crime of dropping his shirt back down into place. Emma swallowed on a suddenly dry throat and gulped down the rest of her beer.

“Can I get you another one?” Killian asked.

“No,” she jumped up. “I should probably get going and let you rest.” Gesturing toward the kitchen, she added, “I’ll wrap up the rest of the pizza for you and put it away.”

Killian followed her to the kitchen, getting a roll of foil out and handing it to her. “If you haven’t thought better of going on a date with me, I should be mended enough the weekend after this coming to make a go of it, if you want.” His attempt at nonchalance was poor, and Emma smiled, her back turned as she wrapped up the pizza slices.

“I haven’t thought better of it. Are you sure that’s not too soon for your ribs, though?”

“As long as I don’t have to pick you up and carry you somewhere, Swan, I should be able to manage.”

She stuck the pizza in the fridge and then went out to the living room to gather up all the dirty dishes from his coffee table. “You don’t have to do that,” he said, a pained expression on his face.

Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s a small thing. Just shut up and let me help you.”

“Yes, your highness.”

~*~

“I didn’t even know Storybrooke had a restaurant this nice,” Emma said as they followed the host to their table. In truth, it wasn’t anything that special: checkered table clothes and ordinary pasta dishes with cheap bottles of Chianti, or so it appeared; it certainly didn’t compare to the upscale places she’d seen in Boston. But it was a huge improvement over Granny’s, and right now that was really all she cared about.

“I told you I know how to plan a date,” Killian said, his hand resting lightly on her back as she was ushered to her seat. She watched as he removed his leather jacket and slung it over the back of his chair before sitting down gingerly, a little twinge of pain flashing across his face the only evidence of his injury. He’d assured her that while his ribs were still healing, he was certainly capable of sitting in a chair and eating a meal with her.

Killian’s usual long-sleeved black t-shirt and blue jeans had been replaced with a nice button-down shirt and a vest, and he wore new-looking black jeans instead of the usual faded denim. Also, he smelled good, and Emma caught herself staring as he sat down, the sudden image of burying her nose in the crook of his neck making her shift in her seat.

Mary Margaret had been entirely too excited about Emma’s date, offering her a pale pink dress to borrow which Emma had stuck her tongue out in distaste at. She’d opted for her usual jeans and boots, but topped it with a slightly more feminine sweater than she usually wore, although its scooped neckline was making her a bit uncomfortable now, her hand drifting to her own neck to fidget with the charm on her necklace as she studied the menu and tried to think of something to say.

“I don’t really do this,” she said.

“Order food in restaurants?”

“Date.”

“Present evidence to the contrary.” He slid down in his seat, elbow on the table and his face propped against one finger. “You mentioned that to me before, that you don’t date. Why is that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s seemed… pointless most of the time, I guess.”

“Have you ever been in love?” he asked.

“Wow, extremely personal questions right off the bat, then,” Emma muttered. The waiter approached them. “Can I get an old fashioned, please?” Killian also ordered a drink, and the waiter nodded and left them alone once again.

“Well?” he asked.

Emma huffed. “Why don’t you tell me if you’ve ever been in love?”

“Yes, I have,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

“With the woman whose name is on your arm? Your tattoo?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Milah.” He took a sip of water. “She died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He gave her a tight smile. “It was a long time ago.”

“What happened?”

“An accident.”

“The same accident where you lost your hand?” she blurted out, then grimaced. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay, Swan. Yes, it was the same accident.”

The waiter arrived with their drinks, and they placed their orders. Silence settled.

“So, okay. Yes, maybe I’ve been in love.” She took a sip of her drink. “Once.”

“Henry’s father?” Killian asked. She narrowed her eyes, looking for a hint of judgment: there was always judgment when people discussed her teenage pregnancy. She saw none.

“Yeah. His name was Neal.” She couldn’t believe she was telling this story before the entrees even arrived. “We met when I tried to steal his car with him sleeping inside it.”

Killian laughed. “I thought there might be a little bit of pirate in you, Swan.”

“Also it was a car he’d stolen, so it was a match made in hell or something. We ran around together for a while, stealing to get by, and I think I was in love.”

Killian rolled a measure of rum around in his mouth before swallowing it. “I take it things didn’t end well.”

She considered lying to him, but it felt good to unburden herself for some reason. “He’d stolen some watches, and I agreed to pick them up for him, and I got caught. Ended up in prison for almost a year. That’s where I was when I found out I was pregnant.”

Killian’s eyes were wide. “Surely if he had taken responsibility for the watches, you would have gone free.”

She chuckled darkly. “He set me up to take the fall. I never saw him again.”

“My God, Swan.”

“Yeah, and that’s just one of the shitty stories of my shitty life.” She raised her glass in a mock toast. “He doesn’t know Henry even exists, which is a small relief.”

“Does Henry know?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I mean, he knows I was in jail when he was born, thanks to the newspaper. But no, he doesn’t know that his father was a deadbeat who left me literally holding the bag.” She grimaced. “I told him his dad was a firefighter and a hero.”

Killian reached across the table and put his hand over hers. “Sometimes lying is the kindest thing you can do.”

Emma looked into his too-blue eyes, felt herself drowning a little bit in them. “Yeah, I guess.”

The conversation turned lighter after that, as the alcohol and the sharing of secrets relaxed them. The dinner seemed to pass in a flash, and Emma would have been hard-pressed to remember what she ate. Everything was him and his smile and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. The way he drummed his fingers on the table and the little thatch of chest hair she could see above his unbuttoned shirt collar.

He walked her home; the slow, meandering walk of people who didn’t particularly want to get where they were going. She walked on his left side, and when he stuck his elbow out in a ridiculously chivalrous gesture, she linked her arm with his. The chill of the evening gave her an excuse to press herself against his warm, solid presence.

“Well, not bad,” she said as they climbed the stairs to her apartment. “You actually managed to make me forget that there’s a murderer on the loose.” Emma turned to face Killian at the door.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he said, smiling shyly at her.

“I’d invite you in for coffee, but Mary Margaret is home, so…” She was somehow simultaneously disappointed and relieved by that fact. It was probably for the best, taking any temptation to invite him into her apartment off the table. The way she was feeling tonight, there was no telling what she would do.

“That’s quite all right. I suppose we’ll have to wait until next time.”

Emma raised an eyebrow. “Next time? I don’t remember asking,” she said, aware of how rapidly her heart was beating.

Killian stepped closer, close enough that she could almost feel his breath on her face. “That’s because it’s my turn. Will you go out with me again?”

A part of her wanted to say no, because Emma Swan didn’t date, and Emma Swan definitely didn’t date seductive, mysterious guys who drank too much and slept too little. A part of her wanted to say yes, because he was charming and funny and very possibly the sexiest man that she’d ever stood this close to. All of her wanted to kiss him. So that’s what she did.

Her mouth gravitated toward his, pulled in before she had consciously made the decision to kiss him. She felt his head tilt, felt the brush of his nose against the apple of her cheek, and then his lips were on hers, slow and gentle. She opened her mouth enough to pull at his bottom lip, and felt a rush of heat as he responded, as his fingers carefully touched the back of her neck and his other arm wrapped around her to pull her closer.

Emma had always liked kissing, liked the feeling of another pair of soft lips against her own, liked the wetness of it and infinite variations of the way it could go, with tongues and lips and teeth. Liked the way it could take a tiny ember of desire and fan it into a roaring fire. But as Killian’s tongue worked against hers, as she felt her face flush and her knees weaken under this onslaught of sensation, she started to wonder if she’d ever been kissed quite like this before. His back was firm under her hands, and the way he kissed made her wonder if he’d be as good at other things he could do with his mouth as he was at kissing. She started to keenly regret that Mary Margaret was on the other side of her apartment door.

The kiss gradually slowed, and Emma was embarrassed at how breathless she was, although it seemed he was the same, the way he panted against her mouth as they stood there, not quite ready to get out of each other’s personal space. Reluctantly, she finally pulled away, taking in the bloom of color high on Killian’s cheeks.

“That was…”

Emma couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah.” She reached for the doorknob. “Goodnight, Killian.”

“Goodnight.”

Chapter 9

[coldflasher]

Rogue Speedster

Coldflash Week Day 5: Alternate Earths

Len and Barry are joint leaders of the Rogues. The only thing standing between them and complete dominion over Central City is Killer Frost and her group of metahuman do-gooders, who refuse to quit following them around.

Rating: Mature-ish (no actual sex scene - but it’s veeery heavily implied/they’re about to start doing it and then there’s a cut-scene, so the fic ends before it gets particularly explicit)

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(Warning for some kind of self-destructive behaviour and a bit of a strange, slightly dysfunctional dynamic between Len and Barry? They love each other, but like... they’re sort of evil, makes sense that they’re a little bit rough with each other from time to time.)

Barry shot through the city like a bullet from a gun, his head lowered to streamline his body as effectively as possible. The wind whistled around him as he cut through the turbulence, weaving in and out of cars, shooting up and over buildings, whizzing round corners. All the while, he had to fight to keep a smile off his face.

He rocketed around another corner and crossed three blocks in three seconds flat. The perfect amount of adrenaline buzzed through his body; he was out of danger, able to enjoy the feeling without fear, but his whole body still sang with fresh energy, so much that he was practically overflowing with it. Lightning crackled as he ran, and he used the electricity to spur him onwards. His blood was singing, the chemicals racing through his bloodstream the same way he raced through the streets, filling him with excitement. The adrenaline was there at his command, making him faster, more agile, making his turns sharper and his lungs burn more fiercely as he pushed himself. Again, he had to struggle not to grin.

At times like this, he felt like he could run to the ends of the earth.

