#the cord is bringing them oxygen they are fine for a bit i promise

[barefootbaltimore]

My least favorite birth/pregnancy myth is the whole cord wrapped around babies neck bit so now Tumblr is showing me this ad every 3 seconds im losing my shit

Like. Like. Do people think fetuses are in there breathing for their oxygen?

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia - Chapter 77: Kids Will be Kids

Presenting the next chapter of my highly self-indulgent next gen MHA fic!

Find the rest here!

It didn't take long for Kenta to find Bioshock. He was talking at the first aid station that had been set up with another Hero that Kenta didn't recognize. Bioshock had explained early that, while he couldn't turn back time so that an injury had never happened in the first place, like Doc Clock's Rewind, his Cell Activation could speed up the normal recovery process of routine injuries (Provided you didn't have type AB blood.).  An explosion in the near distance reminded Kenta that this meant The Rookies could keep working him and his classmates right up until the point of exhaustion, however much punishment they took. He swallowed as he approached them.

"Uhm, Boost Rush told me to report to you, sir."

"Hi there!" Bioshock turned away from his conversation and then gestured to the other hero. "This is Bezoar. His Quirk, Tongue Tank, is also tied to what he eats, so I wanted to use it for a demonstration."

Bezoar raised a hand in greeting. "Hey kid. How's it going?" He was tall, though not on the order of All Might or even Boost Rush, but more like the size of Kenta's father. He was more rounded at all the edges though. He had muted facial features, hardly any presence of a nose, and his hair was brown and fluffy. He was also somewhat pudgy for a Pro Hero; not to the extent that it had to be the result of his Quirk like Fat Gum, but just a normal heavyset person.

Kenta raised a hand in return, a little confused but paying attention. This guy must have been busy elsewhere so far, as he didn't remember Shinso gushing about him previously. His classmate's Hero Worship (Heh.  He’d have tell Takuma that one.) was useful for identifying Pros. "I'm... good."

"Okay, so, here's his Quirk being used a couple of days ago, after improper nutritional--" Bioshock began.

"You mean eating like a /normal/ person." Bezoar cut him off. "Nobody likes your kale and oat smoothies, Shimano."

"--after improper nutritional intake." Bioshock continued, turning his head away from his coworker indignantly. He turned a tablet he'd been holding towards Kenta, and a video played. Kenta watched as the Bezoar in the video unhinged his jaw and his tongue transformed into a tank cannon. He fired some sort of projectile that shattered a large rock to bits. "Not bad, but now, after a meal that was centered around iron and calcium content..." He turned back to Bezoar.

The heavy-set man smirked. He then dropped down to brace himself on all fours as he activated his Quirk and took aim at a nearby boulder. Bioshock covered his ears and called out "Firing range in use!" just moments before the shot was released. There was a roar of air as the projectile took off. This time, the rock didn't shatter, but the one about a hundred yards behind it DID, as the first one now had a neatly created hole in it. Bioshock looked smug as Bezoar brushed himself off and stood back up. "Thank you. You can go back to the long-range group." Bezoar gave him a brief nod and trundled off.

"...I don't mean to be rude, sir, and I get that was impressive, but I'm not sure what it has to do with me." Kenta furrowed his brow.  That was about as far from his Quirk as Suneater’s had been.  All three involved eating, but there wasn’t much more to link them.

“So,” Bioshock said, “let’s start with this?  What’s your Quirk?”

Kenta blinked slowly. “It’s officially registered as “Appetite.”  I can eat just about anything, whether or not it’s really food.”

Bioshock drew himself up, grinning. "I studied your medical file from Eri—excuse me, Doc Clock. There's more to your Quirk than just 'eating stuff'. You're able to intake /way/ more than a human normally can, with no apparent ill effect, with highly efficient processing since you’re not the size of a small house, and more than that--" He moved forward, clearly becoming excited now, and took Kenta's face in his hands, pulling his jaw open and examining him. "Your teeth are practically indestructible, and the interior of your mouth, esophagus, and connected digestive elements are similarly impervious.”

Kenta could swear he'd seen the same gleam in the Iida twins eyes when they started talking about some piece of technology.  "I see..." He managed to awkwardly respond around the fingers pulling at his mouth, before Bioshock finally calmed down somewhat, turning to gesture at the table behind him.

"What this means, is that your body is capable of incredibly fast absorption of consumed materials, as well as withstanding certain things that would be... well, let's say /volatile/. We're going to test your responses to things to elevate your adrenal levels, blood oxygen, and other measurable statistics... before we move on to the fun stuff." He grinned, and Kenta wasn't sure if he should be scared or not.

***

“I’m dead.  I’m dead.  I’m just going to lie here and be dead.”

Chihiro just sighed.  Despite the theatrics, Mika had a point.  They were all pretty much exhausted from having spent the day training.  There’d been a short break for lunch, but it was been almost non-stop training otherwise. She’d spent considerable time unleashing powerful discharges of electricity, stopping just before she reached the point where it started to affect her brain.  Well, almost.  One particularly bad discharge had left her a sputtering mess until Bioshock had applied his Quirk and accelerated her recovery.  That had been embarrassing. She’d been pushing her limits for a while now and hadn’t had any issues with blowing out her brains.  Of course, she’d also been relying more and more on the Support equipment built into her costume as well, making use of the different tools and outlets for regulating her electricity.  Her costume, along with those of a few others who made more extensive use of Support devices, was here, currently stored away until the Rookies decided it was time to train with it.

Maybe she’d been relying on it too much.  There was no shame, she knew, in using whatever it took to be her best and most effective self.  But what was she going to do if there was an emergency and she didn’t have access to that? It was something she was going to have to chew on.

Of course, Mika had to go and try and be extra during dinner…

“Hey!’  Anime Fukidashi shouted, pulling her plate out of the way.  The plate and food somehow turned animated as soon as she touched them.  Chihiro was making a concentrated effort not to think about it.  Fukidashi was just confusing at the best of times.  “If you’re going to be dead, watch the horns!”

Slowly, Mika raised her head back up off the table.  “Fine, I’m not dead.  I haven’t made a will yet anyway.  Who knows what might happen to my porn collection if I don’t make a plan for it!”

That got a booming laugh out of Yoarashi.  “Oh, babe,” he laughed.  “You really are too much!”  The giant boy somehow managed to still have entirely too much energy.  “I would be happy to take possession of your collection should anything unfortunate happen!”

Chihiro stared down at her plate.  “Can we not talk about porn while we’re eating?”  She still couldn’t believe Mika had somehow managed to have her giant boyfriend at the summer training camp.  The odds of that were so astronomical that she wouldn’t have been able to figure them out even if she’d been good at math.  

Not that she had any right to complain, of course.  Her own not-quite boyfriend was here too.  Her not-quite boyfriend who was already making her jewelry and who had all but promised that she’d want to kiss him again.

Which she didn’t. Just to be clear.  

Yet.

“Fine,” Mika whined. “Just be a downer, Chi.”  

She rolled her eyes at that. “Right.  So sorry to bring down the mood.”

“See that you are.”

“I do have to say, Mika,” Fukidashi said, “you really hit the jackpot with Yoarashi here.  Especially compared to Monoma.  It’s just like I Upgraded My Boyfriend and I Never Looked Back!”

“You do realize I’m sitting right here, don’t you?” Monoma asked irritably, from where he was sitting next to Chihiro.  She could understand his irritation at the comparison. Yoarashi had at least a foot of height on him and a considerable amount of muscle as well.  And nobody liked being considered a poorer version of someone else.  She felt inadequate enough compared to some of her friends (usually Mika) sometimes.

“That’s what makes it more fun,” Fukidashi said, rubbing her hands together.  “You’re so easy to rile up, Monoma.”

“Oh, please, do not tease Monoma!” Yoarashi boomed.  He looked over at the smaller boy.  “But I want you to know, Monoma, that as Mika’s current boyfriend, I hold you, her ex,  no ill will! I hope we can be friends!”

Monoma held his gaze for a long moment, blinking slowly.  “Friends,” he said, utterly deadpan.  “Sure.  Right.”

Yoarashi let out another laugh, completely blind to Monoma’s sarcasm.  Or possibly being deliberately obtuse.  She wasn’t one hundred percent sure. “Holy Hurricanes, thank goodness! I was afraid you would hate me!”

Monoma’s jaw clenched for a moment before he responded. “Of course not,” he said, still deadpan. Yoarashi still didn’t notice, but Fukidashi was stifling a laugh.  Even Mika was rolling her eyes.

“So, Shiro,” Mika said, likely trying to prevent a fight, “you look mostly dead yourself.”

“Oh, thanks,” he snapped.

“No,” Mika said, and here her tone shifted to something more sympathetic, “I’m serious.  You look beat to hell.  Training taking that much out of you?”

Monoma frowned.  Chihiro had to admit, Mika was right.  They were all exhausted, but he looked like he’d been through an extra kind of hell.  “My asshole cousin,” he said.  “He takes particular delight in beating the stuffing out of me.  ‘Evasion practice,’ he calls it.”

Chihiro frowned.  She gave him a slight nudge with one of her Cords. “Is that all it is?” she asked. He sounded pretty defeated again.

“Oh, no, never enough for him,” Monoma groaned.  “He had to get all psychological on me too.  Telling me I don’t have to prove anything.  As if that was going to do anything but make me try harder.  Or that I need to stop being jealous of people with greater raw power.”  

There was an awkward pause. Mika gave Fukidashi a stern look that silenced anything she might have added to the conversation.  Yoarashi seemed completely oblivious.

“It just makes it worse that he’s right,” Monoma said, causing Mika to breathe a sigh of relief. “I just wish he wasn’t so damn smug about it.”

“You know what you need, ‘Ro?” Mika asked.  And now it was Chihiro’s turn to groan.  No good ever came of Mika starting a sentence with “you know what you need.”  She had plenty of personal experience getting drawn into crazy schemes when that happened.

“Extensive psychological counseling?” Fukidashi asked.  

“A distraction,” Mika said. She pointed across the cafeteria, where Koda was sitting and talking with Aoyama and Shoji.  “We’re going to get Koda and Aoyama together.  Operation: Summer Love.”

“Now I know why you didn’t invite Tetsutetsu to sit with us,” Chihiro said.  “She’d have put a stop to this.”  She really needed to start hanging around with Izumi more. This kind of thing never happened with her.  

***

“You okay?” Isamu asked. “You’ve been staring at that table for a while now.”

Kana shook her head, her orange ponytail swaying.  “I’m not sure.  I know Mika and Fukidashi are up to something.  And they’re probably looping Monoma, Kaminari, and Yoarashi in.  This has disaster written all over it.”

“Do we need to do something about it?” Midoriya asked.  “Mineta wrangling is actually on the official list of Class Representative duties.”

Isamu was pretty sure that was a joke.  Given how Kana laughed at it and that Midoriya was smiling, it probably was.  Probably.

“Eh, we can probably let it play out,” Kana said.  “She and Monoma will mostly cancel each other out.  Mika’s ‘zany schemes’ usually backfire anyway.”  There was the slightest hint of doom in her voice, like someone who’s decided to step out of the way of a runaway train, but knew that train was still going to hit someone.    

“Yeah, I guess,” Midoriya said.

“She does occasionally give good advice,” Sora Iida, sitting next to him, said.  “She did suggest the bikini on our trip to Todoroki’s resort. You did enjoy that, did you not?”

Midoriya went several shades of red, fast enough that Isamu was concerned he might combust.  “Ah, yeah,” Midoriya said when he could speak. “That was… good.”  

“What about you, Shinso?” Isamu asked, in-between bites of food, to give Midoriya time to recover. It wasn’t anything special, served from the Rookies’ mess hall, but there was plenty of it.  Bioshock had apparently designed the menu to provide them with the maximum amount of nutrition and energy, though he was pretty sure he’d heard Vanish Veil refer to it as ‘health food junk.’  He looked over at the purple-haired boy.  “You doing all right?”

