#the fall? feel like any non immediate injuries would have taken longer to kill her

[ssaalexblake]

Not me avoiding thinking about grace dying by trying to work out exactly how she dies.

It can't hurt me if I'm being a nitpicker!

[kryptonian-puppy]

Throat Full of Glass

The rough sound of nail scratching against marble rings out through the washroom.

Eliza stares herself down in the mirror, lip trembling and arms shaking from the post-match adrenaline that's coursing through her body right now. 

There’s a fire in her eyes and rage on her skin that's tangible in the air, mixing with a rusted tang of blood that’s congealed against her ear as she just stands there, rooted and willing herself to calm down. 

The reflected image twists and contorts with each unsteady breath that she takes, the splash of each droplet of water that drips from the tap matching the pace of her lungs. 

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Like a ticking clock. The prelude to the explosion. 

She can’t let it slide this time, let her get away with this. Her mind has cashed its last rain check on Kali’s bullshit. It’s time the woman faces the wrath that's due, before she gets someone killed, gets her own team killed. 

No biting her tongue anymore, brawling across the briefing room table or petitioning Six to see sense and dispose of the threat that is Nighthaven.

She’s done playing nice.

And sure enough, outside the door comes the muffled bragging of the soon to be victim of Eliza’s snapped tether. 

Ash pushes off from the sink with aching fists held closed and nails biting into her palm, giving herself one last chance to just back off, to simply walk away from what she’s about to do. 

But if there is any sign to stop she doesn't see it. Her reflection in the mirror steadies but offers up no rejection. The fight or flight wheel stops with the arrow pointing on the former. 

This has been too long coming now to just stop. 

Consequences from Six be damned, Eliza leaves the washroom and lets the heavy firedoor swing shut behind her with a loud thud. Eyes lock to hers in an instant from the sound, but she pays them no mind, her gaze settles on her target and tunnels her vision. 

“This won’t be good, Cohen looks ready to kill.” 

Dokkabei mutters under her breath to Thatcher, the elder operator nodding thickly in agreement and making no move to stop what's about to happen. 

“Don’t worry kid, it won’t go that far.”

Dokkabei just holds her arms together to stop them trembling, the pain from being lit up with non-lethal fire is still raging throughout her body otherwise she would be falling into line with Ash right now to give Kali a piece of her mind too. She deserves it after that shitshow of a win.  

The two simply watch on in tense silence as Eliza thunders across the changing room and shoves past Mozzie,  the man distracted from helping Mira out of her BDU at the time. He swears loudly from the rough contact, barely able to stop himself from careening into Elena who is more focused on trying to get past him to stop Eliza rather than help steady him. 

She’s seen that look in Cohen’s eyes before, it’s never good.

“Kali!” Ash spits, enough venom in just that one word to slay a man where he stood. 

Kali has her back to her and mutters something to Aruni which makes the woman laugh. 

“You will turn and face me when I address you, Mercenary scum!” 

A tense silence settles over the room, marred only by the sounds of Ash’s heavy breathing.

But Kali just continues to chuckle, shaking her head a little at the crass words, rolling her eyes at Aruni. It’s only when she can physically feel the presence of Ash in her personal space that she turns around, quite lazilly too, and looks down to the smaller woman who is seething up at her. 

“What could possibly be upsetting you now Red?” 

“I don’t know how you do things in the private sector-” her voice trembles a little, rage barely even contained, “-but we do NOT use people as bait here!”

“Why the sour face Princess? This is a game, and I just won it for you.” Kali smirks, brow quirked in clear amusement. “Rather easily I might add to.” 

“This, this is not a game you ignorant, reckless piece of-”

“Oh relax will you!”

“Relax?!” Ash scoffs, fists shaking violently against her sides. “I warned Six that you’ll get someone killed. And today you just proved me right. Game or no fucking game, I won’t stand by and let you send anyone here to an early grave because you only care about yourself.”

“So dramatic! Like it or not, Nighthaven is here to stay. I am here to stay. And there is nothing, not one little thing, that you can do about it. So finish your little temper tantrum and stop embarrassing yourself.”

Kali quips, one finger pushing against the crest of Ash’s chest plate. 

And that's all it takes. 

A finger, mistakenly brushing against the trigger, and Ash explodes. 

No one can stop her, it happens too fast for anyone to register, least of all Kali. 

One moment she’s staring down at Ash, the next she’s looking up at her from the floor, haphazardly strewn against one of the benches. Arms are on her in an instant trying to help her up, but the punch from the fiery field team leader has sent her head to the stars, she can’t hear a thing past the ringing in her ear. 

And Eliza doesn’t stop there, she lunges at her with all the ferocity of a wild animal and the strength of an ox. Ready and willing to unleash the last year of pent up anger and frustration and pummel it into her face.