Cutting across a busy square, still milling with people in spite of the late hour, Barry blew past a couple of tourists and then headed about half a mile down the road - and then suddenly ricocheted off in the opposite direction, shooting down a deserted alleyway and cutting across a couple of back roads before he skidded to a stop at the back of an old housing estate, directly across the street from Leonard Snart.

Len had his cold gun out and pointed straight ahead, but when he spotted Barry, he lowered it. They regarded each other for a moment. Barry was still breathing hard from his run, the smell of singed rubber hanging in the air and static prickling at his arms.

“Alright, hands in the air,” he said.

Slowly, Len holstered his gun, then raised his hands to shoulder height. The barest hint of a laugh twitched at the corners of his mouth.

“You got me,” he said.

“Yep,” agreed Barry.

He moved in closer, fighting a smile of his own. At this distance, he had nothing to fear from Len’s gun. If the man was planning on shooting him, Barry could have his arm twisted behind his back the moment Len’s fingers so much as twitched towards his holster. Not that he had any qualms that Leonard was going to attempt to shoot him. Not tonight, anyway.

“So what now?”

“Depends,” said Barry. “A little birdie told me that you sent one of your...associates to steal the Kahndaq Dynasty diamond tonight. Exactly two years to the day, in fact, since the last time you tried to steal it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Got anything to say for yourself?”

The little smile playing at the corners of Len’s mouth became a full-blown smirk. “Guilty on all counts.” He took a step forwards, and his smile became mocking, as if daring Barry to act. Lowering his hands, he tilted his head. “So arrest me, officer.”

Barry blurred towards him, crossing the distance between them in less than half a heartbeat and slamming Len up against the wall of the closest house, knocking the breath out of both of them. Then he lurched forwards and kissed him, hard.

It was a rough embrace; he was too keyed up on adrenaline and excitement to be careful, even if he’d have been in that sort of mood. With his right hand, he gripped the front of Len’s parka tightly enough to tear the fabric, yanking him closer against his body. He continued to crush Len against the wall, forcing him back against the bricks so hard that it must have hurt. Len gave as good as he got, however, ripping down the cowl and tugging on Barry’s hair so that pain shot right down to the roots, making him groan. He tasted blood in his mouth; not his. Insistently, Barry kissed him harder, not giving Len any ground. A cool hand found the back of his neck, held him closer, despite the fact that there wasn’t an inch of space between their bodies anyway, and barely a centimetre between Len and the wall. Barry’s hand snuck down to the small of Len’s back and found that his jacket had ridden up, leaving a sliver of skin exposed.

They parted just as suddenly as they’d come together, tearing apart with a gasp. Barry staggered backwards, taken aback by his own ferocity. For a moment they stood staring at each other, panting...then Len started grinning; a wild, animal smile. In spite of himself, Barry grinned back, even let out a breathless laugh. Len’s mouth was bloody.

“Hello to you, too,” Len said teasingly. He turned his head and spat a few flecks of ruby onto the sidewalk. “Bit my tongue. Wasn’t expecting you to tackle me like that, you maniac.”

“Oops,” said Barry, not even pretending to be sorry.

They stood for another minute, both grinning like fools. Len licked his lips, realised that wasn’t helping in the slightest, and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing blood across his face.

Something about the sight of that made Barry’s gut tug insistently. It didn’t disturb him the way it might have, that he could find such a violent image so sensual. After all, he’d become no stranger to violence and destruction over the past few years. Swallowing, he let his tongue trace the same pathway on his own lips. He could still faintly taste Len’s blood on his tongue, cooling copper in his mouth.

“Still bleeding?”

“We can’t all have accelerated healing,” Len said. “Yes, I’m still bleeding, Scarlet.”

“Aw,” said Barry. He lowered his voice. “Guess I have to kiss it better, then.”

He moved in again, dipping his head to kiss Len once more. This time he was a little more gentle, but he was still too energised to be careful for long; within seconds the kiss had dissolved into a frantic mess, all tongues and clashing teeth and too much saliva, no finesse to it at all. Just the two of them, kissing like it was a fight, pushing eagerly against each other, all give and no take. Barry licked deeper into Len’s mouth, his gloved hands twining possessively in the fur on his hood, pulling him closer. In the dim orange glow of the streetlights, with the faraway sound of sirens drifting by on the breeze, for a moment it felt like the two of them were the only ones in the world.

Eventually, though, Barry pulled back with a sigh. “We should get moving. I’ve got do-gooders on my tail; won’t take them long to catch up. You ready to go?”

“I’m ready. Did you get the goods?”

Barry opened his left fist to reveal the gem nestling in his palm; a gleaming diamond roughly the size of a satsuma.  

A real smile broke across Len’s face, uninhibited and breathtakingly beautiful. For a moment he merely gazed upon the diamond, taking it in - then his eyes flicked upwards to look Barry straight in the face, so proud that it made Barry’s heart skip a beat.

“Happy anniversary,” he said, beaming.

“Good boy,” Len said approvingly.

Barry flushed with pleasure at the compliment, looking away. The back of his neck was suddenly very warm underneath the suit, and he ached for Len’s hand to rest there, cool against his overheated skin, a physical stamp of approval. Of possession.

Still, now was hardly the time or place for such things.

“We should go,” he said. “Won’t take ‘em long to catch up.”

“Why rush? You can outrun those idiots with your eyes shut.” Len grabbed Barry by the waist and yanked him closer, then reached out to touch his face, rubbing his thumb against Barry’s cheekbone. Closing his eyes, Barry basked in his attentions like a cat; if he could, he would’ve purred. “Besides, you’ve done so well. I think we need to talk about your reward.”

“Not here,” Barry said, but his protests sounded weak even to his own ears. “Mm. Len.” Len had started kissing his neck insistently, beginning at his jaw and moving inexorably downwards. “Lenny. Not now. They’re gonna be here any second.”

“You know how much I love it when you steal things for me, Scarlet. You’re so good at it. I’ve corrupted you... Well and truly.”

His teeth scraped at Barry’s jugular, then bit down. A spark of pain made Barry flinch, then close his eyes against the urge to just give in to it, to let Len do whatever he wanted to him in this dark street, with only stray cats and dim streetlights for company...and one of the world’s priciest diamonds clenched in his gloved fist.

That thought brought Barry back to his senses. He’d been one of the Rogues for two years now - tonight, in fact, marked exactly two years since he’d joined Len’s team and turned his back on S.T.A.R Labs for good - but he still hadn’t been able to share their casual apathy for waving around stolen goods like pocket change. Suddenly the diamond felt appallingly heavy in his hand; he was afraid he might drop it.

“Len. Come on, we have to move.”

“You worry too much,” Len said, but he obligingly took a step back and pulled Barry’s cowl back up for him, tugging it expertly into place.

Barry pulled Len close to his side in preparation to run them both back to the safe house. As an afterthought, he offered him the diamond. “Can you hang onto this? It’s a pain in the ass having to carry everything around after I’ve stolen it. I’m really gonna have to have somebody put some pockets into this suit.”

“Don’t you dare,” Len said, holding his hand out for the diamond. “I like that suit just the way it is.” Then he very deliberately groped Barry’s ass with his other hand.

“Whatever, perv, just take the damn - ”

“Hold it right there!”

They both looked up, startled.

Killer Frost stood a few feet away, in the same place Barry had originally stopped on the other side of the road. Her eyes gleamed like ice chips; her hands, outstretched at her sides, were smoking faintly, ice fog swirling around her fingers. Pale hair spilled around her shoulders. A vision in dark blue, she stared them down.

“Well if it isn’t Frosty the Snowman,” Len said lazily. “Long time, no see. You’re sure you want me to hold it right here, Doctor Snow? Because I do have my hand on the Flash’s ass at this exact moment in time.”

“Hand it over,” Caitlin said coldly.

“His ass? I don’t know if I can do that without handing you the rest of him.”

Barry stepped on Len’s foot without taking his eyes off Caitlin. Her gaze flickered from Len to Barry, her stare full of cold fury. With her eyes leached of colour as they were, the effect was somewhat intimidating.

“Give me the diamond,” ordered Caitlin.

“What diamond?” Len said, but he did at least remove his hand from Barry’s ass.

Her lip curled. “Hand it over, Barry.”

Obligingly, Barry put the diamond straight into Len’s hand. Caitlin made a small sound of outrage, and Len calmly pocketed it, slipping the gem out of sight.

“Diamond? Don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you might be suffering from a little bit of brain freeze, Frosty. I don’t see any diamond.” He held up his hands.

“See, this is why I need pockets,” Barry said. “Then I could have hidden it myself and neither of you would’ve noticed.”

Caitlin looked beseechingly at him. “Don’t,” she said, sounding for a moment like her old self - the Caitlin Snow whom Barry had first met when he woke from his coma, rather than Killer Frost.

Barry frowned. “What, you don’t like the pocket idea either? I know it plays hell with my aesthetic, but it’d just be so much more convenient - “

“Please, Barry,” Caitlin said. “Stop kidding around. This isn’t who you really are. You don’t have to do this any more - come with us. We can fix all this.”

“Jeez, you ever think about changing the record, Caitlin? It’s getting a little old. Me and the Rogues show up to steal something, you and the rest of your little team show up to stop us, fail spectacularly, and beg me to come back to S.T.A.R Labs? It’s been two years. I think maybe you should think about getting a new approach.”

“We haven’t lost faith in you, Barry,” Caitlin said, stepping forwards. The fog around her hands was starting to evaporate. “We know you’re still capable of being a good guy. The sweet guy we first met, the one who wanted to help people, and save this city - he’s still in there. He’s just been led down the wrong path. We can put you back on the right one.”

“Boring,” Len said loudly.

Caitlin shot him a venomous look. “We have you surrounded, Snart. We all care about Barry, we want to help him. The same doesn’t go for you. I’d watch yourself.”