Shinso was drinking from a steaming cup of tea that Bioshock had provided him with.  Even with the protections his Quirk offered him, the kid could only scream so much before it started hurting his throat.  He nodded and flashed a thumbs’ up, being under instructions not to talk until he was back in training.  Given how much he liked to talk, it had to be killing him.

Isamu gave him a thumb’s up in return.  “So, Midoriya,” he said, “is Ground Zero always that scary?”

“What?” Midoriya asked, surprised.  He quickly shook his head.  “Oh, oh no. He’s not usually scary.  He’s just intense.  But really… this is him being pretty sedate.”  Beside him, Shinso’s head was bobbing like one of those novelty drinking birds.  

Isamu gulped.  If what they’d seen so far—shouting instructions, generally giving off scary vibes, arguing with and insulting Aizawa, Super-Ball, and the Rookies—was sedate, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see intense.  At one point, Ground Zero’s argument with Vanish Veil had gotten so intense, he’d been certain they were going to come to blows. Only Bioshock’s intervention had staved off violence.

“Relax,” Kana assured him. “I’m friends with Katsumi, remember? At least twenty percent of all that… Ground Zero-ness… is just an act.”

He shook his head. “Why am I not as reassured by that as I’d like?”

A large shadow fell over the table and Isamu turned to see the Shiketsu girl, Tatsuma.  She was, in a word, imposing, with powerful arms and legs. But the most imposing thing about her didn’t seem to be raw physical might.  Instead, she just seemed to possess an aura of power and menace that was impossible to ignore.  He gulped.

“Oh, hi,” Midoriya said. “Do you want to sit with us?”  He waved in Kana’s general direction.  “I’m Toshinori Midoriya, and this is Kana Tetsutetsu, we’re the Class Reps for Class 1-A and 1-B.  And these are my friends, Sora Iida, Isamu Haimawari and Shota Shinso.”

Shinso perked up and started to open his mouth, but then seemed to remember he wasn’t supposed to talk. He seemed to settle for giving a friendly wave.

Tatsuma looked down at them, food tray in hand.  “I know who you are,” she said, with a gaze that seemed especially fixated on Midoriya. “Some of you are practically royalty to some people.”

Midoriya swallowed hard. “It’s, ah, it’s really not like that…”

“I am not accusing you of asking for it or even enjoying it, but let’s not pretend it doesn’t exist,” she said in a neutral tone. After a moment she sat down. “My name is Chie Tatsuma, class representative of Shiketsu 1A.”

It had taken nearly most of the first term, but Isamu had gotten used to living and training with the children of some of the world’s greatest Heroes.  But it didn’t change the fact that Midoriya, Iida, and Kana were all the children of highly ranked Heroes.  All of them had a parent in the Top Ten even.  Shinso’s parents were Underground Heroes, of course, but still well known within the right circles.

“Looking forward to working with you,” Kana said, diplomatically.  

Shinso reached over and frantically patted Midoriya's arm.  When Midoriya gave him his attention, Shinso made several complicated gestures with his hands, first pointing at Tatsuma, then making some kind of gesture that ended with him flapping his hands like wings.

Somehow, Midoriya seemed to figure it out.  “Oh!” he said.  “Right, thanks, Shota.  Tatsuma… are you related to Ryukyu?”

The Dragoon Hero?  Now there was a name Isamu hadn’t heard in a long time…  He vaguely recalled she’d been a rising star for a quite a few years, before slowly falling out of favor.

For a moment, a small half-smile crossed the tall girl’s face. “Yes. She’s my mother.” She looked at the other students, all of whom were children of the generation after Ryukyu’s time. “Mother was keen to not have children until she retired.”

There were a few Pro-Heroes like that, Isamu realized.  If he remembered the Sports Festival right, Vlad King had a daughter in Class 1-C. And the Shiketsu students also included Pixie-Bob’s adopted son.

“I thought so,” Midoriya said.  “Mom was always sorry they didn’t get to work together more.”

The smile grew by a small bit. “The feeling was mutual. I remember sitting in the den watching the news as a child. Uravity had just rescued a large number of people from a boating accident. Mother looked at me and said “I knew that girl was going to be great.”

Midoriya nodded and smiled at that.  “She does a lot of great work.  We’re all proud of her.”

“Both admirable women,” Iida agreed.  “My uncle also worked with Ryukyu a few times.  He always spoke very highly of her.  The youngest woman ever to reach the Top Ten.  She likely inspired many up and coming female Heroes.”

The moment the ranking system was brought up, Chie’s eyes flashed into a gold, slit-pupiled shape. A tearing of wood could be heard. Chie's hand had dug into the table, causing the small area to splinter. When she spoke again, it was in a tone of cool anger.

“The Ranking System is a slap in the face to every Pro who takes on the role of hero. It claims to give you something to aspire to, when in fact it promotes inferiority in everyone who is not considered part of the elite. My mother spent her whole career thinking she wasn’t doing enough. Thinking she didn’t deserve the things she earned.” She took a deep breath, then let it out, traces of smoke escaping her nostrils. “You said it in innocence, so I will not hold it against you, but kindly please do not bring up that travesty of a system in my presence again.”

It had taken nearly everything Isamu had not to jump when Tatsuma had splintered the table.  He must have been getting better.  Then again, compared to Kirishima-Bakugo’s explosive rage, Tatsuma’s cool anger was much less harsh on the nerves.  But she was still definitely scary, just in her own way.

“My apologies,” Iida said.

“I can’t say I agree,” Midoriya said.  “Dad always said the rankings were mostly to give people a little bit of a show, remind them they’ve got people watching out for them.  Make things a little less scary if there was something there that regular people could get invested in.  There’s people who took it too seriously, like Endeavor, but most Heroes aren’t after the rankings.  Dad bounces back and forth from the top spot with Uncle Mirio all the time, and it’s no big deal for him.”

Isamu winced.  He liked Midoriya a lot, and he knew Deku was about as humble a person as could exist, especially considering his power and ranking, but he had to know that wasn’t how it looked from the outside...

Chie slowly rose from the table. Her eyes remained reptilian in countenance, and a slow trickle of smoke exhaled from Chie’s nostrils. A definite hint of sulfur could be smelled in the area.

“Really? Back and forth to the number two spot? My, what a fall from grace. Has he ever had to deal with the fact that no matter how many lives he’s saved, how many disasters he’s averted, and no matter how many villains he’s helped capture, that it’s just not enough for people to respect you the same as those above?”

She stared into Midoriya’s eyes, her tone still cool, but now with a definite hint of contained rage. “Has he been so convinced by the system that he is somehow unworthy of even the paltriest scraps the Hero Commission throws his way? To work his absolute hardest for the people, and then be demoted for something that was no fault of his own?” She then let out a bitter chuckle, which briefly showed hints of sharpened teeth. “A show. Yes. That’s what the system is. Something for the people on the street to speculate and make bets on who’s going to rise, and who’s going to be a “nobody who will never sniff the Top Ten.” She leaned very close to Midoriya then, the smoke much thicker. “Don’t talk to me of the good of the Ranking System unless you’ve heard your mother cry herself to sleep because it makes her feel she’s not good enough!”

It was then that words in a foreign tongue could be heard. Chie turned to the girl with the white streak in her hair. Chie said something back in the same language. The girl replied, her voice soft, consoling. Chie gritted her teeth, nodded, and walked away from the table.

Midroiya gulped again. Shinso just sat there, wide-eyed and shell-shocked.  There was an awkward silence in the air for a moment.  “I…” Midoriya began, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words.  “I think I messed that up,” he said finally. It was the closest Isamu could ever recall to seeing him look defeated.  Even back on I-Island, when things had looked pretty damn desperate…

Iida gave him a small squeeze.  “You could not have known,” she said.

Kana gave him a sympathetic look.  “I’m sure you’ll have a chance to make it up to her,” she told him.  

Isamu held up a hand. “Speaking as the closest thing to normal at this table, maybe… don’t?” he tried.  “I mean, I know you guys aren’t all arrogant or high and mighty or anything, but maybe… just don’t poke the hornet’s nest here?  Be friendly, sure, but I don’t think this is a difference of opinion or anything simple.  I don’t think you’re going to be able to fix it.”

Midoriya shook his head. He just looked so defeated, like his whole worldview had taken a punch.  “I guess…”

***

“You okay there, Kimmie?” Takuma asked.  The invisible girl had gone stiff for a moment, a bite of food halfway to her mouth. She was definitely starting at something, but he couldn’t tell what.  When she wasn’t wearing anything in her hair, it was almost impossible to tell where she was looking.  Of course, Kenta seemed to have figured out the secret.

“Yeah, something up?” Kenta asked.  

Kimiko set her chopsticks down.  “Someone, somewhere here, is trying to ship people.  I can feel it in my bones.”

“Oh,” he said.  

“Oh?!” Kimiko shouted. Her arms started to flail through the air.  “Is that all you can say?!”

“Why’s that such a big deal, Kimmie?” Kenta asked desperately.  He was scooting slightly outside of his girlfriend’s hitting range.

“Because they’re doing it without me!”  

GLUP!

“Ah, Ojiro?” Rika Bondo asked.  “Mind taking your fist out of my head?”   Takuma had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.  Kimiko’s fist was buried in the slime-girl’s skull up to her wrist, having pierced it during her flailing.

“What?  Oh, ew! Ew!  Ew!” Kimiko quickly withdrew her hand, enough slime sticking to her fingers to coat them like body paint.  “Oh, ewwww!  It’s sticking to me!  Eeeewww!” She shook her hand wildly, trying to dislodge the slime.

“Ojiro!” Tensei said, his own arms flailing through the air, albeit much more mechanically than Kimiko’s. “Please be careful, lest the slime contaminate our food!”

“Hey!” Bondo said. “That slime is me!  I’m perfectly sanitary!”

“Ha ha ha!” Kitiara Kaniyashiki let out a laugh. “Oh, we definitely gotta start hanging around with you guys more.  You’re a lot more fun than Haimawari.  Dunno what Tetsutetsu sees in the guy.  He’s a real nervous wreck compared to you all!”

“Hey,” Kenta protested, “Haimawari’s a good guy.  

“Yeah,” Kaniyashiki said, “I’m sure he is.  And that’s what makes him boring. He’s so ‘aw shucks’ it’s ridiculous.”

“Speaking of shipping,” Bondo said, now that Kimiko had stopped flailing everywhere, “any new shipping gossip, Ojiro?”

Kimiko seemed to light up at that.  Takuma could hear the smile in her voice.  “Oh, you like my show?!”

“Fukidashi got us turned into it,” Bondo told her.  

“Hey, what about our parts?” Takuma asked.  “Me and Kenta have shows too you know!”

“Eh,” Kaniyashiki said, waving a hand in the air.  “I like the part where you slam into a wall when you’re swinging around.  Bet Doc Clock hates patching you up after that.”

Takuma winced at that, countless memories of Doc Clock yelling at him and occasionally hitting him on the head with her reflex hammer flashing through his head.  Most of the time, U.A.’s doctor was a sweet woman, but when her temper got up, it was very easy to see that she was Aizawa’s daughter. Words like “you idiot” and “what were you thinking?” and “if it was up to me, I’d expel you!” came readily to her lips.  And she really didn’t seem to understand that fame was worth any amount of bruises and broken bones.  

“She… might have had some choice words about it,” he admitted.

Kenta practically choked on his food.  His friend had an unusual spread in front of him, both regular foods and a bowl full of miscellaneous small objects like nuts, bolts, and screws.  “Is that what you’re calling it?”