The two crash backwards and roll about, punching and lashing at each other like it's a fight for their lives. And by all odds Kali should have the upperhand against the woman with a smaller frame, but Ash brings a fight like no other she’s ever faced, and for the first time since she was shot in the field, Kali experiences fear.

She cries out in anguish, managing to land a shot that busts Eliza’s nose open and unleashes a fountain of blood. But it doesn’t slow the woman, she keeps going for her, scoring hit after hit until the wind is taken from Kali’s lungs and she’s choking on the air and her own blood. 

“ELIZA, THAT’S ENOUGH!” 

Rough arms yank her from Kali’s barely conscious form and she fights hard to get back to her before she feels herself be lifted up from the ground, legs swinging and kicking violently to try and break free. 

There’s yelling all around and people rushing to block her view from Kali, but she can still make out her face and somehow Kali is still managing a smug grin up at her, it’s marred by all the blood and bruising but still going strong. 

Ash screams bloody murder, wriggling and throwing herself about, but whoever holds her is strong and they don’t let go. 

“Get her out of here!” Thatcher calls back over his shoulder as he gets between Dokkaebi and Aruni, the two seemingly squaring up to fight. 

It would seem in the chaos of Ash and Kali’s brawl the rest of the Nighthaven members had initiated a fight, with some of Rainbow all too eager to oblige.

“Follow me!” Mira gestures to Finka who is the one struggling to hold Ash whilst looking for the quickest exit. 

The rest is just a blur for Ash though, she’s so blinded and entombed by her own rage that she doesn’t even notice she’s being taken from the room, half carried/half dragged out of the changing room and somehow making it to the medical wing in the blink of an eye. 

Her gaze is wide, adrenaline still begging her to fight even though the threat is no longer in sight, she doesn’t even hear what Mira is saying to Finka right now. 

“Where do you want her?” The woman chuckles, keeping her head back to avoid a blow from Eliza’s. 

“Put her in the examination room, I’ll take it from there. I suspect Mike is going to need your help stopping them all from tearing each other to pieces.” Mira commands, her own voice shaky from what she’s just witnessed. 

She curses Six under her breath and pinches the bridge of her nose.

Eliza continues to fight to get out of Finka’s grasp, only succeeding once Finka has struggled to get her past the threshold of the room door. But when she goes to charge back out in search of Kali again, Mira stands in her way, hands on her hips and concern very much evident in her expression. 

Ash comes to a halt immediately, eyes wide in a mix of rage and fear, hands still held tightly wound by her side and the shaking somehow more violent than when it first started. She’s a complete mess, blood dripping from her likely broke nose down her chest, hair disheveled and gear shifted out of place, ripped straps hanging awkwardly off her body from where Kali got a hold of them.

Neither her or Mira say anything until Finka closes the door behind her and leaves them to deathly silence. 

Mira lowers her hands to her side and just waits, quietly watching her wife struggle to take in breaths as her brain catches up to what she’s done. 

And after a tense minute or so of glaring at her, the fire goes out of Cohen, Eliza whimpering from the pain and turning in on herself as her body comes out of it. 

“What have I done …” She breathes out, cradling her own stomach and willing it to settle so she doesn’t hurl. Already she can feel the bruises forming on her ribs and abdomen.

“What you had to, querida.” Elena affirms, breathing a sigh of relief now she knows it's safe to approach the woman she loves. 

Sure, she’s seen Eliza angry before, but that was something completely different that she had with Kali, a power born from something deep rooted and likely traumatic, something they’ll definitely have to talk about soon. It terrified her to see that, almost making her flee from the woman herself until she remembered just who Eliza was, how sweet and gentle the woman she married actually was behind her guarded walls. 

Oh they’ll talk alright about this, just not now. Right now Eliza needs gentle care.  

Elena lets out a soft sigh and very slowly encircles Eliza with her arms, giving the woman time to accept the embrace or reject it if that's what she needs, being careful not to aggravate any injury also. 

And sure it takes a moment, Eliza stiffening from the contact and starting to pull away, but Elena stands firm, drawing her in and acting as an anchor for the taller woman. She has no choice really but to give in, all but collapsing against Elena now who falls back a little and slides down the door and onto the floor, somehow managing to keep hold of Eliza the entire time. 

“It’s ok, you’re ok.” Elena murmurs, running her hand through the length of her hair, deft fingers working through the knots and loosening the braid. 

Eliza shudders in relief, quietly sobbing and heaving her way through every breath as she clings to Elena with battered hands, seemingly terrified that the woman will let her go if she doesn’t keep such a tight grip. 

“I shouldn’t have- I could- could have killed her!” 

“But you didn’t.” 

There's a further moment of silence, Eliza shuddering as Elena works wonders on her aching head. Each stroke is soft and gentle, applying just enough pressure to relieve the budding headache that's rising up to join the chorus of pain wracking through her.