“Surrounded?” Len said. “Ooh, scary. Care to show us some receipts, Snow? Because right now I don’t see your reinforcements.”

“Better take another look,” called a voice from the darkness. “Maybe your eyesight’s going. I hear it happens, when you start getting older.”

Cisco and Hartley stepped out of the shadows and moved to Caitlin’s side, Hartley wearing his ridiculous gloves, and Cisco decked out in full Reverb gear, goggles and all. Barry watched them with disinterest. He’d never known Hartley before he left S.T.A.R Labs, and Cisco’s powers hadn’t manifested until after Barry left, but he and the Rogues had faced off against Cisco and Hartley often enough that he didn’t find them particularly impressive any more. Only Caitlin was any real danger to him; her powers worked in a similar vein to Len’s gun, and could have done some serious damage...if she had been able to bring herself to actually try and hurt him. In spite of the name and the terrifying new aesthetic she had going on, Caitlin was still as gentle as she’d always been...most of the time. Still unwilling to move against him.

“Looks like you’re outnumbered,” Hartley said. “Where are your Rogues, Snart?”

“Barry and I are going it alone tonight. Date night. You know how it is. Dinner, a movie, steal a priceless artifact from the museum...romance isn’t dead yet. You’ve just gotta be willing to put in the effort. Still, none of you are having much luck in that department, are you? One dead fiance, one hopeless - and unreciprocated - crush on my sister, and one appalling case of verbal diarrhoea. You ever tried shutting your mouth for a second, Piper? You might find it helps your love life significantly.”

“Bite me,” Hartley snapped.

“Oh, I would - for pity’s sake if nothing else - but I’m afraid I’d catch something. For now I’ll have to pass.”

Angrily, Hartley stepped forwards to make another retort, but Caitlin shot him a warning glare. “Enough!” She looked back at Barry, her gaze softening in spite of the cold colour of her eyes. “Barry, please. I’m begging you - give this up. Do the right thing. Come with us. We can help you - come back to the lab and we’ll fix all of this. Don’t you want to be a team again? Like we were in the beginning? You and me, and Cisco, and Doctor Wells?” She held out her hand. “Come with us, Barry.”

“Right, so you can lock me in the pipeline and throw away the key? Dream on, Caitlin. I’ve told you time and time again, my place is with the Rogues. You and Cisco, you had your chance, and you ruined it. Once upon a time we were friends, but things are different now. I don’t want to come back. Team Flash is over, Caitlin. I’m done.”

“You really want to spend the rest of your life working with the Rogues? When we met, all you wanted was to help people - and now you’re stealing from them? This isn’t you, Barry. You’ve made mistakes, lost your way, but it’s not too late to change things. You’re not a bad person.”

“Well maybe you should���ve thought of that before you and Cisco built a gun specifically designed to take me out,” Barry said flatly.

Cisco made a disbelieving noise. “Oh, man, Barry, you have got to let that go.”

“Have I, Cisco? Have I?” Barry rounded on him. “If I was such a good friend to you both, if we all had such a perfect setup at the lab, why didn’t you trust me? I never gave you any reason to be suspicious of me. I was trying to save lives, to help people. We were a team! I trusted you guys; I thought you trusted me! Then I find out you built a gun just for the purpose of taking me down.

“I never did anything wrong. I never hurt anybody, or gave you any reason to suspect that I was going to turn on you. But you built it anyway, and you didn’t even tell me until after it was stolen! If Len hadn’t taken that gun and planned to use it against me, I’d never have known my own friends were plotting behind my back. But now I’m the bad guy, right? For doing exactly what you always suspected I was going to do? You never thought I was a good person. You both thought I was going to turn out to be a murderer, a killer - just like my dad.”

“That’s not fair,” Caitlin said. “We never said that, Barry. The gun was a precaution, it wasn’t - ”

“They were right to build it,” Hartley said.

“Hartley!”

“What?” he demanded. “Isn’t anybody else going to say it? The guy finds out you’ve built a gun that could potentially be used to incapacitate him - not even kill him, just slow him down! - and he immediately goes off the rails, joins forces with the first bad guy he comes across, and spends the next two years playing Bonnie and Clyde with a supervillain?” He shifted his gaze to Barry. “I’m not scared of you, Flash, and I’m not afraid to say it. Cisco and Caitlin were right not to trust you. You’re unhinged, you’re dangerous, and you’re a terrible person. If it were up to me, I’d lock you in the pipeline and never let you out.”

A poisonous silence crept between them. Barry stared coldly at Hartley, mentally calculating how easy it would be to speed over there and snap his neck. Caitlin could probably stop him, but if he took her by surprise he could do a decent amount of damage first.

He could kill Hartley. But he wouldn’t.

“Right,” he said. “I’m a terrible person. Got it.” He looked savagely at Caitlin. But just for the record - remind me how it is you got your name, Killer Frost? Because I’m pretty certain it wasn’t just because all the cuter names were taken.”

Ever since her powers had manifested, Caitlin had been pale - but at this, all remaining colour drained from her face. Barry fought the urge to give a very Len-like smirk.

“You’re right,” she said eventually. “I’m no saint, Barry. I’ve done terrible things, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt people. But I lost control. I couldn’t control my powers; I couldn’t see that there was no divide between Caitlin Snow and Killer Frost. I let myself be controlled by my abilities, rather than the other way round. And...I killed people.” She lifted her chin. “But I came back from that. And I’ve been doing everything I can to change things, to atone for my mistakes. Hartley and Cisco helped me learn to control myself. Someone should do the same for you, Barry. You’re not a god, and you’re not above the law. Someone needs to keep you in check, not use you like their own personal attack dog!”

“Nobody keeps me in check,” Barry said. “Nobody’s the boss of me.”

“You sure about that?” Hartley asked mockingly. “I thought you were a good boy.”

Suddenly the urge to throttle him became far more prevalent. But Barry kept himself in check. He meant what he’d said to Caitlin; he didn’t need anybody to keep him on a leash. He had his rules, and he kept to them.

Beside him, Len was visibly aching to strangle Hartley almost as badly as Barry was. With a nudge, Barry caught his attention. A look passed between them, and Len nodded curtly and stepped back. They both knew that Barry was more than capable of fighting his own battles. Still, he appreciated that he had someone ready to champion his cause, if need be.

“Say what you want about me,” he said. “But I’m no killer. I made that clear when I joined the Rogues. If they wanted help from me, if they wanted me to be one of them, then nobody else was going to get hurt. They’ve kept their promises. Too bad S.T.A.R Labs couldn’t say the same.”

Caitlin bit her blue lower lip and looked away. Barry had always wondered if that was lipstick, or if her powers had really turned her lips blue. Too bad they weren’t friends any more; he’d never get to ask.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Don’t try to follow us. I’ve never killed anybody up until now, but if you come after us again tonight, I might just make an exception.”

He put his arm around Len, paused, and made cool eye contact with every single one of the others to show them that he meant business. They’d only been fighting together for a matter of months, still honing their skills; they’d come after the Rogues a few times, but never managed to be more than a thorn in their sides. A vague annoyance, like a mosquito bite. Tonight, they’d actually successfully angered him.

Up until now, Barry had been adamant with the rest of the Rogues that Killer Frost and her associates were off limits. He’d handle them himself, and he wouldn’t hurt them - not badly, anyway. He’d never been able to justify that to himself, really; it had always just been a vague sense that he owed them for helping him when he was in the coma, and when his powers first manifested. That, and if he was honest with himself, he still felt a lingering sense of affection for Cisco and Caitlin. Sometimes when he was in a nostalgic mood, he still looked back fondly at the few short weeks he’d spent at S.T.A.R Labs. They hadn’t taught him much, not in comparison to everything he’d learned on his own - but they’d been the starting point. The very beginning of his time as a speedster. For that, he had to thank them.

Now, though, they were starting to get on his nerves. Showing up all too frequently to appeal to his better nature, which he’d determinedly cast aside several years back. Barry Allen, sweet CSI, was a thing of the past. Now there was only The Flash - partner to Captain Cold, scourge of the city. He and Len had developed a partnership that was like a well-oiled machine - a nefarious, slightly wicked machine that did an awful lot of thieving. Against that, Caitlin and her ragged band of do-gooders didn’t stand a chance. Barry and Len wouldn’t even need to summon the other Rogues to help them finish off the ragged remains of Team Flash - not if they put their minds to it.

“Ready to go?” he said in Len’s ear.

“Get us out of here,” Len said.

Barry got hold of him and was about to oblige, when Caitlin said, “Leave the diamond.”

Len sneered at her. It was a magnificent sneer, dripping with disdain.

“Please, Snow,” he said. “Don’t push your luck.”

~*~

Barry lay on the couch in their latest safe house, brooding.

The two of them had a handful of houses spread out across the city. Some were communal, fair game for all the Rogues. Mark and Shawna had their own - legal - properties, Mick and Lisa had their favourites among the various houses they shared, and there were a couple of places where they had all been known to crash, either for convenience or because they were planning a big job, or because they’d all drunk themselves senseless and couldn’t manage to stumble to any of the more comfortable houses. Even Barry, who’d been studying a lot of chemistry in his free time and managed to rustle up a vicious alcoholic solution that kept him blind drunk for a good hour after he drank it, had been guilty of this from time to time. Alcohol and the speed force didn’t mix, he’d learned, and he’d learned it the hard way. Run into a few walls, given himself motion sickness and puked forcefully at a wall… now, he was more inclined to just crash wherever his drunken self saw fit, and handle it when he woke up.

But Len and Barry had also commandeered a couple of houses of their own, that were off-limits to the others. Places where they could keep things private, could wander around naked or sing in the shower, and just let loose without the other Rogues hanging around. They still tended to move around a lot, uprooting themselves on a regular basis just in case… but tonight they were still in the same place they had been crashing in for a few weeks now, and Barry was lounging on the sofa and staring at the TV. He hadn’t switched it on.