Tensei likewise winced. “I have advised against such reckless behavior many times.  Every time you injure yourself, my heart nearly skips a beat!”  He considered this.  “Or rather, it would if I possessed an underlying heart condition. As it is, it simply creates an accelerated heartrate and additional levels of stress, which when paired together, are not healthy.”

“Aw, babe,” Takuma said, batting his eyelashes at his boyfriend, “you really do care.”  He focused his attention back at Kenta, pointing menacingly.  “And you… no comments from the peanut gallery!”

“I thought I was a co-star?”

“Stop bringing logic into this!”

***

Koharu took a long sip of her smoothie. It was sweet, the way she liked it.  Having an all liquid diet was limiting sometimes, so she was always grateful for options that were filling and tasted good.

“You were right,” she said. “I can’t recall ever being this tired before, even after the Sports Festival.”  And she’d gotten the stuffing nearly knocked out of her several times there.  But the Rookies and their teachers had definitely been pushing them hard, her included.  On the one hand, she was happy to be treated no differently than the more experienced Hero students.  On the other hand, talk about being thrown in the deep end…  She brushed her antenna out of her face, as they were starting to droop.

Tokoyami nodded, looking very tired as well.  Her familiar, Frog-Shadow, had retreated inside her when she’d sat down, saying that she was “going to her room for a nap”.  Tokyami hadn’t even rolled her eyes in annoyance at that, which just showed how tired she was.  She was carefully angling food into the side of her beak, mechanically and lifelessly. It looked a bit odd, but Koharu didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to commenting on how other people had to eat.  “Even hearing my parents speak of it, I hadn’t expected it to be this grueling…”

“Mmm-hmm,” Todoroki agreed, slurping noodles into her mouth.  She’d taken several large and colorful pills when they’d sat down to eat.  Koharu didn’t know what they were, but Todoroki had taken them with such little fanfare or effort that it had to be a pretty regular thing.  She wasn’t going to be so rude as to ask about them though. It definitely wasn’t her business to pry into, though Todoroki did look especially tired, compared to everyone else.

Todoroki swallowed. “My apologies.  I should not try and talk with my mouth full.  But I hope you are not finding the training too difficult, Kocho?”

She shook her head.  “No, I can keep up, it’s just… intense. And you guys do this kind of training every day?” She wasn’t about to admit that she’d never worked this hard in her life, especially not in front of the kids of Pro-Heroes.  She didn’t need them thinking she couldn’t cut it.  She didn’t need herself thinking she couldn’t cut it.

“Not quite,” Tokoyami said. “Some of our Heroics classes are purely theoretical, dealing with law and history.  But the physical training is still very demanding and often mentally exhausting as well, depending on how complex it is.”

Well, that made sense. Not everything could be punching the bad guys in the face.  And there were plenty of stories in the news of Heroes who failed to follow policies and procedures and were censured, suspended, or even stripped of their licenses on fair occasions. It usually made mention of what Hero School they had graduated from and it had rarely, if ever, been U.A. or Shiketsu. Better to study hard now than end up on the news.

“So basically,” Koharu said, putting on a small grin, “I’ll be feeling this exhausted pretty much for the next two plus years.  Is that what you’re saying?”

“You did join us of your own volition,” Todoroki said.  “You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.”

That got a laugh out of Koharu, and a chirping one out of Tokoyami.  “Yeah, okay,” she conceded.  “Good point.”

“Hello? Pardon me, I don’t mean to interrupt.” The voice seemed to come from out of nowhere as there had been no sounds of footsteps preceding it. There stood the multi-eyed girl from Shiketsu, her six eyes blinking in a bit of a shy way, but with a beaming smile. “My name is Akira Shida. I thought it proper to introduce myself.”

Koharu nearly let out a small yelp, but she clamped her mouth shut hard.  No matter how much she told herself the other girl was no threat, there was still some animal instinct that prompted the moth to fear the spider. Though even without the spider-thing, the ninja-sneaky thing was pretty startling all on its own.  Even still, she would also admit, the other girl was otherwise kind of cute.

“Not at all,” Tokoyami said, giving the spider-girl a polite nod.  “It is a pleasure to meet you.  I’m Asuka Tokoyami.”

Todoroki gave a small wave. “Likewise.  I am Izumi Todoroki.”

“And I’m Koharu Kocho,” Koharu added.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Please,” Tokoyami went on, gesturing to the bench beside her, “sit.  Join us.”

“Thank you kindly.” Suddenly the “spikes” on her back extended into eight spider-like limbs which carried her over in just a few seconds. They made no sound as the legs scurried across the ground, easily lifting Shida’s body up and placing her down at the lunch table.  It reminded Kocho a bit of seeing Shoji extend and walk on his extra-four arms.  Once she was seated, the legs quickly retracted into her back, once more looking like a set of eight spikes. “I wanted to apologize for Tatsuma’s behavior earlier. She’s very.. intense, but she has her reasons.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t know anything about having intense classmates like that,” Todoroki said, the corners of her mouth tugging upward in a mischievous smile.  

“She is correct,” Tokoyami went on.  “I’m reasonably confident Kirishima-Bakugo will behave herself, especially with her father here, but it isn’t impossible she’ll react violently if provoked enough.”

“She sure seemed like she didn’t like us,” Koharu said.  She took a last drink of her smoothie, slurping up the remains.  “Sorry.  Noisier than I thought it was going to be.”  

“Quite alright,” Shida assured them with a friendly smile. She frowned a bit at Tokoyami’s statement. “You may wish to advise her not to act on that impulse. Tatsuma is very strong.”

There was a small shift in Todoroki.  Koharu knew that she and Kirishima-Bakugo were friends, but just based on what she’d seen of the two of them, it seemed even deeper than that.  Todoroki seemed to be the only person who could make Kirishima-Bakugo back down from anything.

“As much as I am able to occasionally steer Katsumi,” Todoroki said, “she will ultimately make her own decisions.  Especially where her pride is concerned.”  She frowned in concern though.  “But she is also too stubborn to know when to give up.  How strong is ‘very strong’?”    

Shida seemed reluctant for a moment. “I have a loyalty to my school, and to my classmates, so I can’t give you specifics. However, I don’t want any incidents that could impact the importance of this trip. It’s not broadcast like UA’s, but you’re aware Shiketsu has a Sports Festival as well?”

Todoroki nodded. “Yes.  I have even attended a few of them, at Shinji’s father’s invitation. Very intense completion, if less focused on spectacle than ours.”

“Tatsuma won this year’s, but she did not just win. She dominated the tournament in a way no one has in decades. This tournament included myself, Kaz, Seung, and Shinji. Shinji’s stronger than his dad was at his age. He made it to the finals as well. He unleashed winds that damaged the very stadium, but Tatsuma still beat him with little trouble.” Akira’s eyes seemed like they were looking somewhere else for a moment. “She’s not someone you want to be across the ring from.”

And Kirishima-Bakugo hadn’t even made it out of the first round of the tournament, Koharu remembered, defeated by Todoroki’s elemental power, though it had been a very close thing. But Kirishima-Bakugo’s real power was in her ferocity, not her physical strength.  Regardless, Koharu was grateful that she hadn’t had to fight either of them.  Against fire, ice, and explosions, moth-powers probably wouldn’t have added up to much.  

Yet, she told herself.  Wasn’t much good yet.  Once she got more training, maybe she could keep up.

“Shinji is incredibly powerful,” Todoroki replied.  “Anyone who could take him down easily is formidable indeed.”

Tokaymi let out a frustrated sigh. She pinched the bridge of her beak with her fingertips. “Of course, that’s who she’d pick a fight with.”

“Maybe it won’t happen?” Koharu tried.  She didn’t believe her own words, but it never hurt to be hopeful.

Todoroki frowned again. “I will tell her to use all caution. That is all I can promise.”

“Thank you. I will speak to Seung, if Tatsuma will listen to anyone it’s her. Granted Seung has her own reasons to dislike the status quo,” Shida said off-handedly. She was clearly someone who liked to talk, but probably didn’t always realize how much she was saying. Seung must have been the foreign Shiketsu student, Koharu realized.

“She was definitely giving us the evil eye when we got off the bus,” Koharu said.  Like she’d been judging them actually, and assigning them a failing grade.  “What was that us in particular or…?”

“That’s a very long story.” Shida thought for a moment. “It’s not you specifically, but she has little love for the Pro Hero system. At least Japan’s version of it.”

And yet she was enrolled in a Hero school?  Maybe she was trying to change the system from within?  The system wasn’t flawless, but it sure seemed like it was better than it was a couple of decades ago.  “Ah, I won’t pry then,” she said.

“Are there any of your other classmates we should be concerned about?” Tokoyami asked. “Mineta’s boyfriend seems exuberant but harmless enough.”

“Oh Shinji’s a sweetheart,” Shida agreed. “Kazuchika’s a huge flirt. The only problem you’d have with him is him possibly hitting on you, but he gets the message if you’re not interested. That doesn’t mean he’d stop being flirtatious, just that he’s not actively trying to sweep you off your feet anymore. He means no harm, it’s just who he is.”

“Good,” Tokyami replied, seemingly satisfied with that.  “Beyond Kirishima-Bakugo, I doubt you have anything to worry about from our class. Some of them can be a bit annoying or egotistical, but none of them would mean you any real harm.”   She seemed to consider something.  “Well, there is Mineta.  She can be rather flirtatious as well.”

“There is Monoma,” Todoroki said.  “That’s the blond boy, from 1-B.  He may try to start something.”

Koharu frowned.  “He seemed nice enough at the Sports Festival. He took losing to me pretty gracefully.” He’d even brought her snacks between matches.  Though she knew interclass rivalries could get pretty intense. It did remind her she hadn’t spoken to him since then.  She really should.

“Katsumi certainly does not like him,” Todoroki said.  “Though the whole of it is a bit more complex.  But he does believe in trying to make his class successful and proving their superiority.  He may try to start an additional rivalry.”

Ah.  A little too much class pride then.  That’d do it.  

“You may wish to try and keep him away from Tatsuma and Seung,” Shida advised. “I don’t “think” Tatsuma would care about it enough to do something, but Seung has a short fuse for, and I’m quoting here: “Stupid hero penis-jousting.” I probably horribly mangled that. I’m trying to learn Korean better, but it’s slow going.” She says this with a nervous chuckle.

“A bit blunt,” Todoroki said, trying and failing to hide a smile, “but quite accurate really.”

“I’ll speak to Tetsutetsu,” Tokyami said.  She didn’t have the facial structure for a smile, but it sounded like she was trying not to laugh or groan in frustration and had somehow managed to split the difference.  “She usually has a handle on him.”

“And I’ll talk to Chihiro,” Todoroki added.  “Perhaps she can influence him now.”

There was the strong suggestion in their tones that neither of them had much confidence in that endeavor. But Koharu really didn’t have the context to make any real guesses as to how it might turn out.  It certainly sounded like there were a lot of potential tinder boxes waiting to go off.  Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that...

[renee-writer]

Room and Board Chapter 16 To Early!

“Oh no no!” Jamie, who had been packing for his next business trip, hurries in to the kitchen where his wife was. At first he thought she had spilled something. There is a small puddle of liquid under her. Then he sees her face. He quickly puts two and two together. “My waters have broke. It is far to early.” Said calmly before she breaks into tears.

“Eight months is not to bad. Don't panic love. I will just ring..”

“We know nothing! The breaths, the stages, oh bloody hell, her crib isn't even set up yet!”

They planned on a full day, last minute lamaze course when he returned in three days followed by a hospital tour and finishing the nursery. Now..