“I wanted to, Elena. I couldn’t stop myself.” She whispers after a few more minutes pass. 

“But you didn’t kill her querida. Kali will be fine. This will all blow over.” Mira tries to affirm, voice gentle as ever despite the uncertainty. 

“It won’t though, it can’t … not after this. Six will-”

“Don’t you worry about him. I will deal with Six.”  

Again, more silence. They stay like that for a long while, just quietly breathing and taking in the comfort of the embrace, Elena discreetly counting each breath her wife takes and placing gentle kisses against her forehead when they finally slow down enough after what feels like half an hour or so.

“It felt good though, right?” Elena murmurs, failing to keep the amusement from her tone as she breaks the silence.

“Are you asking me if it felt good to punch Kali?”

“Well, yeah …”

Eliza pulls away and looks up at her in confusion, the two quietly studying each other before Eliza’s face finally cracks, both dissolving into mad laughter that's fueled by the residual adrenaline.

“God, that fear in her eyes when you toppled her with one hit. It was glorious.” Elena grins. 

But Eliza groans, burying her head into Elenas chest and trying/failing to suppress the smile. 

“It was satisfying to wipe that smirk from her face, if only for a moment.”

“I’ll bet.” 

“Shouldn’t you be mad at me? I expected a lecture?”

“I thought about it, but I’d be a hypocrite since on more than one occasion i’ve threatened the bitch with the same thing myself.”

“Quite a few occasions actually, last week was twice at least.”

The laughter returns, softer this time and fleeting.

“You think she’ll try to press charges or something?” Eliza sighs.

“Hmmm,” Elena deliberates for a moment, “I doubt it, Six wouldn’t let it come to that. Though, I would love to be a fly on the wall when he calls you both to his office.” 

Eliza groans, it’s not going to be fun dealing with the consequence of this shit, but at least she can pull the ‘told you so’ card on Six. So maybe it was worth it after all?

“That’s not going to be fun.”

“Nope.”

Eliza lets out a long suffering sigh, groaning when her ribs protest that but strangely not the laughter. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You’re a bloodied mess.” Elena scoffs, nose wrinkling in feigned disgust.

“What? Don’t find me pretty anymore?” Eliza pouts, the effect lost by how gnarly she is looking in that moment covered in blood. 

“Hmph! Pretty annoying more like.” Elena quips back, devilish smile on her lips. 

“Rude.”

Despite how rough she feels, Eliza can’t help herself, she pushes their mouths together, wincing when her ailing nose brushes Elena’s. They kiss, soft at first, getting a little more heated when Eliza’s hands start to wonder, lowering to her chest and lifting up under her-

“Ouch!” 

Elena just sighs gently, pulling away and rolling her eyes at Eliza who is looking at the bruises on her hands with a frown. 

“Right, up! Let’s see if we can save something of that face of yours.” Elena cups her chin, smearing a little of the blood with a gentle sigh. 

“Yes, the pain is outweighing the satisfaction at the moment.” 

“I’m sure it is …, I love you, even if you are an idiot.” 

“Love you too.”

[minghaocouture]

Fearless: Chapter 13

Pairing: Werewolf! Jeon Wonwoo x Vampire!Reader Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Non-Idol Au WC: 4.1k+ Warning: Language, Violence, Gun usage, Descriptions of burn wounds, mild gore  AU Lore: Vampire Coven Info/Wolf Pack Info/Lore Info Tag List: @moon-asia @uglychildd @skjdln @darkacrimson​ @woozisnoots​ @hwangjangmi​ @rjsmochii​ @fluffyhyeju​ @svtjuniverse​ @karmacqre​ @dwcljh​ @taeyeon-got-shmoney​ @2dmoonenback​ @moonchild9499​ 

Unable to tag: @Unbaeknownst @peachescherryheart

A/N: So this chapter is probs the longest one yet! I was trying to wrap things up in this one but it ended up a bit too long so there is probably maybe one or two chapters more, plus an epilogue! This chapter is ROUGH, please be warned before reading! If you want to skip the rough bit the first “***” signals the end of the fight!

I also realized while writing this chapter that...I haven’t written Chan in this story yet ^^;; he’s been mentioned because he is a part of the Coven’s inner circle but he...hasn’t show up. oops

Chapter List: Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3/Chapter 4/Chapter 5/Chapter 6/Chapter 7/Chapter 8/Chapter 9/Chapter 10/Chapter 11/Chapter 12/Chapter 13/Chapter 14

It felt like you had been running forever before your eyes caught a glimpse of Jacob trailing behind the other members of his group, who you could only assume were chasing the stray that had taken Minah. Watching them slip into a small Alleyway you reached out to grab Vernon’s arm, effectively stopping him from following them. 