Len came to join him, sitting at the opposite end of the couch and dumping his feet in Barry’s lap. He still had his boots on. Barry grumbled and made a feeble attempt to throw him off before giving up and lapsing back into a sulk.

“What’s on your mind?” Len asked him.

Barry smiled distractedly. “Nothing worth saying out loud.”

Len poked him lightly. “I’ll be the judge of that. Spill, Scarlet.”

“It was just something Cait - Killer Frost said to me, that’s all. It’s nothing.”

“Knew it,” Len said. “It’s like I keep saying to you, Barry, they’re doing it on purpose. Getting under your skin. It’s what they do; they’re trying to lure you back. Just remember who your real friends are. Here’s a clue: it’s the ones who didn’t build a gun to shoot you in the back. The Rogues might be mean and violent, but if one of us has a problem with you, we’ll say it to your face. If one of us was going to shoot you, you’d know about it.”

“I know that,” Barry said. “And I’m not going back. I know where I belong.”

“But?”

Barry bit his lip. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like this isn’t where I’m meant to be. I never wanted to be this way, you know? Caitlin was right. As a kid, all I ever wanted was to help people. Now the only person I’m helping is myself.”

“Hate to break it to you, Scarlet, but that’s the way the world works. Nobody’s going to have your back except you. And me,” he added, squeezing Barry’s thigh. “Your life wasn’t exactly hot shit before I picked you up. Nobody ever bent over backwards to help you out. Why should you care about this city? It never gave a rat’s ass about you.”

“Cisco and Caitlin did,” Barry said quietly. “They looked after me. All that time I was in a coma, they never gave up on me. They helped me to become the Flash…”

“Don’t go getting sentimental. Don’t forget, they’re the ones who revealed your identity to the cops,” Len said. “To the entire city, even. You had to abandon your whole life because of them. Your family, too. If they’d kept their idiot mouths shut, you could have had a life outside of what we have. I never had a choice; Captain Cold was always just Leonard Snart. But you could’ve had more than that. Iris, and Joe...your dad. When was the last time you saw any of them? And if you did, would they ever accept you, knowing who you are?”

Helplessly, Barry stared at him.

“They betrayed you, Barry. You made one lousy mistake in a moment of anger and in response they took away everything you had, including any chance you had to back out. Your career, your family… now all that’s left is this. The Flash, and the Rogues. You couldn’t put your life back together even if you tried. You’ll never be just Barry Allen again; you’ll always be The Flash. Joint leader of the Rogues, Central City’s most wanted. That’s on them.”

Looking away, Barry sat and fidgeted. Messing with a loose thread on his shirt, then a weird stain on the sofa upholstery, and then the ring on his left hand, which he swivelled round and round absentmindedly. Len caught his hand.

“Barry.”

“Sorry,” Barry said. Pulling away, he rubbed his eyes. “I just feel like a hypocrite. The more I look back on it, the more it bothers me. All this time I’ve been mad at Cisco and Caitlin for building that gun in case I went over to the dark side. I was so angry that they thought I was gonna turn on them, when I never gave them any reason to think I would. But at the end of the day, that’s exactly what I did do.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy. You never would’ve ditched them if they hadn’t been so certain you were going to. Think about it. If they hadn’t built that gun, if you’d all still been best buddies and I’d showed up and tried to recruit you to the Rogues anyway, would you still have come with me?”

Barry shook his head.

“Exactly. You put a guy in a box and he’s going to grow to fill it. Their expectations put fetters on you, Scarlet. Take myself, for example. My old man was a cold, mean bastard. He was a drunk, a thief, and a loser. Everyone always expected me to follow in his footsteps, treated me accordingly, and now look at me. I’m not a drunk, or a loser - but I am a thief.” Len looked him in the eyes. “Own it. Make it your decision. Can’t change it now, Scarlet. Might as well embrace it.” He lounged back in his seat. “Cisco and Caitlin may have set the gears in motion, but everything you did after you came with me was your own choice. And for one, I’m glad they screwed you over. They kicked you right into my lap. I should probably send them flowers.”

Barry snorted quietly. “I mean, you could, but I expect Hartley would piss on them before they ever got to Cisco’s desk.”

“I’ll take the risk.” Len shifted slightly. “What Snow said...is that the only thing that’s bothering you?”

“What else would I have to worry about?” Barry asked. “The job went off without a hitch. I’m here with you. I’ve got nothing else on my mind.”

“You’re not having doubts about… our partnership?”

Barry looked down at the ring he was twisting around on his finger. The first thing Len had ever had him steal. “Start off small,” he’d said, before packing Barry off to Coast City museum to pinch an ancient-looking ring from their new exhibit. Of course, he’d neglected to mention that the ring in question had originally belonged to a British monarch, was on loan from some museum in London and was worth roughly an even million to the right buyer. He’d saved that information for Barry’s return, and while Barry was staring at him, gobsmacked that he’d just stolen a million-dollar ring with no difficulty whatsoever, Len had pilfered the ring and pocketed it. “Welcome to the Rogues,” he’d said, and that was that.

Before long the incident had faded from Barry’s mind, and stealing ridiculously pricey artifacts had become commonplace. Just a part of daily life, really. Sometimes he took things so he could take them for a joyride around the city and then put them back before anybody knew they were gone - just for kicks. He hadn’t thought about the ring again in months, until a year or so later, when Len had finally returned it to him on bended knee, peeping out at him from a little black box.

It had rested on his finger ever since. Len had even had it resized before giving it to him, since a ring made for Queen Victoria’s fat little fingers would never have stayed on Barry’s slender hand.

‘Be my partner in crime?’ Len had said. Barry didn’t think he’d ever said yes so fast in his life.

Of all the things he’d done since joining the Rogues, the thing he was most proud of stealing was Len’s heart. Not that he’d ever say that out loud; the Rogues were all unanimous in their disgust of mushy declarations. But every now and then, Barry would look down at that little ring on his finger, priceless in more ways than one, and smile.

“Well?” Len demanded. “Do you regret it?”

“Never,” Barry promised.

“Good. Because just so you know, if you’d answered ‘yes’ to that question, I might’ve had to shoot you.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, you’re welcome to try,” teased Barry, pushing Len’s feet off his lap and standing up. “I’d even give you a head start. If it makes you feel better, I could even close my eyes and count to ten.”

“Shut up and get down here,” Len said, grabbing Barry’s wrist and pulling him back down onto the sofa.

He pulled Barry onto his lap, so that the younger man was straddling him with his knees on the couch. They sat together like that for a while, Barry still smiling faintly, Len holding his waist, his thumb rubbing against the sharp jut of Barry’s hipbone.

“You remember what I told you, that first night?” Len asked.

“You told me a lot of things. ‘Shut up’ was at the top of the list, as I recall. You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“I told you that good guys always end up on the bottom. No matter how you swing things, how many little victories they take, there’s always another battle, always another loss. You’ve gotta be willing to get the upper hand, no matter what it takes. That’s why the bad guys win, Scarlet. We always come out on top.”

“Well that’s a little boring. Can’t be on top all the time. Bad guys might top 24/7, but what about guys like us? We’re not wicked through and through…” He started kissing Len’s neck, making the older man shiver slightly. Smirking, Barry pulled back and breathed, “Just a little bit badly behaved.”

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” Len said. “If you feel like passing me a beer.”

“Maybe later,” Barry said. “You still have a debt to make good on.”

“Do I really? And what debt is that?”

“Well, I stole your diamond for you,” Barry reminded him. “You said yourself that I’ve been a good boy.” He lowered his voice, looked up from underneath his eyelashes, and said, “Seems like I’m gonna have to take my turn on the bottom.”

“Hmm,” Len said, pulling him closer. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Playfully, he knocked Barry off his lap; the speedster landed on the sofa with a huff of surprise, at which point Len flipped him onto his back and crawled on top of him, pressing him purposefully into the upholstery. Grinning, Barry surged up to kiss him, whilst Len produced a condom from his pocket and, smirking, started to unbutton Barry’s pants.

“You know, there’s something to be said for ending up on the bottom,” Barry said, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Mm,” Len agreed, and he started kissing Barry’s neck, making the speedster shiver. “Guess so. I underestimated my influence over you, Flash. Maybe there’s still some good in you after all.”

And with that, he set his mind to the matter in hand: making sure that Barry forgot all about the conversation he’d had with that infuriating do-gooder Killer Frost.

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Damage Control (3/5)

Author’s Notes:

Thought I would wait and post this tomorrow, but then I thought...’who wants to read fic on Monday night?’  So here you go!

  Title: Damage Control

Author: gldngr7

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 5

Feedback: Encouragement and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Flames are destroyed with my freeze

Chapter 3/5

           Something about you, it’s like an addiction

                      Hit me with your best shot honey

                             I’ve got no reason to doubt you, but certain things hurt

           And you’re my only virtue

                       And I’m virtually yours.

           --James Arthur – “Certain Things”

  She’s up with the birds.  She sings in the shower.  She dances across her bedroom floor towards her closet where she picks out a faux-wrap pink blouse and pairs it with a black and pink floral skirt.  It’s short and full and flowy – and a little bit dangerous. Opening the lingerie drawer of her wardrobe chest she removes a matching bra and panty set.  Remembering her promise to Mon-El, she smiles and drops the black panties back into the drawer while her belly performs a series of high dives.

Today, her suit would be tucked conveniently away in a duffle bag and carried with her to work just in case of a crisis, the amount of time needed to change into it negligible in terms of super speed.  She learned that from Barry, who rarely wore his suit under his clothes, instead returning to StarLabs to change when called upon.  And she was at least as fast as Barry.