“Claire, women have been doing this for many a millennia without all that. You will not be alone. Come love, let's get you cleaned up and ring the Abernathy’s.” She is a bit calmed by his calmness. She lets him lead her into their room. He helps her out of her wet pants and into dry ones with a thick napkin to catch the waters. He rings the Abernathy’s and is told to bring her right into the office first. As he is talking to them, he gathers up what he thinks they will need at the hospital, extra clothes, phone chargers, lollys( he kens she can't eat in active labor), tennis balls in a sock for her back( he had done some reading) and Becca's homecoming outfit and some nappies. The carset was already in the car.

“Come love. We need to head to the office.”

“Not hospital?”

“They wish to check you first.” She stands and the first of the many pains to come, grips her. She stops dead and reaches for him. He places the bag down and takes her hands. “Breath with me.” He isn't sure he is doing it right but, it helps steady her and that is all that matters. When it releases her, he hurries them to the car.

“Well, you are in labor. Close to three cms dilation and fifty percent effaced.” Gillian tells her. She had rode out five contractions since the first one and is glad they are doing something.

“So, to hospital?” she asks.

“Yes, I know you are concerned about her being early. But, she is strong and healthy. She has gained weight as you have and, though still will be small, baby Beauchamp should be just fine.”

“Baby Fraser. Rebecca Julia Fraser.” Jamie corrects as he helps his wife through another contraction. “We are married.”

“Sorry. With everything forgot to..” she stops as the pain reaches it's peak. They breath through it.

“Okay. Glad you did. I wouldn’t have found you under Claire Beauchamp.”

“No. For her, you see, to give her a daddy.”

“I see. Congratulations.” She sees more then that. She sees the way Jamie looks at her. Convenience for her but love for him. She prays he isn’t hurt.

“Thank you.”

“Off to hospital. I will be right behind you.”

He is separated from her during check-in. He takes the time to make some phone calls. First to his business partner and Godfather, Murtagh.

“Jamie lad, where are you? The train leaves in less then an hour.”

“I can't come. You know the material better then me. You can do it alone.”

“Why can't you come?”

“My wife is in labor.” Dead silence. He really had buggered thos whole thing up. This is the first time hearing about any of this.

“Your who now?”

“It is a bit complicated. I've no time to give you a full explanation. Ring Jenny. I promise to sit down and explain it all as soon as possible.” He rings off before he can say more and rings his sister.

“Claire is in labor. Murtagh kens but only my wife is in labor. I had no time to fill him in. Will you?”

“Take a breath brother. Aye, I will. Keep us updated. We will be praying.”

“Thank you Jenny.”

“Son of a bitch, this hurts!” Claire cries out as she stops and presses her back against the wall. She and Jamie had been walking for hours. The contractions or' the bloody pains straight from hell' as Claire calls them, have been getting longer and closer together. Her ability to take them with grace is long gone.

“Breath love. It is almost over.”

“I want to pull his cock and balls over his bloody head and down to his arse. Then he may feel what I am.” She declares. He winces at the thought and at the knowledge of the pain she is in.

“I can’t do this anymore. I want to go home. I will come back tomorrow. Okay?” she asks Gillian and Jamie a few hours later.

“Sorry luv. You are almost at seven. It will be over soon.” Gillian sooths. Jamie cringes. He knows the worst is coming.

Bloody f*cking hell!” Her grip on Jamie's hand tightens to the point of pain but he says nothing knowing hers is so much worse.

“No Claire! Use that energy to breath. She and you need oxygen.” Gillian orders. She tries, he he, breathing with her for a few seconds. But, as she reaches the crest and feels like she being torn into pieces, she screams. It is all she can do.

“Good Christ! Can't you give her something?”

“It is far to late. She is to close.”

“Help Jamie! Oh please!” There is nothing he can do but assure her it is almost over.

Transition lasts but twenty minutes, fifteen contractions, right on top of each other. It is the closest they come to experiencing hell on earth. When Gillian says that she can push, they both breath deep sighs of relief.

“Press down as hard as you can. Good. Just like that.” She sits, knees up, her back against Jamie's chest.

“Wait! Oh, how will they know that she is ours? I mean, you know.”

“A band will go on her hand that matches you guys' as soon as she is born. No worries there. Another contraction. Push.”

It turns out to be the easiest part. With her being a wee thing. A few good pushes later, and she is crowning. A few more and she is slipping out.

“Here she comes.” As her body clears her mam's, she has the band placed around her right hand and she is lifted up on to her mam's chest. Her startled brown eyes meet her mam's honey colored ones.

“Oh, it is you. Hi.” Claire says, through her tears as she strokes her hand over her soft black curles and over her strangly pale skin.

“Hello lass. I am your daddy.” An equally choked up Jamie adds.

After a few minutes, in which the afterbirth is delivered, Jamie cuts the cord and she is taken away to be weighted, measured, and bathed. She is returned wrapped up in a pink blanket with a pink cap on her head.

“Four pounds ten ounces. Eighteen inches long. But very healthy.” Gillian announces as Jamie cuddles her.

“Her skin. Will she stay light?”

“No. It takes a few days for black and biracial babies to get their true color.”

“Okay. Small but okay?”

“Yes. You did good mommy.”

“Do you wish to breastfeed her?” a nurse asks after she gets Claire cleaned up and comfortable on a clean bed.

“It is best for her. Yes, let’s try.” She helps her position the baby, shows her how to get her mouth open wide and how to make sure she takes all the nipple and areola. She is soon contentedly sucking. Jamie walks back in from making calls.

“Jenny says congr.. Oh look at her!”

“It is so weird. It feels so weird, in a good way. Though it makes my uterus contract. It will help, they say, us both.”

“I can see that.” He watches with a grin, softly touching her head. “God, she is a beauty.”

“She is. A relief. I can see… but I see her more.”

“It is what I was praying for.” She smiles and rest her head against his shoulder.

“Rebecca Julia Fraser. Mother: Claire Elizabeth Fraser. Father James Mackenzie Fraser. “ She feels out her birth certificate with a huge smile. The protection the Fraser name offers is tremendous. Jamie signs it with pride. She is now a Fraser, protected by a clan almost as auld as Scotland.

[catgluue]

Chapter Five: Trapped

I’m back, babies!! And IT IS STILL ROYAI WEEK IN MY HEART. Basically this took forever because I’m writing this by the seat of my pants and I tried to make it work with the prompts in the order given (if we ignore the fact that I am loosely referencing the prompts at best) but you know what I give up, this is happening, it’s fine. 

Anyway big BIG thank you to everyone who reads and/or reviews, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. 

Read on A03

Chapter Five: Trapped

Come nightfall she tries to sleep on the couch, which seems the most promising spot given her limited success two nights ago. After tossing and turning - when did the clock become so unbearably loud? - she finds herself walking up the stairs seemingly aimlessly, until she’s back in the room that used to be Roy’s. She takes a moment to stand in the window, looking out at the moon lighting the tops of the trees and the lawn and the path she used to walk long ago, before she chose another path entirely. Settling down on top of the bed she imagines it still smells faintly of him and drifts off more quickly than she would have thought possible.

When she awakens suddenly the moonlight has shifted, and there are noises in the hall.

Silently she rolls off the bed, hitting the wood floor noiselessly, grateful for the old carpet that still sits under the bed that muffles the faint thud of her stocking feet hitting the floor. Someone is creeping in the hall. Someone is not as stealthy as they think. Two someones, she amends, pulling her sidearm from the holster at her back and holding her breath to catch the faint scuffling as they move along. When they enter the room in a burst of noise and light (what kind of burglars bring a flashlight , she thinks in annoyance) she’s ready, neatly grazing the shin of one and then the thigh of the other. They’re bleeding profusely with superficial wounds when she gets to her feet, having taken the cord off the curtain, and sweeps the feet out from the slower one with her leg. The other thunders down the stairs and she pays him no mind, flipping this one onto his back, her knee digging into his spine as she wraps the cord tightly around his wrists.

“Who sent you?” she asks, guessing that this wiry man in threadbare clothing isn’t here to rob her of his own volition. The house is in disrepair and everyone knows her family was all but destitute by the end.

“Bitch!” he spits, and she sighs, digging her knee in further as he lets out an involuntary yell against the carpet; he can answer or he can crack a rib.

“What is your name?” she tries instead and this time he gasps out an answer.

“Johnson,” he gasps. “Frank Johnson, and that’s all you’ll get, I hope it’s satisfactory.”

She gets to her feet, dragging him up with her, just as Fuery comes thundering into the room, gun drawn.

“Captain, are you hurt?”

“No,” she replies. “Did you get the other one?”

They did, as it happens, and he’s tied to a chair in the kitchen by the time they get downstairs. Havoc has his weapon drawn but looks unconcerned; the colonel has a single white glove on and an impassive expression that would be unreadable to everyone but her, and Breda is eating an apple noisily while regarding the robber with a stony expression. Their second captive’s face is nearly the same color as the glove that he eyes warily while he sings like a canary.

“-said there might be one woman in the house, didn’t say anything about the damn Hero of Ishval being here! This is well above my pay grade if you ask me-”

“Well did he mention that the woman was the country’s most renowned sharpshooter?” Roy is saying dryly. “You’d think that would be pertinent information. Hawkeye, are you all right?”

“Fine, sir,” she says, depositing Frank in a chair next to the other man. No one bothers tying him up.

“Good. Well, now you are both going to tell me what you were intending to do with my Captain,” he directs at the two men, expression dark as he fingers the end of his ignition glove with his other hand. “And I’d choose your words carefully.”

“We weren’t to hurt her,” Frank volunteers, “Just ah, apprehend her.”

“Idiots,” Breda mutters, rolling his eyes, and Riza appreciates this. She gives a quick half-smile as his eyes flicker to hers and he grins widely, taking another bite of the apple.

“Sir,” she interjects, but Roy is already standing from his perch on a barstool tugging on his glove reflexively.

“And why , exactly, were you sent to apprehend her?”

“Look,” the other man says, speaking up at last, “We weren’t told the specifics - clearly, or else we’d have been more prepared. I mean we haven’t even talked to this guy in the flesh-”

“ General ,” she cuts in, loudly enough that he turns to look at her. “What if they did apprehend me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out-”

“No, I mean suppose I go with them, and see what this criminal mastermind wants,” she suggests. Roy’s brow furrows.

“Absolutely not .”

“I dunno boss, that’s a pretty solid plan. She goes in as bait, with us as backup. We find out what exactly this person’s endgame is, and then we take them down,” Breda reasons, apple discarded as he carefully and conspicuously cleans his own gun, an action that Riza is certain isn’t altogether necessary but helps to set the mood.

“I’ll go ahead, find a vantage point, it’ll be safe as can be,” Havoc volunteers. Fuery is looking curiously at Roy, gun still in the arm that hands slack at his side.

“Sorry if this sounds insubordinate, sir, but since when do you not think the Captain can take care of herself?” he asks in a quiet voice. Riza cocks an eyebrow at the General and Havoc’s face lights up.

“An excellent point,” he says. “Why wouldn’t you trust your own bodyguard in this very important capacity?” They have him there. Roy is regarding his Lieutenant with a mixture of confusion and annoyance when Riza turns to Frank, hands on her hips.

“You’re going to take me to whoever this person is.”

“That’s it, you’re just gonna untie us and come willingly?” The other man asks incredulously. “You’ll be making our job real easy, thanks for that.”

“They really have no idea who they were trying to kidnap,” Breda mutters. “You’ll want to watch your mouth when you’re talking to a lady with five guns on her person.”

-x-

“Hmm,”

Riza lifted her head from where it had been laying on her arms and turned slightly at the sound of Roy’s hum behind her. She was sprawled out on one of the couches in the parlor, him seated in a chair next to her with pen and paper, mapping out the intricate tattoo that fanned out across her back. It was late afternoon on the second day of this study and she’d been dozing as he worked in silence.

“What?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate. “Find something interesting?”