Okay – almost as fast.  Which is why the suit would never be far from her.

Dressing at speed, she’s slipping into her black heels a second later and smoothing down her skirt.  Her glasses are on, her hair is in a perfectly coiffed up-do, light make-up is neatly applied, and in the mirror she appears every inch the prim and proper cub reporter, Kara Danvers.  But that’s not who she is anymore…not completely.  Part of her feels like today she’s taking on a third, separate identity and this one she’s creating on her own terms.  She has a secret, and it’s not the kind that shakes a city to the core; it’s the kind that shakes her to core.  The sensation of the freedom she feels beneath her skirt is like the freedom he gives her—to know it is okay, if not healthy, to surrender control from time to time.

In the living room she turns on the television to receive a shot of news along with her first hit of morning caffeine.  As usual, there is a story already in progress.  A split screen shows the morning anchor, Gage Carson, at this his desk holding a hand up to his earpiece, while a female reporter appears on the opposite side, apparently at the scene of an early morning accident on the Otto Binder Bridge.  Though young, perhaps only a few years older than Kara, the reporter exudes the assertive confidence of a professional, smartly dressed in a burgundy suit with a navy blue overcoat and matching leather gloves.  One hand holds a microphone, and the other presses to an earpiece like Carson’s; her straight, dark hair stubbornly defies the wishes of the early, morning late December winds coming off the bay.

Across the bottom of the screen the disturbing, flashing crawl of breaking news reads, “New Superman in Town?”

“CityWorks tells us that the inbound lanes of the bridge will be closed for the rest of the day while crews work to restore and strengthen the damaged guardrail.  Commuters are being asked at this time to re-route through the Queensgate Tunnel. As you might expect, Gage, this will make traffic a hairy situation for many Nationalites for the rest of the day.”

“What more have you learned about the accident that caused the bridge closure, Julie?” Carson asks.

“Well, Gage…witnesses at the scene reported that the car and its passengers would not have survived the crash through the guardrail were it not for the sudden intervention of this previously unknown superhero.  One of the vehicle’s passengers, a Mrs. Hailey Hardwick, claims that she spoke briefly with her rescuer and adamantly claims that his initial interaction with her was ‘caring’ and ‘calming’, though he took pains to hide his face.”

“Was she able to provide any kind of a physical description?”

“Yes, Gage,” she replies, glancing down at her reporter pad to read from the description.  “She described this person as approximately six feet tall, mid-to-late twenties, well-built but not overly muscular, dressed in street clothes, wearing a black hoodie, and she thinks he may have had dark hair.”

“You mentioned at the top of the story that eyewitnesses claimed at first they believed it might possible be a visiting Superman, caught out of uniform….”

“Though they all make the same claim of witnessing Superman-like strength, the hero himself refuted that title.  And when Mrs. Hardwick asked what she should call him, he indicated that she could call him ‘Valor’.”

“’Valor’,” Carson echoes, turning his attention to the camera in front of him and addressing the populace.  “Well it appears that National City has another hero in its midst.  Whether of alien origin or an emerging meta-human…we have yet to determine.  At this time, we can only hope that his chosen moniker accurately reflects the behavior he wishes to display, but for now, all we can say is…it seems he’s off to a good start.  Julie, any final thoughts?  I’m sure those who are hearing your report are not looking forward to the drive in.”

“Public transportation is recommended wherever possible today.  This is Julie Greer reporting to you from the Otto Binder Bridge for KNCN news.  Back to you in the studio, Gage.”

“Thank you, Julie.  Stayed tuned…we’ll have more on this story as it develops,” he promises the audience.

Kara collapses on the couch halfway through the report, her knees wobbly, and morning cup of coffee forgotten.  Superman-like powers?  Which Superman like powers?  The news report was frustratingly unclear on this point, other than reporting a display of super strength.

She listens intently, though slightly shell-shocked from the news.  While she had been sleeping, a new hero had risen – one that appears to be super powered.   This is could be bad, especially if this new super remains unchecked.

Or ends up being better at this than she is….

“Valor,” she whispers.  It sounds so familiar, the word tickling something in the back of her brain.  The problem is that it’s not exactly a word people throw around in everyday conversation anymore, unless one is discussing military outcomes and medals awarded.  But it feels like she’s heard it recently somewhere.

Typically she speeds to work in the mornings to get a jump on the other reporters who’ve already earned Snapper Carr’s favor, but this morning she decides to walk at normal speed, her duffel and purse thrown over her shoulder.  It’s December in National City, Christmas is a week away, and it is a nippy fifty-two degrees outside.  For the normally temperate city, the temperatures don’t usually get this low until at least February, so the other commuters are bundled up in coats like they’re expecting a Great Norther to roll in any minute.

Kara, on the other hand, unaffected by externally applied extreme temperatures (not that 52 degrees can even be considered extreme), wears only a light coat for appearances over her blouse and short skirt.  She chose the skirt for the thick weightiness of its fabric, it’s unlikeliness to blow up in the event of a sudden gust.

 Walking down the street, she feels like the center of attention.  As though everyone can tell, just by looking at her, that she isn’t wearing any panties.  Is Mon-El thinking of her right now, wondering how she’s feeling – if she’s feeling exposed?  Kara stops in her favorite coffee shop a block from CatCo and waits in line for her mocha.  Around her everyone seems to be talking about this new superhero, hearing the name over and over in multiple conversations.

“What kind of name is that anyway…Val-or?” a man asks the woman next to him in line, as Kara waited for her name to be called by the barista.

And that’s when she realizes exactly where she’s heard the name before.  Three nights ago, when she was slowly stripping off her clothes for him while he enjoyed the show.

“Gods of Val-Or!” he’d said, rubbing the hard ridge in the crotch of his pants, as her panties slid down her legs.  “You are the most breathtaking woman I have ever seen.”

“Gods of Val-Or,” she exclaimed aloud, the memory slamming into her.  Immediately sorry for her outburst, Kara casts a quick glance around to make certain no one heart her.  One man nearby turned on her a single eyebrow raised in interest. Averting her eyes and pressing her glasses tighter to the bridge of her noise, she shakes her head. “N-nothing…never mind.  It was n-nothing,” she stutters.  She’d seen that tactic work for Clark, and decides to give it a try. Sure enough, the man turns away as if he’d never seen her in the first place.

“Mon-El,” Kara realizes, the knowledge sweeping over her.  Mon-El is ‘Valor’.  He has to be, because nothing else make sense.  Her heart flutters like the wings of a bird, as though trying to alight from her chest and soar away.  Soar to him.  He did something heroic, and it wasn’t because she was there to witness it, or because he expected to receive credit for it.  In a million years, who would ever connect him to the name ‘Valor’? Except for her, and only then because he had a penchant for invoking the Daxamite Gods of Val-Or during moments of intimacy.

But what does this mean?  Has he chosen a life of heroism?  She must talk to him and discover the truth about what happened on that bridge last night. How did he know the passengers in that car needed help?  How had he been near enough to help them in time?

“Danvers?” the barista calls, his tone bored.  Kara steps forward to take the cup from the youth’s hand and weaves her way through the morning coffee crowd, its number already swelling to include the line that spills out of the door.  She squeezes past the line, escaping onto the sidewalk only to be swept up in the throng of swiftly moving foot traffic.

Why was he out of the DEO after curfew, when he should have been checked into the building and sleeping soundly on the cot in his quarters?  Why hadn’t he been sleeping soundly on the cot in his quarters? What had driven him into the night, miles from the DEO?

Anxiety wells up inside of her, born of a desire to see him, to touch him, to speak with him.  If J’onn or Alex put the pieces together, or even take the intuitive leap that he’s Valor, then even she might not be able to save him from the reprisals.  They could put him in a cage, taking away the freedoms that he already has.  They’ll have to figure it out, together, how to keep this from happening.  It would kill her to see him in a cage; not to mention the damage it could do to Mon-El’s already delicate psyche.  

When Kara was new to this planet, still struggling to accept the loss of her homeworld and everyone she loved; being made to feel a part of something had been the key that kept her from shattering into pieces.  The Danvers family, Midvale Junior High (as terrifying as it was), and even the Kent family, had all been tent poles holding the pain and grief above her head.  Each played a part in ensuring that Kara felt safe and protected; like she belonged. Take that away from Mon-El and he could be crushed beneath the weight of his loss.

Her instinct is to go to him, to seek him out and gain a better understanding of what’s driving him to clandestinely break the rules he’s promised to obey.  But she knows that could drive him deeper away. She must wait.

 He will come to her, and odds are it will be sooner, rather than later.  Even now, he’s thinking of her thinking of him, and when he can no longer stand the anticipation, he will seek her out.  She will give him what he promised and then she will tell him what she knows and then hopefully, he will trust her with the truth.

Predictably, the office is abuzz with activity by the time she arrives.  James Olsen stands in his office, arms crossed, and his back to the door, watching the myriad television screens that make up the wall behind his desk.  He must catch a glimpse of her reflection as she walks in, because he speaks without turning around.

“I’ve already received three calls from Cat this morning,” he announces.  “She’s pretty riled up?”

All the crawls on the screen are now touting the arrival of ‘Valor’.  “Because she didn’t get to name him?” Kara asks.

“Because she didn’t get to name him,” James confirms.  He tears his attention away from the screen and approaches her.  “And because she insists we get the exclusive with this ‘Valor’.  Who is this guy?” he asks.  His voice lowers, since the question is directed at Supergirl and not his employee, Kara Danvers.

She says nothing, but provides a non-committal shrug, not wishing to outright lie to him.

“We’ve got to get something on this guy.  Where did he come from?  What does he want?”

“Maybe he just wants to help,” she supplies.  “Like he did last night.  Maybe he just saw someone in distress and decided to do something about it.  He was wearing a hoodie, James, he obviously isn’t prepared to be the center of attention.  He wouldn’t let anyone see his face.”

“That alone I find concerning.”

“Wait a minute?” she begins, pressing her glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “Last month you were all about Guardian and that guy wears a mask I can’t even see through.”

“Guardian doesn’t have super powers,” James argues.

“That we know about,” she qualifies.  “He’s been strangely difficult for the DEO to pin down.  And besides, that doesn’t mean he’s not capable of abusing the power he does have.  Not to mention it took 3.5 seconds for someone to start framing him for their crimes.  Which makes him a vulnerable good guy, and there’s nothing more dangerous than a vulnerable good guy.”

James opens his mouth to debate the point and then closes it as though unable to provide a single rebuttal.

“Can you imagine what CADMUS might have tried to force me to do to keep Mon-El alive if Jeremiah hadn’t helped us escape?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” James says softly, reflectively, a probing look in his eyes.

“Or anyone,” she covers.  “It could have been anyone.  Alex or you or Winn.  Could’ve been anyone.  It could have been bad, James.  I can’t afford to be caught unawares like that again.”

“So it might be good to have another powered superhero in your corner to take some of the pressure off you.”

Momentarily affronted, Kara stiffens.  “I’m fine,” she insists, raising her chin a notch.  “There’s no pressure.”  She takes a step toward James, crosses her arms, her eyes squinting, her forehead crinkling.  “Why? Does it seem like there’s pressure?”

“I meant take some of the heat off,” he awkwardly chuckles.  “Maybe with another powered superhero around, CADMUS might think twice about coming after you.”

“Or it might make them step up their efforts.”  Kara sighs, disturbed by her own insight.  “We really need to get Jeremiah back.  We need to know what he knows.”

“There’s been nothing new?” he asks, sympathetically.

“Nothing. And it’s driving Alex crazy.  She even has Maggie reaching out to her contacts. But so far….” Kara shakes her head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure eventually someone will turn over whatever rock CADMUS is hiding under.”

“Yeah, it’s the ‘eventually’ part I’m worried about.”

“Kara? Do you think there’s any way you can find out who this ‘Valor’ is?” James asks, switching subjects.

“Why?” she inquires, suspiciously.

“Because you’re…you…you might have an advantage in tracking this guy down?”

“To do what?”

“To get the interview, Kara!” he laughs.

“Oh…oh! You want me to interview him?”

“I think that’s what I just said,” he says, placing his hands on his hips.  James rolls his eyes up, as though reviewing the conversation mentally.  “Yeah, that’s what I said.  If you can catch him?”

Kara smiles, a secret smile.  She changes her stance, cocking her hip to one side and crossing one ankle over another; the heat between her legs that’s been on a steady simmer since getting dressed this morning rockets up a few notches.  She knows just how to catch him.  Convincing him to comply, on the other hand, may take some work.  Some very hard work.  She balks though, for a moment.  Is it right to use her connection to Valor to further her own career?  Internally she asks herself a question she’s found both guiding and calming in the past.

What would Lois Lane do?

“Snapper won’t like it…” she probes, after receiving the answer to her internal query.

“You let me deal with Snapper.  I mean…he already thinks you know Supergirl, right?”

“Right,” she replies.  “Supergirl was my source on the underground alien fight club story.”  Kara tosses some air quotes at the use of the word source. It occurs to her then, the other benefit of being assigned the Valor interview.  If not her, someone else would be assigned to the story and that could be disastrous – especially if, by some miracle, they got close to the truth.  With Kara spearheading the search for Valor, she buys them both the time to figure this thing out, and then control the story so that it breaks in just right way, allowing them to govern the information that leaks to the public.  It’s the perfect opportunity to employ some damage control.

Even without knowing it, James Olsen handed her the solution to a big part of her problem. “Thanks, James,” she says, huge grin breaking across her face.  “I promise I won’t let you down.”

“You’d better not,” he warns, good-naturedly.  “I just handed you a career-maker on a silver platter.”  He stands up a little straighter, his eyes drifting into the distance as though recalling a fond memory.  “This could be your ‘I Spent the Night with Superman’.”

Just then, as if someone cued his entrance, a senior intern barrels into the room, with a handful of pink message slips.  “Mr. Olsen, calls have been coming in for over an hour.  All people who claimed to have seen Valor before last night’s bridge crash.  What should I do with these?”

James smiles and gives Kara a pointed look and says to the intern, “Direct all enquiries and witness statements regarding Valor to one Miss Kara Danvers.”

The intern glances at her, she smiles, a grin that’s not altogether professional in nature (perhaps just a touch of gloating—just a smidge) and turns back to James.  “Yes, sir.” He hands the slips to Kara before rushing back out into the bustling, phone-ringing bullpen.

“There you have it, Miss Danvers,” James says.  “I believe you’ve got phone calls to return.  Get to work.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” she faux salutes, her hand overflowing with pink message slips.   “I’ll get right on it.”

Kara retreats immediately from James’s office, slinking quietly away to the office few people know about.  Cat had bestowed the office upon her, once she deemed Kara had outgrown the position as her assistant.  She rarely used the office, since she prefers her desk in the center of it all, in the bustling reporter bullpen outside of Snapper’s office.  But the secret, small corner office, that stood empty long before Cat’s generous gift, serves an even more important purpose.  It’s where she retreats when Supergirl is needed and she needs to make a quick, under-the-radar escape.

She stuffs her duffel into the large bottom drawer of the desk and locks it with a tiny key attached to her badge lanyard.  Her metal desk, that she’s sure has been around since World War II, contains all the basic office supplies as well as a laptop locked into a docking station, and an auxiliary monitor.  The phone is already set to forward, so that it rings in this office as well as in the bullpen, and already the message lights are blinking.

Kara sets to work returning calls, getting statements, using her super speed to take notes.  There is nothing she doesn’t already know, hearing from witnesses to both the Ferris Hospital fire and the Parasite incident.  Though some of them provided a better, more accurate description than Mrs. Hardwick had.  “I’ll just conveniently lose those,” Kara mutters to herself, scribbling out the descriptions, but leaving in the other quotes.

Her stomach growls viciously and checking the time, Kara’s shocked to discover it’s after lunch already.  Time has slipped away and she hasn’t yet heard from Mon-El.  Frankly, she had expected him to run her to ground before the morning was out.  He’s teasing her, inflaming her anticipation.  Her ankles crossed, she squeezes her knees together, licking her lips as she feels the delicious pressure between her heated thighs.  She recalls her promise and has every intention of seeing it through, but she also trusts that Mon-El will not leave her wanting. If he doesn’t get here soon….she needs a distraction.

As though an answer to her prayer, the phone rings and she snatches it from the cradle, “CatCo Worldwide, Danvers speaking.”

“Uh…hi,” a male voice says, it’s raspy but slightly higher in tone.  It reminds her of a cartoon squirrel.  “Is this the reporter working on the Valor story?”

“That’s right,” she answers.  “What can I do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you,” he replies.  “You see…I mighta seen something the other morning.  Something you might want to know about.”

“I’m listening,” she tells him.  “Can you tell me your name?”

Brief pause, shuffling sounds on the line.  “Why you gotta know that?”

“Well, in case I quote you in the story.  You don’t want me to have it wrong, do you?”  She cajoles him, already sensing a skittish personality.

“Okay, but I don’t want to get no one in trouble...least ways myself.”

“I understand, Mr...?”

“Berger,” he replies, almost instinctively.  He sighs, and she can hear the disappointment in it.  “Rex Berger.”

“Well, it’s nice to talk to you Mr. Berger.  What can you do for me today?” she chuckles a little.  “Is this about what happened with Valor last night?”

“I don’t know about all that.  But something happened a few nights ago and I think somebody should know about it. Somebody who’s not gonna think I’m crazy.”

“Well, hit me Mr. Berger.  I have a high tolerance for crazy.”

“I’m a custodial engineer and I work nights on the top four floors of Merlyn Global, see? Every day from 9 PM to 5 AM.”

“I understand.”

“So the other morning….”

 “Can you tell me which morning?” she interrupts.  “For the purpose of the story, I have to get the details right.”

“Well, it was day before payday, so Thursday of last week.”

“Excellent,” she says writing it down.  “Please continue.”

“Anyway…so I’m emptying the trash bin in the CFO’s office and I look out the window and see a man standing on the rooftop across the street.  It’s the Emeritus Bank building, you know the one?”

“I know it.”

“That building is about three floors shorter than MG, so I had a pretty good angle on him.”

“Can you tell me what he looked like?”

“Jeans, black hoodie.   That’s all.” Just like Valor, she notes.

“What was he doing, Mr. Berger?”

“The damnedest thing, Miss Danvers.  If it wasn’t for all these aliens and meta-whatevers showing up I wouldn’t have believed my own eyes!  I’ll be damned if he wasn’t draining the juice from the power transformer on the roof.”

“He was electrocuting himself?” she asks, confused.  “On purpose?”

“That’s what it looked like to me.  Took the panel off the transformer, stuck his hands in there and Bob’s-your-uncle. Thought for sure he was a dead man!”

“I’m assuming he wasn’t…dead then?”

“Nope,” he rushes to say.  “Stood there a minute or two, stiff as a board, his hair all sticking straight out of his head.  I did have a laugh about that afterwards.  Afterwards, mind you!  When I knew he wasn’t dead as a doornail.”

“What happened when he was done?”

“He put the panel back on the transformer like he’d never been there, walked over to the edge of the building where I couldn’t see and just…dropped right off the edge. I thought maybe he really was trying to kill himself.”  Kara flinches at the phrase and the idea of it.  “But I suppose if sucking down 10,000 volts isn’t going to do it, then throwing yourself off the roof of a 15 storey building isn’t gonna do it either.  At least I didn’t hear nothing about it on the news the next day, so I guess there wasn’t no body.”