“It’s all interesting,” he said earnestly. “I’ve been trying to sketch it first and worry about figuring it all out later but sometimes pieces just catch my eye.” She knew perfectly well that he hadn’t been diligently sketching for two days - for one thing it had been two days, and while it was a complicated array it wasn’tthat complicated. For another, the sound of his pencil scratching against the paper was often punctuated by long moments of silence while he contemplated whatever he had written down. She, in no hurry to end the process, hadn’t said anything, content to bask in the dreamy autumn sunlight and his presence.

“I don’t know anything about it,” she confessed. “I’m just the human sketchbook.” She didn’t mean for it to sound bitter but to her ears it was petulant, and she bit her lip in annoyance. She started as his fingertips brushed along her shoulder blade, down towards her spine. He had barely touched her during the whole process, excepting the few times he reached out without thinking. Riza didn’t know how to tell him she didn’t mind.

In a way the past few days felt like she was fulfilling the destiny her father set for her; a path she was bound to take regardless of what her own wishes might be. Her father told her that she was to guard his secrets and disclose them to a worthy alchemist who conspicuously remained nameless. In the years to follow she wondered, many times, if he saw her as some being of judgement, placed in his life to choose a worthy successor, instead of a very human daughter who only craved love and support. She saw herself as a train on a track, chugging steadily towards the only possible destination. Riza had been frustrated at times by her apparent lack of options but if the September sun, the worn, comfortable furniture, and the dark-haired man she trusted above all others constructed a prison, it was one she would have gladly spent the rest of her days in.

But the tattoo was only so big. She knew her days in the sun were numbered.

“It’s - I’m not done yet by any means, but considering this is flame alchemy we’re talking about I had wondered why there’s so much to do with air. It makes sense of course: fires are controlled by oxygen flow, among other things. But this part seems to indicate that a spark or some existing source of fire is needed.”

Riza half rolled over, holding the pillow to her chest as she turned to look at him. He snatched his hand back as she did so, turning pink as if just now realizing he was touching her.

“So it’s not about creating fire at all - it’s about controlling and directing it.”

“Exactly. I guess I’m just surprised, considering the secrecy surrounding it. There really is no such thing as creating fire from alchemy-”

“A spark has to already exist,” she finished. His eyes traveled up her body from the array to settle on hers, before quickly flicking back down to his notebook.

“It’s getting late, we can stop for the day if you want to,” he said. She turned her head and nestled her cheek back into the pillow, letting her eyes close as she breathed in deeply.

“No,” she told him. “I’m fine where I am.”

-x-

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me what this is all about?” She asks as they lead her away from the old house and down the sloping lawn towards the forest. The moonlight illuminates the grounds a little, and she’s always had exceptional night vision, but she doesn't see anything ahead but trees. In fact unless things have drastically changed she knows for a fact that there’s nothing ahead but trees; not for five, six miles when they’d run into the O’Connell’s lands. But she doubts they’re taking her there, somehow. Wherever they’re headed is somewhere in the woods - her woods.

“Course not,” Aldman - she was able to get a name, at least - tells her almost cheerfully. “Not my business, anyhow. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“What’s in it for you?”  

“Money, of course,” he responds.

“Yeah, all Rainer wants is the alchemy, he said. We get anything of material value,” Frank supplies, and Aldman nudges him hard in the ribs as Riza lets out a quiet laugh.

“Anything of value? Sorry to disappoint you but there’s nothing there, alchemy or otherwise,” she lies. Well not quite a lie - everything she’s found so far of her mother’s jewelry is gone from the house already, given to the General this afternoon for safekeeping.

“What do you mean by that?” Frank asks sharply.

“What, do you think I would have left gold bricks in the house for fifteen years while I survived off an army salary? Unless you collect antique armoires, I hope this Rainer person has something else to pay you off with.” More than threats of shooting or incineration, this seems to give them pause. It’s one thing to be darkly informed that harming a hair on Riza’s head will result in immediate immolation but quite another to realize one might not get paid for a job one has mostly completed.

“No more talking,” Aldman growls, jabbing her with the one pistol they have between them, and she rolls her eyes in the darkness. “We’re nearly there anyhow.”

Riza peers through the trees, searching for any kind of a structure, or even a person , but still sees nothing, nothing but trees growing thickly around them. Aldman and Frank hang back and she balks, but starts walking again at a nudge from the pistol, though she walks slowly, scanning the forest carefully. She used to play in these woods as a child, but the same trees now seem unfamiliar, and despite her assurance that these criminals are blundering fools, faintly menacing in the near-darkness.

She’s almost past the tree when she sees the transmutation circle, carved into the bark just below eye level.

Riza digs her heels in and whirls around, reaching for her own gun concealed at the small of her back and as she does so she sees the same mark on another tree, feet away; she’d been about to walk between them.

“What is this?” she demands, pointing her gun at Aldman, who is pointing his right back at her.

“Keep walking,” he orders her and she decides all bets are off. Before she can yell for backup Frank moves faster than she thought he had the ability to, ducking under her gun and slamming into her midsection. She falls backwards, and has the wind knocked out of her as she hits the floor. She rolls, gasping, and jumps to her feet, pulling her gun up-

Only to find she’s aiming at her own back.

She sees herself suspended between the trees, arms stretched out to either side, mid-fall, for all the world like an insect caught in a spiderweb. The two men on the other side look about as surprised as she feels, Frank stepping forward to look at her face while Aldman grins, gun lowering. She holds up her hands and finds they have an odd, transparent quality to them, and sinks to her knees. The forest floor makes no noise as she settles onto it.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Frank is saying. “Rainer wrote ‘just get her through the trees’ and he’d take care of the rest but I wasn’t expecting this. Now what, we leave her? How do we get our cut with all those soldiers swarming the mansion anyway?” Aldman doesn’t answer, but lifts his pistol and puts a bullet between Frank’s eyes. The other man drops like a stone, and Aldman walks through the pair of trees purposefully, stepping out of his own body as though it was as comfortable as slipping off a pair of shoes.

Riza rises slowly to her feet, doing her best to ignore the yelling as Havoc and Fuery descend on the scene, guns drawn - she supposes that whatever she is now, they won’t be able to help her; their yelling sounds muffled, as though she’s hearing it from beneath several inches of water.

“What did you do to me?” she asks him. The pistol is a comforting weight in her hand, though she knows it won’t do much for her now, a shade of its former self. Just like her. Fuery takes off running back towards the house while Havoc inches towards her, delicately holding a hand up to her neck, feeling for a pulse. She turns her back on the whole scene, not wanting to see who Fuery would inevitably bring back. She doesn’t want to see the look on Roy’s face when he sees her hanging there.

“You’re not an alchemist,” he shrugs. “It’ll go over your head.”

“Try me,” she challenges. This feels like a test of some kind and from the way he grins, she feels both that she’s somehow passed and that this isn’t a good thing. There is one thing that she knows to be a universal truth about all alchemists; each and every one of them is at one point convinced that he alone understands the idiosyncrasies of the universe. She suspects that this is that moment for Aldman - Rainer, whoever - but she knows that like all the others, his moment of hubris shall be fleeting. Her grip tightens.

“Oh it’s impressive,” he tells her. “You see there’s a little trick I know - one that the military wasn’t much interested in when they learned the restrictions-”

“Let me guess, the restrictions involve you needing to seperate my consciousness from my body,” she says flatly. He doesn’t flinch away from her furious glare - with her being incorporeal, there isn’t a reason to.

“And I thought you were just the muscle and Mustang was the brains of the operation,” he purrs. “But unfortunately yes.”

“Well it can’t be permanent,” she says. “Or else you’d be trapped here with me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he tells her, fishing out a pendant necklace from a string around his neck. The pendant is an oval of beaten copper, and she can see a sigil etched into the metal. “I’ve taken precautions. I don’t think that I can say the same for you; I just needed to isolate your subconscious so we could really delve into things.”

“So I’m asleep,” she surmises, looking back at her prone body suspended between the trees. Three figures are running full-tilt from the house and she turns away again, taking an unsteady, shallow breath before she continues. “Should be easy enough to wake me.”

“Closer to a coma, so think again,” he corrects her.

“CAPTAIN!! ” The anguished cry breaks through whatever barrier hangs between her and her team as the men skid to a halt before the tree. Breda ducks to check Frank and Havoc waves him away, as Fuery prods at Aldman - Rainer - and her General walks up to where she hangs limply, lifting a hand and hesitantly holding it to her face, his confident mask briefly dropping to show a man utterly lost. Riza makes herself turn away.

“You haven’t explained what you want from me that you couldn’t get from me while awake,” she says, and he fishes around in his pocket, finally pulling out what seems to be a photograph.

“Think of it as being a little like hypnosis,” he explains. “But more hands on, a touch more visceral. We’re going to sift through your memories together.” She doesn’t like the sound of this one bit - sifting through her memories isn’t something she even cares to do alone. But she can’t see that she has much choice at all in the matter -  she’s been forced from her body and stands as a shade in front of him, the General calling to her behind her back, and there is nowhere to go.

[jarienn972]

Curse of Undoings - Part 13

I must apologize that this chapter took a little longer to complete than planned as we've been busy packing and moving stuff to our new home. Moving isn’t fun at all and I've been so exhausted every night that I couldn't look at a Word doc with out my eyes crossing! 

But I finally managed to get it all completed and after some technical difficulties earlier tonight, I can finally post it!  This conclusion does contain some flashbacks to earlier events as Emma has to confront her guilt so I have to add a little content warning (although most of the whump is of the angst variety).  How will Killian react when he wakes? Will Fiona's plan to destroy true love come to pass or will Emma decide to run?  

Tagging my whump-loving friends @killian-whump, @castielamigos and @hookaroo for this last installment. Hope everyone enjoyed the ride as much as I enjoyed writing this!  (I’ve found writing whump to be very good therapy for stress lately.)

Read from the beginning on AO3 or FF.net or here on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve

A little over an hour later, before heading back to his office for his power nap, Dr. Whale checked in as his patient was moved into one of Storybrooke Hospital's two Intensive Care rooms. Killian Jones was about as stable as they had expected post-op so the doctor gave his blessing for family to visit. At this late hour, he instructed his staff that Emma was welcome to stay the night if she wished but that all other guests could remain only until 10pm.

No one on the hospital staff could imagine the anguish that Emma was experiencing over what seemed like a simple act - showing support for her recuperating husband. Yesterday, she and Killian had exchanged wedding vows and now, merely a single day later, she was a heartbeat away from becoming a widow. But that thought scarcely scratched the surface of her emotion. None of these people knew what Emma had done while cursed. Most could barely recall anything that had happened during their cursed day, but Emma remembered too much – and her guilt ran deep. She was fully responsible for where Killian now lay. She may not have pulled the trigger, but she'd given herself fully to the false memories Fiona had forced upon her.

Why hadn't she been strong enough to resist? Why didn't she believe her own son? Henry had been trying to tell her the truth, but then so had Killian, and she'd dismissed them both. She wasn't the one who'd fired the bullet into Killian's chest, but she may as well have. What she'd done was unforgivable.

As the elevator doors parted on the third floor, Emma took a tentative step into the corridor, grateful that Henry was at her side. She couldn't have done this alone. He'll, she wasn't even sure she was capable of facing her husband even with her son here providing support. Her knees were already shaking and the flock of butterflies that had taken up residence in her stomach had her ready to vomit - although she took a minute bit of comfort in the fact that Killian couldn't tell her how much he hated her while he was comatose.

Her heart leapt into her throat as they made their way down the hall, getting closer to Killian's room. Emma was certain that Henry could hear the wild thumping from inside her chest, but he'd never let her know if he did. Despite all of the horrible things she'd said to him, Henry had already forgiven her, giving her a glimmer of hope that Killian might forgive her too. Of course, she'd only assaulted her son with words. She'd done far worse things to her husband.

"Emma," the nurse behind the desk greeted her with a warm smile. "Your husband is in the room on the left. We've tried to make him as comfortable as possible until he regains consciousness, but if you see anything you aren't happy with, please let us know and we'll see if we can make things better. I just want to let you know that he's going to look a little pale and possibly a little swollen. They're just typical side effects that will gradually return to normal as he recuperates. There's a chair in the room that folds out into a little bed if you wish to stay here tonight, although we can't promise that it won't be a little noisy. Medical staff will be in and out all night checking on his recovery."

"It's fine," Emma replied, trying hard to force a gracious smile onto her own lips. "I… I don't know yet…"

"it's alright. We don't expect you to rush into any decisions," the nurse assured her. "He's stable, but he won't be conscious for a while yet. It will do him good to have family support so why don't you go ahead in to see him?"

"Thanks," Henry responded for his mother when Emma hesitated, steering her towards the floor to ceiling glass partition that defined the room that his stepfather occupied. The sliding door was open and even from this distance, the unnatural sounds emitted by the machines inside attacked her senses.

Emma wasn't certain what she really expected but there was nothing to hide behind. Everything was transparent – no real door and no opaque walls – only a barrier of crystal clear glass that wouldn't prevent her from seeing the battered, broken shell of her husband. Her knees didn't want to hold her upright anymore and every nerve ending in her body was itching with the instinct to flee.

She could barely bring herself to look at Killian as he lay motionless on the narrow bed. He looked so small and frail, nearly engulfed by the plethora of monitors and intimidating machines surrounding him. His closed eyes appeared sunken with deep, darkened circles defining them (as if he'd smudged his kohl far too thick), the blackness standing out starkly against the pallid, almost grayish tone of his skin. The tube that extended down into his windpipe protruded from between his lips and from six feet away, she could hear the distinctive, rhythmic hiss of the ventilator that was essentially breathing for him while his perforated lung healed.

She knew he couldn't see her, couldn't see the tears welling in her eyes as she wallowed deeper into her own guilt. Flashes of her actions began to flood her in increasingly disturbing waves. The baton repeatedly lashing at his back, flaying open skin with every blow, bruising muscle and cracking bone below. And that had merely been the prelude as she'd taken the second torture session to even more depraved depths - leaving him chained, gagged and humiliated for over an hour while she'd prepared.

She'd gone on to shackle him to a metal table and electrocute him, all before committing the ultimate insult by burying his own hook into the sinew of his left shoulder. She'd turned his deepest insecurities against him as she'd forced that cold, steel prosthetic down to the bone – relishing his screams into the gag while she'd grinned and laughed at him. How on earth could she face him? Whatever would she be able to say to defend herself? Would his unconscious ears even hear her beg for forgiveness and say how sorry she truly was?

It was too overwhelming and she wasn't prepared. "I can't do this… I can't do this right now…" she sobbed, yanking herself away from her son's supportive arms. She drew her sleeve across her face in a feeble attempt to erase the tear tracks as she backed away, darting for the relative safety of the elevator.

36 hours later

After a little coaxing and a very serious heart to heart conversation with her family, Emma finally reclaimed the strength that had forsaken her earlier. While it hadn't been even the slightest bit easy to sit at her husband's bedside, she knew it was where she belonged. Dr. Whale had warned that the first night could be rough and he'd not exaggerated. Killian's blood pressure seemed to rise or fall randomly as his overburdened heart struggled to keep pumping and even with the ventilator aiding his breathing, his impaired lungs were barely drawing in enough oxygen, triggering alarms all evening.

But he held on.

By the next evening, he'd made enough improvement that he could breathe on his own and Whale had removed the breathing tube. A less intrusive, narrow cannula tucked beneath his nostrils replaced it, still providing his unconscious body with supplemental oxygen as he recovered from the myriad of wounds. Now, neither Killian's condition nor the inclement weather outside seemed as dire as they'd been just twenty four hours ago.

As the second dawn broke, Emma was awakened by a tendril of hazy sunlight peeking between the window blinds and the gleeful chirping of a little bird perched on the ledge outside. Together, they'd weathered the storm, but first, she had to convince herself that this wasn't a dream. She'd stretched as she planted her feet on the floor, glancing over at the clock hanging on the wall which revealed the time to be nearly 9am. Had she actually slept that soundly? The last thing she remembered was a nurse checking Killian's vitals around 1am. Or maybe it was 2?

She made her way to the window and gently tugged at the cord to open the vertical blinds, blinking at the brilliance and welcome beauty of the blue skies beyond the glass. There wasn't a grey cloud in sight and there was no doubt that the curse was broken. Fiona's dark magic had been vanquished by the simple act of Killian Jones surviving. Physically, she now had the confirmation that he was going to be fine, but so much healing was going to be necessary and with the curse broken and magic returning, she knew she could help him, should he allow it. She certainly could remedy the physical ailments, but she was wise enough to realize that a discussion of magical healing wouldn't be the first subject broached when he woke. Inevitably, she'd have to face him, and after two nights thinking of little else, she was ready to prepare for their uncertain future – at least she thought she was ready.

The buzzing and rattling of her phone against the metal nightstand brought her back down to earth and as she retrieved it, she wasn't the least bit surprised to discover that it was her father calling. Waking up to bright, blue skies probably had everyone in town celebrating another curse defeated, but Emma wasn't exactly ready to celebrate anything just yet, so she hoped he wasn't too overly excited. She answered the call with every expectation of hearing queries about Killian's status but what she ended up hearing caught her entirely off guard.

"Good morning, Dad."

"Emma, I'm so glad you answered. Do you think you can make it down to the station right away?" David asked and Emma could hear the urgency and anxiety in his voice.

"Uh, yeah… I suppose so…" she replied, dragging her boots out from beneath the chair.

"Great! I think the curse broke and things got weird."

"Weird? What sort of weird – giant snowman weird or flying monkey weird?"

"I suppose you'll have to see this one for yourself… I wasn't even sure what to do next…"

"Okay, then… I'll be there in a few minutes. Killian hasn't woke up yet so I don't think he'll miss me…"

"Thanks! See you in a few!" David said before disconnecting the call. She had no idea what could be so pressing at the station but something definitely had David flustered. She sat down for a moment to tug on her boots then grabbed her leather jacket that she'd draped over the back of the fold-out chair. She considered flipping it back into chair form, but decided she'd better not take the extra time. Before leaving, she stooped over to plant a tentative, but tender kiss onto Killian's forehead and then scurried out the door. The curse might have been broken but there was still apparently never a dull moment in Storybrooke.

Emma didn't even need to take that first step through the doorway of the Sheriff station to understand exactly why David had called. The wail of an unhappy infant echoed throughout the squad room and she immediately spotted her exasperated father pacing the floor in front of the holding cell cradling a screeching newborn against his shoulder.

"Uh – Dad?" she asked, struggling to wrap her brain around what an infant might be doing here in the station. "Why are you holding a screaming baby?"

"I don't really know… I came in this morning around eight and went into your office with every intention of helping catch up on some paperwork. After checking the answering machine for any reports that might have come in overnight with the storms, I sat here listening as Gideon was in the cell grumbling about breakfast being late. I was ignoring him, but just as the rain finally let up and the skies cleared, I heard this little one squawking from inside the holding cell."

"The baby was inside the cell?"

"Yes, and only Gideon was in there before. I think this is him."

"Baby Gideon?" Emma asked incredulously, realizing that in Storybrooke's timeline, Gideon would have only been a few weeks old. The Dark Realm of the Black Fairy had aged him abnormally and it appeared that breaking Fiona's curse had reverted him back to his true age. "Have you tried calling Belle?"

"You were the first person I called - well, second person. I tried your mother first but she didn't answer so I wasn't sure what else to do."

"Sounds like he's hungry," Emma commented as she decided this would be a good time to test that her magic was restored, conjuring up a bottle full of baby formula. "So nice to have magic back," she smiled as she handed the bottle to David who repositioned the baby into the crook of his elbow. The hungry infant instantly latched on and gulped the milk greedily. "Yep – he was hungry."

"I guess we really should call Belle and maybe Gold," David stated as he stared at the infant in his arms. "Although, since this whole mess with Fiona began after Belle tried to send Gideon away from Rumplestiltskin, maybe calling him isn't such a great idea…"

"I'll leave that up to Belle. You feed that little guy and I'll give her a call. If our hunch is correct and this really is Gideon, hopefully she'll be able to identify him. He was only a few hours old when she handed him over to the Blue Fairy."

One brief phone call to an overjoyed mother and her instant recognition of a very distinct birthmark allowed Emma to reunite Belle with her son. Apparently, this was what the fairies had meant when they'd referenced restoring Gideon's innocence – giving him back a clean slate by reverting him back to his actual age. This time, he'd be raised properly by a loving mother instead of a manipulative, psychotic fairy, but no one really knew if he'd retain any memories of his upbringing under Fiona's control. There was always a chance it could lead to nightmares or some sort of mental disassociation later, but for now, he was a happy baby in his mother's arms and truthfully, Emma was a tiny bit jealous.

What she wouldn't have given to be able to turn back the clock on her own ordeal - to forget every toxic thing she'd said and done while languishing under the control of Fiona's curse. Gideon might not have killed anyone while serving as Fiona's lackey, but he'd hurt a lot of people and somehow, he was still deserving of a restart? She seriously considered taking a dream catcher to strip herself of those hurtful memories, but feared it wouldn't be enough. She'd have to do the same to Killian, to Henry, and to anyone else who knew the truth and where was the fairness in that? No, there wasn't going to be a reset button for her or anyone else who'd been harmed and that fact just stung bitterly.

She'd made her way back to the hospital as soon as she could after the joyful parent-child reunion. As a mother, she was truly happy for Belle – she really was – but she couldn't bear to be surrounded by someone else's joy while she was still so miserable. There was a definite degree of unfairness to it, but Emma supposed that as long as the curse was broken and Killian's life was spared, it wasn't her place to question the fates.

When she arrived, she was almost relieved to find her husband still sleeping soundly, grateful to delay the inevitable confrontation a little while longer. She peeled off her jacket and tossed it casually across the back of the chair before slumping down into the seat that someone from the staff had folded back into a chair. After two nights here, she'd grown accustomed to the constant blips and beeps of the machines, comforted by the fact that fewer devices were necessary and that the sounds had grown increasingly consistent. She found herself watching his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath, noting that normal color was returning to his skin as her eyes drifted upward to see the rosy flush across his cheeks.

Perhaps he was a little too warm? She could see that he had two blankets draped over him, one ivory and another that was a faded pale blue. His brow also seemed to be covered with a faint sheen of sweat so she decided to tug the top blanket off of him, tossing it to the foot of the bed. It must have been a relief to him as he seemed to take a deeper breath and she thought she heard him return a little moan of gratitude when her fingertips stroked his stubbled jowl. She ran a fingernail through his thicker whiskers that had grown nearly into a full beard speckled with flecks of ginger and silver, certain he'd be anxious for a shave once he awakened.

Despite her own lingering doubt, she permitted a ghost of a smile to lift the corners of her lips as she rested her hand atop his, gently curling her fingers around his while cautiously trying not to disturb the IV catheter taped to his wrist. She then prepared herself for what would likely be another long day of waiting by tipping her head back and squeezing her eyes shut before her ears perked at the rustle of fabric. Instantly alert, her eyes flew open as she felt a minute twitch against her fingertips.

"Killian?" she called out expectantly, eager to witness his eyelids flutter open or hear his voice for the first time since she'd regained her senses. She tried to squeeze his fingers to reassure him that she was there with him, but instead of welcoming the gesture, his fingers jerked away from her grasp. "I'm sorry…" she stammered as that single, reflexive motion drove a dagger straight through her already aching heart. "I didn't mean to…"

"Swan?" his gravely, confused voice asked. "Is that you?" The question came with such skepticism that it almost made her want to slink away. She knew he'd already recognized her voice but in her heart, Emma knew why he'd asked that particular question. He wanted to know if it was really her, not the vicious cursed persona waiting to do him further harm.