“No…” she replies, “There wasn’t.  About what time of the morning did you see this, Mr. Barkley?”

“It was about an hour before quittin’ time, so about 4 AM.”

“And do you know if anyone else saw it?  Were there any other janitors who might have witnessed the incident?”

“No, ma’am. I’m the only one on the floor, see…? The other janitors are all too low in the building to see the roof across the way.”

“I see. Have you talked about this with anyone?”

“You think I’m crazy?  I want to keep my job, not get locked away in a nuthouse.”

“I understand. I’m going to look into this, Mr. Berger. See what I can find.”

“You are?”

“I am. If I write a story I’ll be sure to quote you.  But if I don’t, then it’s probably best if you don’t mention what you saw to anyone else.”

“I heard that,” he says, emphatically.  “Feels good just to get it off my chest.”

“And if you see or hear anything else strange, you can reach me at this number.”

“Will do,” he answer.  “You have a nice day, Miss Danvers.”

“And you too,” she politely replies before setting the phone back on the cradle.

So many thoughts flood her mind at once that she sits at her desk, staring sightlessly ahead as she waits for them to settle, like floating dust particles drifting slowly to the ground.   The first thought that settled to the forefront was: Mon-El siphoning electricity?

Could he really do that?  Kara was vulnerable to electricity, which is what made Livewire such a difficult foe to face…and defeat.  She’d needed Barry’s help and the help of some brave bystanders and first responders to bring down the electricity-shooting meta-human.  But if that was one of his abilities why didn’t she know about it?

Kara recalls then, the days that Mon-El had been unconscious after his arrival, the way the building had experienced more than a few grey-outs.  The lights and equipment had flickered off and then back on, and then at times, everything would dim for long minutes, like a visual whine from the building itself.  His body drained the building of its energy to repair itself on the cellular level.  But, to her knowledge, he had never used the ability while he was conscious, let alone learned to control it.

Why would he keep this from her, and what was wrong with him that his cells needed repairing?

And what was he doing out of the DEO at 4 AM on a Thursday morning?

Perhaps her assumptions are all wrong, Kara second-guesses.  Maybe the name Valor is simply a coincidence after all, and it wasn’t Mon-El Mrs. Hardwick saw on the bridge this morning.  Perhaps there’s some other person, another Meta like Livewire, who can drain electricity and use it to power themselves.  Or perhaps massive amounts of electricity are simply the source of other abilities, like jumping from the roof and landing unharmed on the street below.

The more pieces to the puzzle she receives the more Eliza’s theory begins to make sense.   If it is Mon-El than that’s two nights in less than a week where he was witnessed outside of the DEO during curfew hours.  Which means if he’s getting any sleep at all, it isn’t much.  Even a Kryptonian needs rest to recharge mentally because though the radiation from the yellow sun helps take care of injuries, it is not a cure-all.  Perhaps it’s the same for a Daxamite.

She wants him to be well, however she can’t help but feel as though the closer they become the more he hides from her.  A sinking feeling encompasses her heart, as though trying to drag it down into an abyss, but she fights it off, steadfastly refusing to give in to despair.  She’s going to find out what’s going on with him, but she’s not going to do it as a reporter.  She’s going to do it as the woman who cares for him.  His mate.

She formulates a plan.  She has enough information to draw certain conclusions, and so she might as well use it. When she sees him next, she will give him what he needs.

And then, when his defenses are lowered, she will get what she needs to protect him from himself.

****

 Perhaps it was lack of foresight, or he could blame it on his still lacking knowledge in how this world works, but he could not have predicted the size and scope of the mayhem that ensued after his act of heroism at the bridge.

It isn’t until he emerges from his quarters at a half past 8, that he even realizes something is amiss.  Somehow, when he had assisted the couple in the falling car, it had never occurred to him that anything he’d done would be newsworthy.  Which is strange, considering his girlfriend is all about the news.

The CIC is abuzz with activity, every terminal manned by a hardworking genius.

“Glad to see you’re right where I left you,” he snarks at the frazzled and tired-looking Winn.  “What’s going on?”  Inspired by Winn’s exhausted appearance, Mon-El runs his fingers through his hair, trying to make it seem like it’s seen a brush recently.

 “I really don’t have time to indulge you at the moment, Mon-El,” Winn replies.  Aside from the odd use of words, there’s a bite in his tone.  A bite that seems to be directed solely at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“Did you pull a falling car off a bridge last night?  Because if not, then…no,” Winn sighs, realizing that the tone of his earlier statement had revealed too much.

Mon-El focuses on the wall of screens displaying everything from local to international news.  And they all seem to be telling the same story…about him – or about Valor, to be more precise.

He had made a decision last night when that woman had asked what to call him.  Like Kara, he had seen a path laid out before him – one he couldn’t ignore, and so he chose to put one foot in front of the other and step on that path.  But he hadn’t bargained on gaining the attention of the world.  It’s a lot of pressure, perhaps too much, when ordinary people look up to you -- expect from you.

“Because it’s so easy to fail,” Ral provides, standing beside Mon-El his eyes tilted up to the screens.

“How can I not?” he speculates.

“You’re selling yourself short, brother.  You did a great thing last night, and you’ll do even more great things in the future.” Ral points at the screens on the wall, some of them now showing things other than the hot topic of Valor.  He points in particular at a news program rolling tape on a riot in a place called Kuala Lumpur, and on another screen, the aftermath of an earthquake in distant country named Azerbaijan.  “Look, brother…this world is in need of balance and you can help provide it.  Supergirl and her cousin may be powerful, but the world is wide and disturbed, with endless violence and destruction.  The people of this planet haven’t figured out who they are yet, but they have so much potential.  You can help show them who they can be.”

“Surely there are better people than me for this,” he whispers, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fingers.

“Name one,” Ral challenges, cocking his blonde head to the side.  “And they don’t count if they’re already wearing Kryptonian glyphs.

Mon-El opens his mouth to add a name.

“Or frequently use the phrase ‘Last Son of Mars’,” Ral cuts him off at the pass. “Also, he’s not hesitating to do his part.  Like it or not, you’ve already made this choice.  You can’t back out now just because there’s a little bit more of a spotlight than you wanted.”

The truth is, Valor may be newborn, but that doesn’t mean Mon-El has the slightest clue how to begin – how to the really begin.  Last night, Winn had mentioned designs for a suit, which he is definitely going to need, especially since his brilliant disguise of wearing a black hoodie has now been broadcast all over the world.

Mon-El was born into a world of expectations, and from the moment he was old enough to fully understand the implications of that, he has done everything in his power to push back against them.  On most occasions, trying to escape them altogether.  Never in a million years could he ever meet his father’s expectations for him, and so somewhere along the line, he stopped trying, surrendering to the inevitable.  That he was destined to be little more than a disappointment to the people who wanted—needed—him to be more.

It seems as if it’s happening all over again – only this time by his own invitation.

“I have to get out,” he gulps, the buzzing atmosphere around him choking the breath from him.  

“What was that?” Winn asks, though he seems barely invested in the answer.

“I have to get to work,” he corrects.  It’s not a lie, he rationalizes. Soon his work hours will begin in the evening, but there’s still much to be done at the bar to prepare for its reopening in two days. But Mon-El needs some air and to feel as though the walls aren’t closing in around him.

He considers taking the ‘Supergirl exit’ but rethinks that plan when it occurs to him that now might not be the best time to remind them that he possesses all the powers required to fit the Valor description.  Not to mention the wardrobe.  It’s best to play it cool for the time being.  Just keep pretending he was asleep in his quarters all night last night.

He doesn’t know what made him do it, but before leaving his quarters for the CIC this morning, he had stuffed his rarely used and completely extraneous glasses into the pocket of his jacket.  Out on the street, though no one by rights should recognize him, he feels exposed and vulnerable.  Taking the glasses out of his pocket, he slides them onto his face, setting them on the bridge of his nose.

A strange sense of peace settles over him the moment they fall into place.

Mon-El never understood the nature of Kara’s glasses until this very moment.  Of course, intellectually he knew they were lined with lead and helped her control her abilities as a child, making assimilation slightly easier.  But he sees now that it must go deeper than that.  Though he had no need for glasses to correct his eyesight, sliding them on had provided him with new vision.

More so than Mon-El, Kara’s eyesight is far and beyond the perfection as determined by humans.  She can focus on events happening thousands of yards away and can examine items on a microscopic level, plus there’s also the convenience of being able to see through things.  But somewhere in childhood, she must have developed a dependence upon them.

Though he finds it ridiculous the notion that a simple pair of glasses can hide her true identity from anyone with keen eyes, he can’t discount their ability to make her feel hidden.  And as Mon-El discovers as soon as he dons his own superfluous glasses, feeling hidden is half the battle.

When he reaches the bar, M’gann immediately takes note of his new accessory.  “Nice disguise,” she compliments, “rescue any people off of bridges lately?”

“How did you--?” he wonders, his eyes growing wide.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” she shrugs.  “I understand what it’s like to disguise yourself to hide from something you’ve done. Take my advice: if you don’t want J’onn to know what you’re up to at night, don’t wear those in front of him.”

Mon-El removes the glasses and pockets them in his jacket.  “Did you always know about Kara?” he asks.

“Oh, sure. Though, unlike you, she’s taken time to cultivate her hero persona – make it more difficult to recognize the Supergirl in Kara Danvers.”

“I don’t understand,” Mon-El shakes his head.

M’gann smiles wryly, and Mon-El realizes he’s about to be schooled by someone much older and wiser than himself.  In the past he might scoffed at the notion, ignored proffered advice, and walked away from such counsel, but today he sidles up to the bar and listens with thirsty ears. “A part of you knows this already, or has begun to suspect.  It’s why you’ve given her your heart.”