"Yes, it's me," she replied shyly, her eyes welling both with tears of joy and uncertainty. "It's really me, Killian, and I owe you the biggest apology… What I've done…" She swallowed down the lump forming in the back of her throat and just let it all out. "You have every right to hate me for it and if you don't want me to stay, I understand but I wasn't going to leave until I had the chance to tell you how sorry I am."

Her apology came in rapid fire rambling that had Killian's still-fuzzy brain overloading. He forced his heavy eyelids open, blinking a few times as his sight adjusted to the brightness of the room. He quickly discovered that his weary muscles didn't want to respond but he somehow managed to grasp her wrist, causing her to pause for a breath. "Love, please…," he pleaded with her as he agonizingly shifted his weight enough to enable him to look her in the eye. "That wasn't you."

"You didn't even want me to touch you a moment ago," she sobbed. "I get it – you're still afraid I might hurt you again…"

"What? What do you mean?"

"You pulled your hand away from me when you woke and heard my voice."

"Emma, I was startled. I guess I flinched – probably would have at anyone's touch out of sheer self-preservation instinct…" He had to take a brief pause there as his body reminded him why he was lying in a hospital bed. "I awoke in a strange place with my last waking memory being nothing but pain…" He winced when trying to find a position where he didn't ache, unsure how much longer he could withstand the physical toll that this conversation was taking on him. Everything hurt – the searing ache in his chest, the burning sensation from the countless welts on his back and the dry, scratchy flames licking at his throat, making it agonizing just to swallow, let alone talk. He was beginning to feel his body coaxing him to return to the deep slumber, but he wasn't ready just yet. "Is there something here I could drink?" he finally asked when he couldn't bear the sensation that he'd swallowed a sandbar any longer.

"Um, yeah, I think so…," she answered, almost thankful that he'd changed the subject. She glanced over to the rolling side table where the nurse had earlier left a cup filled with ice chips as they'd anticipated Killian might experience a dry, sore throat when he came around. "Victor wasn't sure how well you'd be able to swallow so he didn't want you drinking too much but he did say you could have some ice. I know it's not much, but…"

"It's fine, Love," he assured her as she scooped up a flat, round chunk of ice onto the plastic spoon the nurse had left for them and raised it to his mouth. She let the ice slide off onto his tongue without saying a word and while he would have preferred to chug a fifth of rum, he thanked her for helping this little bit.

"Try not to talk so much for a while," she advised. "Maybe use some shorter sentences? Victor said your throat might be irritated for a few days from the breathing tube. Are you in a lot of pain right now?"

"Delightful," he grumbled in response to her comment about the breathing tube, whatever that was, but he wasn't quite certain how to reply to her query. He wanted to tell her that of course, he was in a lot of pain, but even in his compromised state, he could tell how much guilt was eating away at her, so he lied for her sake. "I'm sore, but I'll survive." Now it was his turn to ask a question. "What about Fiona?"

"She's gone – sent back to her miserable, lonely realm that she'll never be able to leave again. She won't be back."

"Your family?"

She'd forgotten that he'd been unconscious and bleeding out in the center of Main Street when he'd broken that portion of the Black Fairy's curse by committing an act of True Love as he'd shielded Henry from Gideon's bullet. She didn't think that this was the best time to delve into those darker details so she left out a bit of the tale. "They were all freed from Fiona's snow globe prison when the curse broke. They're all safe and sound and looking forward to seeing you recover. We didn't quite get to finish our wedding reception, or get to our honeymoon for that matter – provided you still want that…"

The insecurity in her voice made him ache even more than all of his wounds. "We'll get there, Love," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere…" He was gradually losing his tenuous grip on consciousness as his body's craving for sleep intensified.

"Why don't you get some rest and we'll talk more when you're feeling stronger?" she urged as his head sunk back against the pillows once again. Emma doubted he'd even heard the last few words as his eyes fell closed. He'd learn soon enough what an important role he'd played, how his sacrifice had freed their family and how his survival (and a tiny pinch of magic) had saved them all. For now, she knew it was best to let him sleep and revel in how much this man loved her – so much that he'd apparently forgiven all the atrocities she'd committed against him. There hadn't been a hint of animosity in anything he'd said and despite her initial fear of rejection, he'd not sent her away. This man who'd once doubted that he could be a hero had prevented all of their undoings and as far as she was concerned, had earned himself a new chapter in the stories Fiona has sought to destroy.

Yep, she thought, Killian Jones – Storybrooke's newest Savior.

[belabellissima]

AU a day - 5. Space

Neil thought he was used to solitude. Ever since his mother had died, then his father and his whole operation had crumbled in the wake of his testimony and cooperation with the FBI, Neil had been alone. Other than a cat or two that he sometimes tossed food to on his way home, Neil really only ever talked with his coworkers. 

They needed to talk, really, and to form relationships between them, because they were heading on a three year mission together to the moon. If there wasn't a strong relationship between them all, then any number of things could go wrong. For the most part, Neil liked his teammates, but he was a liar at heart, so it was easy to fake something that wasn't really there. 

Then they made it to the moon, set up base camp, and began to carry out their jobs. They all had tests to run and meteorites to collect, and before Neil realized it, the mission was halfway over. A year and a half, gone in a blink. It was just another piece of evidence to his familiarity with isolation.

And then the asteroid came.

What started out as a tiny speck in the black sky of space only took minutes to grow as it hurled toward them. It wasn't big, really, probably no bigger than Neil's arm all the way across, but it was devastating in its collision. It hit the ship, ripping it to shreds right in front of Neil's eyes. If he hadn't been outside when it happened, he would have been dead.

As it was, the other seven crew mates were still inside, eating breakfast before joining Neil outside. Neil found their bodies one by one, frozen solid and half buried in the debris that had been jostled around, finally settling in the aftermath.

He salvaged as much as he could - luckily, the ship hadn't exploded upon the collision, and many of the rooms were still sealed. The food was individually packaged, so other than what his crew mates had been eating at that moment, there was still enough food for the remaining  year and a half - now it could last seven times that, with only one person needing it. 

Neil went to the control room next, hoping that he would still be able to contact Earth and let them know what happened.  He picked up the handheld radio and pressed the transmit button

"Hello? This is Neil Josten, calling in. I have an emergency up here."

What was even the protocol for calling back home? Neil was never the one reporting in. He did his job outside, came back, ate, did his daily exercises, and slept. It was always someone else who called in.

The line was static for a long time, but then a bored voice answered his distress signal.

"What."

"Hello? Who is this?'

"The custodian. What do you want."

Neil was shocked into silence for a moment. 

"Um. Where is everyone?"

"It's nighttime. Only a few people are here. The people supposed to be monitoring the room are in the bathroom hooking up."

Oh. Well then.

The voice on the other end repeated, "What do you want."

"I-" Neil's voice cracked. "I don't know what to do."

There was a distinctly mocking pause. 

"There was an accident. An asteroid. The rest of the crew is dead. The ship's unable to fly. I- I don't know what to do."

The voice did not return. Neil waited and waited, but the line remained static.

"Come back," he whispered. The sound was swallowed up by the dead air. Neil dropped the radio, letting it swing down until it brushed the ground, the cord the only thing holding it up.

An eternity later, the radio crackled, and a new voice came on. Neil lunged for the device, scrambling over himself so fast that he nearly fell over in his haste.

"This is Colonel Day, I'm in charge of this mission down here, can you explain the situation to me?"

Neil repeated everything to the new voice. There were a few moments of silence, then, "I'll bring this up to everyone and we will decide how to proceed. In the meantime, stay safe for now. Your duties are on hold."

Before Neil could thank him, the static returned. No one was transmitting.

"That's it?" Neil asked. "I'm stranded here alone and unable to get home and you tell me to stop working and stay safe and you'll talk to some people?"

"Relax," the first voice said. "Don't work yourself up. Day's already gone. He's going to talk to his superiors right now and figure out a way to get you home. You won't be stuck up there forever."

Neil found it slightly easier to breath, but not by much. As much as he loved being as far away from his father's influence, even after his death, he absolutely did not want to be the only living person on the entire planet. Or rather, moon. Just because he was used to being alone didn't mean he liked it. 

Besides, there was a difference between being alone in a city surrounded by people and being truly, completely isolated from literally everything and with no way to change it.

"Neil?" the voice asked. "Talk to me. Stay in your head, don't go away anywhere."

"I'm here."

"Good. Can you tell me what you still have?"

Neil nodded, then realized that of course the other man couldn't see him. "Yeah. I checked the food already, and I still have several years' worth. The electrolysis station is still functioning, so I won't run out of oxygen anytime soon as long as it keeps working. Water is fine for now, parts of the system are a bit damaged, but as long as I keep to only a few rooms on the ship and shut off the other spaces for life support, i'll have quite a bit of energy to keep it going. The gym is damaged, so I'll have to keep exercising on my own with makeshift stuff, but I'll manage. All of the space suits are still intact. I was the only one wearing it when..."

Neil trailed off, remembering the faces of his crew mates, frozen forever in death. At least for the next few days, that is, before the temperatures would begin to rise with the sun's appearance, and instead they would be cooked. Neil would have to move their bodies to a secure, sealed room. He couldn't leave them to be destroyed. They deserved a burial. Everyone did.

"Neil, come back."

"I'm here."

"You keep disappearing on me."

"Please don't leave me," Neil begged. He'd never done that before, not even when his father was hurting him as a child.

"Don't use that word and I won't."

Neil scrambled to figure out what word the man meant. There was really only one option.

"I won't. I promise. Just, don't leave me alone."

Over the line, Neil heard a sigh. "I won't be able to be here all the time. I'm the night custodian, and sometimes the room is not open to people under a certain security clearance. But, I will be here as often as I am able."

Neil close his eyes in relief. "Thank you. Can I ask you one thing?"

"Only one?"

Neil felt a smile tug at his lips. It was quite impressive, really, that this stranger was able to make Neil feel humor in such a stressful time.

"What's your name?"

"Andrew," the man answered.

Andrew, Neil mouthed to himself. It tasted of companionship.

[halcyondigger]

Legends Never Die -Security Breach-

Beneath the Golden Ward, a ferocious blizzard raging dozens of meters above on the surface, a frosted-but-undaunted Rock stood upon a large pipe, his eyes trained on the last wire. A thick covering of intermeshing plating clearly rated to endure  had been steadily blown away, bit-by-bit with four of the five Charge Shots he had at his disposal a day, but at last, it was in sight. The thick electrical cord that, once severed, would help bring this madness to an end. He could only hope that, in other sections of the island, others had managed to track down and sever those nearby them.

“I’m...” Rock put his hand to the ear of his helmet, “I’m almost done, Roll. I’ll be coming back up soon...but I’ll be tapped for the day once I deal with this.”

A bright, burning energy began to build at the barrel of the Mega Buster, expanding further and further still into a blazing sphere, before he took aim -- and, with a tremendous discharge, let the blast fly, his arm blown back from the sheer force. 

The condensed energy shredded through the cord, everything caught within its area almost-immediately vaporized, a resounding explosion heralding his task’s completion. As the dust cloud swept up settled, the frayed ends of the wiring flickered in defiance several times before, thankfully, dying down.

“I... I did it.” He fell onto his plated backside, heaving a breath of relief. “Roll, are you reading me? I think that might’ve been one of the last ones! Everything just cut out down here!”

He turned around, preparing to make back down the tunnel to the service ladder he’d come down on. 

“Are there any...changes...up...?”

Far away in the tunnel, something was staring back at him.  A single, crimson ruby eye shone amidst the blackness.

Rock’s face blanched. Unconsciously, he took a step back.

“...No...” 

“...It can’t be...!”

Another appeared. Then another. A third, and more emerging still.

A shrieking cacophony of clawing, scrambling metal engulfed the shadows as a wave of countless Reaverbots descended upon him from the darkness.

“AGH--!!”

A sudden cry of pain was cut short as a Wolfon and a pair of Horokko barreled into his torso, sending the young Digger caught frozen in shock sprawling back down the cavernous depths beneath the city. Rolling prone for some moments, he quickly scrabbled to his feet, flinging himself off to the side just in time to narrowly avoid being executed by a bombardment of fireballs by a squad of Golbesh.

Four tall humanoid figures sprung over the squat gunners, the spinning drill-like hands of the ever-violent Sharukurusu squealing with malicious intent. Rock raised his arms to defend himself, only to have one of the dangerous appendages jab him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him, before another clubbed him in the back of the head, disorienting his senses as the two who had yet to strike began to bear down on him savagely. His body was thrown between the quartet, lungs burning from lack of breath, his body already aching in earnest from the beating of the long, metal limbs. The assault only came to a respite at one Sharukurusu reared back, slamming its foreleg into Rock’s side and leaving him sprawling back on the ground again. 

The Digger gulped as much breath as he could, his body burning from the lack of oxygen he’d suffered during the gang-up-- but there was no relief to be had as, to his horror, a swarm of doll-like faces descended from the ceiling; an entire squadron of Miitan. His entire body froze, believing he was about to be caught in a chain of powerful explosions, but surprisingly, they did no such thing.

They descended instead upon his limbs and held him down.  A loud slamming in the distance heralded the coming of exactly what they had done this for.

The final eye broke from the countless number, substantially larger than the rest. A terrifyingly huge club of an arm, easily the size of a tree, smashed down into the ground repeatedly in a steady rhythm-- again, and again, and again as it drew closer to him.

One of the colossal Hanmuru Dolls, one of the most powerful and dangerous Reaverbots you could find. And not just any. Oh no, Rock knew this one. It had only one arm...just the same as the Hanmuru Doll he’d bested in the ruins he’d scoured before landing at Kattlelox, all those years ago.

The way its eye blared a merciless blood-red told him it remembered him just as well.

The slamming grew closer, and closer. This was some of the most frightful behavior a Reaverbot could demonstrate, the propensity to deliberately torment their prey out of nothing more than a seemingly bottomless well of hate. 

He had ten seconds. Maybe. Then? Then he would die.

Rock furiously fought against the Miitan holding him down, but in his position, he couldn’t get any kind of leverage against them. No, no, it wasn’t ending like this! Roll was waiting for him up top! He promised her he wouldn’t leave her again, he promised!

His Charge Shots were spent though! All those stupid Stars had left him with were BBs!  ...Gah, fine! FINE! He’d get out of this with just that, then! He’d already overcome so much, come so far, he wasn’t going to get killed like this, down here, never seeing his loved ones again! 

“I’m...not...!”

His buster arm raised what inch or so it could off the ground against the Miitans’ hold.

“...GIVING UP!”

A chain of emission sounded out as, as if by miracle, a slew of energy bullets lit up the darkness. 

The Miitan holding down his barrel was busted apart almost immediately, causing the others to disperse in surprise-- allowing him to raise his arm to shoot the others holding that arm down, with a mighty push, forcing himself back, freeing his legs. Getting back up in a kneeling position, his bewildered face turned towards the Mega Buster,

“Wh....?” He stammered, lost. “It’s-- back?”

A shadow above his head suddenly called back his attention. The Hanmuru Doll was upon him, arm raised to kill.

“Gh--!”

On reflex, Rock drew his right arm back, not knowing what he thought he was accomplishing by it -- by throwing as hard a punch as he could at the descending arm.

Then, his right arm changed.

A sheen of light passed over it, the forearm down being replaced by a huge, heavy engine, topped off by a long, powerful length of coiling steel. The Drill Arm roared to life, crashing in collision against the lethal club mighty enough to crush through steel like so much tissue paper, punching clear through it. 

The now-armless Hanmuru Doll stumbled backwards on its many peglike feet, unable to process what had just transpired. Brandishing his Mega Buster on left arm again, Rock took aim at the monstrosity’s head, sights locked onto the obsessively shining eye. 

“Sorry for never settling things with you before.” The building energy shone at the barrel once more. “But you’re not going to hurt anyone ever again.”

The Charge Shot flew free. With no hope of retreat, the Hanmuru Doll’s entire upper body burst apart in a deafening explosion, the entire surrounding horde of Reaverbots drawing back. They all took a moment to grasp the situation at hand-- then, all at once, their eyes began to glow in the very same was as the other’s had. 

Surrounded by unmatched murderous intent, Rock stepped forward, undaunted.

“Listen to me. I’m not looking for a fight. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not even you.” His right arm began to change again, the Drill Arm being replaced with something new. “But I’m going to protect them. Every single person I can. That’s the promise I made a long time ago. Because, I’m not just Rock Volnutt--”

He raised his new weapon, a sterling silver cannon accented by an emerald eye poised at the entire myriad of Reaverbots.

“--I’m Mega Man Trigger.”

Above ground, a rumbling would sound from somewhere deep below, building more and more, a point of light appearing in the depths of the service tunnel... And then a dazzling, iridescent pillar, the color spectrum dancing in slivers amidst a pure white, broke free from the depths of the earth, column piercing into the sky-- 

--as the light of the Shining Laser heralded the return of history’s final Mega Man.

[renee-writer]

Of Her Dreams Chapter 27 A Child Is Born

“How about James Lambert?” She is huge( in her eyes) and has felt their child move. An occasion that brought tears of joy to both parents eyes. It also prompted this discussion of the child's name.

“I dinna need the bairn named after me.” Said as he strokes her over where they had felt the baby move.

“So do you have an idea?” She replies relaxing under his gentle touch. He smiles and drops a kiss on her lips before bending down to kiss his child.

“Aye, I do. Brian Lambert Henry Fraser. To honor all his patriarchy, aye?”

“Oh Jamie! Perfect.” They don’t discuss female names. So sure it will be a lad.

She spends time sewing and knitting little gowns to cloth her child. Jenny, who had discovered her own coming child a few months ago, shows her how to fold and diaper with the cloth clods. Jamie builds a cradle and a rocking chair. Brian pulls out the Christening gown his children used, presenting it to her. She wept.

She and Jamie choice Murtagh and Geillis as Godparents. “I would have picked you, Uncle Lamb, if you were committed to staying.” He has only agreed to stay until the baby is born.

“I understand love. Murtagh has done a fine job in that role for Jamie. I am sure he will for my grand nephew or niece.” Lambert is having trouble reconciling the pregnant lady with the wee girl his niece was not long ago. He feels such bittersweet pride whenever he looks at her.

She is rocking in the rocking chair when the first pain hits. She stills waiting to see if it will come again. It does and she pulls herself up and goes to find Jamie. He is in the barn. “Jamie.” He looks up and knows.

“It is time?” she can only nod as the pain returns, running through her like a vise. He comes up and takes her hands. She clings to him until the pain releases her. He hurries her back to the house calling for his family. Jenny takes her leading her to her room, stripping her down to her shift. Ian is dispatched to fetch the midwife.

“Oh my lamb. Is there anything I can do?” Uncle Lamb frets as he watches the pain run through here.

“Got in morphine handy.” She grunts.

“Sorry. Fresh out.”

“Well hell.”

A few hours later, the midwife and Jenny lead her around the room as the men drink and pace below them. “Jenny, I can’t do this!” The pains are coming every three minutes, as strong as the tides that shape the shore and she is exhausted.

“Mo phiuthar, ye are. Ye are stronger then ye ken ye are. Every pain brings the bairn closer.” They make another round around the room.

“I want Jamie!” she cries out a half hour later. The pains are right on top of each other and she needs him.

“It isna done. A lad in the birthing room.” The midwife relies.

“I want my husband! Now!” She growls.

“I will go get him.”

“Mistress Murray, ye canna.”

“Mo phiuthar needs him. I can.” She tells her before hurrying out and downstairs.

The men are sitting around the fireplace, all but Jamie. He paces back and forth. He stops when he sees Jenny approach.

“Is he here?”

“Nae. Close. Claire has need of ye bráthair.” He doesn’t hesitate, taking the steps two at a time.

“Jenny, my niece, she is alright?”

“Aye Lambert, she is. I promise.” He sighs in relief as she runs back upstairs.

“Oh God! Oh hell! This bloody hurts!” She tells the room as Jamie supports her as she presses down in effort to bring the child into the world.

“Aye, but ye are almost done. I see the bairn's hair. Red like da's.” the midwife cheerfully says. Claire redoubles her efforts. A deep groan and breath and she starts pushing again. “Verra good.”

“Ye are the bravest lass I have ever known.” Jamie praises as she continues to push.

“Oh God! It burns!”

“The bairn’s head is emerging. It will stop in a moment.” Jenny wipes the sweat of her brow and whispers a continuous string of Gaelic. A prayer. Jamie holds tight to her hands as her helps her push off him. “There, the head is out. Just a bit more.” She presses down once more. The shoulders turn and slip out. “There ye go lass. Your nighean is here.”

“Daughter?” Jamie whispers.

“Aye, and a fine one she is.” She is lifted up to her parents.

“A daughter! We didn’t even..” she looks down at her through a film of tears. “Oh Jamie! She is so beautiful!”

“Aye, just like her mam.” His throat is filled. She has his hair, red and curled but her mam's whisky eyes. Her face, except for her cat like eyes, is all Claire.

The cord is cut after it stops throbbing, bringing the last of her mam's protective blood and a high dose of oxygen to her. The afterbirth is delivered and mam and daughter is cleaned up and placed on a clean bed.

The midwife helps her get the baby started nursing. She then leaves the little family alone. Jenny goes to tell the others.

“What shall we name her?” Claire asks Jamie. He is watching his daughter take her first meal with big wonder filled eyes.

“Oh my Sorcha, after all you went through to bring her birth, ypu may name her whatever you wish.

She strokes the incredible softness od her child's curls as she thinks. She then smiles. “Quinn Ellen Julia Fraser, after Uncle Lamb and her grandmas.”

“Quinn, for Quinton. I really love it. “Mo nighean, Quinn.” He softly says as he strokes her hand open. Her tight grip on his finger causes a wave of intense pride and love. “My braw lass.”

After she is feed, he goes to get his family. They file in and Jamie turns to Claire and the sleeping Quinn.

“My family, may I introduce, our daughter, Quinn Ellen Julia Fraser.” Claire says.

“After my Ellen.” An emotional Brian says.

“And your mum and me.” An equally emotional Lamb adds.

“Yes. To honor all her family. Come see her.” They do, each taking a turn holding her. Then all but Lamb leave the new mam to rest.

“To see your daughter, as beautiful as you were as a baby.” Lamb whispers as he looks at Jamie cradling his daughter. Claire watches with a love so deep she feels like exploding.

“I know. She is so beautiful. I can’t believe we made someone so lovely.”

“Your mum said something similar as she cradled you. She was just as awed.” The tears came then.

“Would she be proud of me?’”

“She would be over the moon proud of you Claire bear. She is looking down on you, both your mum's are, with extreme pride. Now rest love. I am sure you have earned it.”

“Oh she has.” Jamie replies.

Later as he watches his wife and daughter sleep, Jamie prays over them. “Mo Dhia, tapadh leibh airson mo bhean is mo pháiste. Cúm an sábhailte.”

The Gailec

My sister

Brother

Daughter

My daughter

My God, thank You for my wife and child. Keep them safe.