Mon-El’s back straightens, the aforementioned organ set to racing in his chest.  “How did you--?”

“I see things people don’t want me to see, remember?  Besides, you’re not incredibly subtle.  It’s cute.”

Mon-El rolls his eyes as the wall he carefully constructed to shield his growing feelings for his mate from the outside world crumbles in the face of M’gann’s observations. Were it up to him, no wall would exist. Mon-El wants the world to know she’s his, but she isn’t ready for that, and he wants to respect her decision. Also her logic for not making their relationship public knowledge until CADMUS can be neutralized is sound.

“As much as you admire Supergirl and all the things that she can do, at the end of the day it’s Kara that you take to your bed at night.  You understand that, right?”  He opens his mouth once again to ask how she knows about the physical part of his relationship with Kara, but a single raised eyebrow from her quells the question.  His mouth snaps shut.  “Kara, the one who wears the glasses, who laughs when she’s nervous, or crinkles her eyebrow when she’s upset – that’s the real girl.  Supergirl is the armor she wears when she’s out saving the world.”

Mon-El thinks back to the day at the children’s hospital.  Supergirl had put out the fire and saved all of those lives. But it had been Kara Danvers who’d cried in his arms over the young lives snuffed out in an instant.  It’s Kara that has a terrifying tendency to rush headlong into danger without fear of the consequences, but it’s Supergirl who gets her out of those situations alive.

Supergirl can take bullets to the chest, or collide head-on with rocket propelled grenades without a single flinch, but the mere suggestion that he wasn’t happy with her performance their first time together sends Kara into an emotional tailspin. Supergirl can punch through cinderblock walls, can burn holes through anything, and toss a shipping container across a train yard, but Kara needs to be held and caressed after lovemaking.

He loves to watch Supergirl in action, is always filled with awe, but it’s the moments when her armor is off and she’s just Kara, his and his alone, that send his soul soaring.

“What you have to do, Mon-El, is figure out which one of you is going to be the armor. The guy who pulls falling cars off of bridges?  Or the guy in the glasses?”

Mon-El nods. It’s definitely something to think about, and certainly something he hadn’t considered when altering his entire life trajectory in the early hours of this morning.

“Now,” M’gann says, her tone announcing a change of topic.  “Let’s get down to work.  Why don’t you come around the bar so I can show you some things?”  Mon-El hops of his bar stool and makes his way around the bar, while M’gann begins her instruction.  “Each of the spigots under the bar contain a different base drink. Club soda, tonic water, cola, et cetera. Over here we have the draft beer and ales.”

Her instruction goes on for hours, until Mon-El’s brain is spinning with the new data it’s trying to assimilate.  After about an hour he begs off for a break and fifteen minutes later returns with a pad for taking notes.  She runs him through a list of the most popular mixed beverages, how to make them, and in what proportions the alcohol should be added so that house money isn’t wasted.

After a while, M’gann leaves him alone with the bar to familiarize himself with the bottles and what’s in each of them.  The bottles, though decontaminated, will still have to be replaced with fresh ones anyway, so he’s free to practice with them.  As long as the drinks go down the drain once he’s taste-tested them.

There’s so much to learn about this working business, Mon-El realizes. Decontaminating the bar following the release of the Medusa virus was hard work, but there was something simple about it at the same time.  He came in every day, sprayed and scrubbed every possible surface until it no longer fluoresced under black light (which was actually kind of purple), and at the end of the day he got paid.  He didn’t need skill really, or even much intelligence, but somehow it made him money and it led to something more – which he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to handle.

He just has to remember that he’s doing this for Kara, because he wants to be a better man for her.  She doesn’t need someone to provide for her, she can do that all by herself, but at the very least she needs him to stand on his own two feet so that she doesn’t have to prop him up like some useless piece of decoration.  Living life as little more than a decorative piece is a feeling with which he’s all too familiar, and he’s beginning to accept that it’s a position to which he no longer aspires.  And perhaps, in some ways, he never did – he just never knew how to make a change – never knew that he could.

“You were always told you could do whatever you wanted,” Ral nods, sitting across the bar like a ghostly customer, leaning his chin on one palm.  “You just misunderstood what that meant.  Maybe now you’ll understand.”

“I’m not sure I’m smart enough for this,” Mon-El laments.

“Are you joking?  Because I swear to the gods, I can’t tell anymore.  Is this my brother who was made of swagger and confidence?”

“With lovers,” Mon-El clarifies.  “I never had to be anything but who I was with them,” he points out.  “You know it wasn’t really me they were after anyway.”

“You have the best of him, remember?  And he was no idiot.  You just have to accept that; about him, and about yourself.”  

Mon-El nods, begrudgingly.  Parental love wasn’t something that was terribly rampant on Daxam.  Like on Krypton, all children were conceived and grown in a birthing matrix, and though their origins came from parental DNA, development in the matrix precluded all pre-birth bonding between mother and child. Children were merely a means to secure power and to propagate a bloodline.

It’s one of the things that fascinates him about Earth, the way Eliza is so attached and protective of Alex and Kara.  At the hospital, after the tragic crash of the shuttle…no…helicopter, he saw many people weeping over the loss of lives.  Some parents wept and hugged him because he had saved the life of their child.  He recalls the expression of horror on the face of the woman whose daughter stood in the path of hurtling automobile thrown by Parasite, and her look of awe and gratitude when he stopped the car from crashing into the child.  The outpouring of emotions from these parents would have been considered unprecedented on Daxam.  A lost child might simply have been replaced.

And parental love was certainly never something he felt from his own father; instead he felt an enormous pressure to succeed, to conform, and always to be more like him.

“He wanted you to survive, brother, and if you want to make it on this planet, either as Mon-El, or Mike, or Valor, then you need to start using the aptitudes he bequeathed to you and stop denying them,” Ral urged.  “Whether you agree with the things he did, or not.  It’s time to put the child away, my friend, and be man we all knew you could be.”  

M’gann walks back into the bar from the office in back and tosses him a book.  “Drink recipes,” she announces.  “The ones from Earth, at least.  I’ll try to write down the other ones I know.  Some we have to figure out as we go along,” she shrugs. “Study the book,” she suggests. “Learn its wisdom.”

“Right,” he replies, staring down at the small paperback book.  It’s tattered and worn, dog-eared in places, and half of the back cover is ripped off.  He also notices as he flips rapidly through the pages that there are useful notes inside. He tucks the book into the back pocket of his jeans, imagining that the book is going to be an important part of his life in the coming weeks and, hopefully, months.

“I’m also going to need you to run security from time to time,” M’gann says.  “I have two other bartenders and neither one of them suited to taking out the trash.”

Mon-El can’t begin to imagine what dispensing with garbage has to do with security. “Taking out the trash?” he wonders.

“Which in this case is a euphemism for escorting unruly and troublemaking customers to the exit.  Try not to break them.  I don’t need a lawsuit.”

Mon-El grimaces.  Keeping humans in one piece is an art he isn’t sure he’s quite mastered yet.  “Ah.  I’ll do my best.”  Hopefully he will just be able to intimidate any rule breaking humans with a moderate show of super strength and that will be enough to keep them in line.

“Most of them will be drunk and docile.  Just call those an Uber and see them to the car.  It’s the belligerent ones you have watch out for.  You never know when some Frellic is going to decide to eject their neck spikes.  So be prepared.  Stay calm and try not to get your panties in a bunch over it.”

“Panties,” he echoes, the word triggering a memory.  His eyes open wide like trying to see in a pitch black room, before slamming shut with a groan.  “Grife!”

“What is it?” M’gann asks.

“Nothing,” he covers.  “Just something I forgot to do.”  Mon-El had been so caught up in the drama of becoming Valor and everything that surrounded it, that he’d completely forgotten he’d asked Kara to go without panties for the day.  Bad boyfriend!  Very bad boyfriend!

“Well, we’re about done here for the time being anyway.  Why don’t you go take care of it before it gets too late? Remember…tomorrow you start your new late schedule – 6 PM until lock-up.  I’ve already signed the paperwork for J’onn, so you’re good to go.”

“Thanks so much, Boss,” Mon-El replies, trying out the new nickname.  “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I do,” he counters.  “Once upon a time, I stood where you’re standing—not literally—and someone gave me a shot.  In the future, someone’s going to want a chance at a new life, and you’re going to be the one in a position to offer it.  You can pay it forward by doing for them what I’ve done for you.”

 “I’ll remember that.”

 “Good. Now get out of here.”

He exits on a breeze, but comes to a screeching halt no sooner than when he steps into the alleyway.  An avalanche of changes have happened just since the last time he kissed Kara good night, as though days have gone by instead of mere hours.  The idea of keeping them secret from her, of looking in her beautiful hope-filled face and lying to her about all of it, makes him feel sick inside.

“Exactly what I think, brother,” Ral butts in.  “These cards definitely need to go on the table.”

“She’ll be…disappointed.  Again.”

“Maybe she’ll give you credit for confessing on your own,” Ral suggests.  “Not an easy thing in a new relationship; believe me…I know. At any rate, certainly better than if she finds out on her own…or worse, from someone else.  Winn’s no idiot, he’s going to put together the puzzle sooner rather than later, and what do you think will happen then?”

“He’ll always be loyal to Kara.”

“And then there’s Alex,” Ral added.  “I would be surprised if she doesn’t know already.  If you’re lucky…she might give you a small window of time to come clean, because she doesn’t want to hurt her sister.  Brother – by the time you return to the DEO they may be ready to lock you up, you need to have Kara on your side.  Because J’onn will know the second he lays eyes on you.”

“I can’t let that happen,” Mon-El agrees.

“You know what you have to do.”

TBC