He looked back and fixed you with a confused expression, but you lifted a finger to your lips to gesture him to stay silent. You then turned your attention elsewhere, and found another small alley that seemed to be running parallel to the one that your allies had run down, which was exactly what you were hoping for. Gesturing with a small tilt of your head, you urged him to follow you.

It was a bad idea to try and get this guy all from one angle, especially if you were right in your theory that he wasn’t working completely alone. 

As you crept through the side alley, you hoped that somehow Minghao knew what you were planning and would attempt to stall. You had no doubt that he had been the first on the scene so you were only hoping that he wouldn’t start anything until you were in a good position to try and surround the stray. It was doubtful, considering you didn’t know how the stray would react to being cornered like this, but you held onto the small shred of hope that Minghao could keep the situation under control.

Exiting the alley onto the main road, you led Vernon to the right, and took a glance down the alley before entering. 

From what you could see, the Stray had his back to you with Minah in his arms, while Minghao, Gahyeon, Kevin, Jacob, and Wonwoo stood a few feet away from him. The stray had buried his face into Minah’s neck and you felt yourself almost run towards him despite your better judgement. 

Taking a deep, yet unnecessary, breath before gesturing for Vernon to hold his position. You quietly crept towards the male and his hostage, while doing your best to remember all the lessons from Mingaho and hoping that you were completely silent.

“Is this little human worth all the fuss? Surely Soonyoung has better things to do than deal with, little old me?” 

That voice. You knew that voice, thought you hadn’t heard it since...well since you had been turned. There was no other person who it could be, not who also knew Soonyoung. If this was who you were thinking, then you needed to get Minah away from him now.

As soon as you were in range, you threw your arms out and harshly pulled his head backwards and away from Minah. The action not only retched him towards you, but caused him to lose his grip on Minah because of the surprise of the attack. You jumped to the side, away from the male and watched as Wonwoo appeared almost instantly and just barely missed hitting him harshly in the face only for the male to be tackled by Gahyeon. You let those two handle him for a moment before rushing to Minah who had been caught by Minghao. 

The girl was sobbing and trembling as Minghao tried to help her to her feet. Before you could ask if she was alright, a loud gunshot rang out through the alley followed by the familiar growl of Gahyeon. 

“Keep her safe!” You ordered Minghao before turning your attention back to the action behind you. You immediately noticed that you were, in fact, right about his numbers, but what surprised you was that...not all of them were Vampires. You could see Vernon, who was the furthest from you, currently involved in a tussle with a Dark fae, along with a few wolves, vampires, and even a single human was in their ranks. You were definitely outnumbered but only by a little bit, and you would only need to hold out until the other teams arrived. You only hoped that they got your message and heard the fighting. 

Taking the fight back to the source you called out his name. 

“Taemin!”

As his eyes caught yours, you watched a smile creep onto his face. If it weren’t for the situation you could have mistaken that smile for one of actual kindness. He just...had that way about him.

“Well well, if it isn’t Soonyoung’s little one. I’m honestly surprised he let you out for all this.” Despite the fighting around you, Taemin seemed to almost casually saunter over to you. “I wonder how mad he would be if I killed you? Do you think he would…come for revenge?” 

Before you could blink, Taemin was on you. His leg swiftly aimed for your head, your reactions just fast enough to drop to the ground. You palms bracing yourself on the cold snow covered concrete, keeping you balanced as you swept your leg out trying to knock his feet out from under him. He simply jumped back and out of the way as you pushed yourself off of the ground to jump at him.

“Or do you think he would run away again? He’s awfully good at that, isn’t he?” Opting to ignore him, you pulled back your arm in an attempt to catch him with a right hook. As you did this you heard another gunshot, only this time the groan of pain caused you to hesitate for just a brief moment as you recognized the voice.

Wonwoo was hurt.

Seemingly seeing this hesitation, Taemin tilted his head to the side with curiosity filling his eyes. 

“Is that care for a wolf? From you, little one? Oh how time has change the both of us.” He let out a soft cruel chuckle, which was just enough of a distraction for you to sink your nails into his cheek, ripping the skin open before he shoved you away. This definitely seemed to anger him, but just as before...when he had gotten Soonyoung kicked out of his former Coven, he was completely in control of those emotions. 

The alley way was filled with a loud scream and the smell of burning flesh and you felt your whole body freeze, which gave Taemin the perfect opportunity to strike.

“It seems you haven’t learned anything since we last met, little one. Emotions only breed weakness.” As you were distracted, he took that opportunity to land a firm hit on your gut. You remembered this feeling, the dense pain that entered your abdomen as you felt like all of the air had left your lungs. Sure you didn’t need to breathe any longer but old habits die hard. As he pulled one hand away, the other reached out to grasp your head and soon your face was buried in a small layer of snow before meeting the unforgiving concrete below. 

“Oh Little one, do you remember what kills wolves the quickest?” The question was rhetorical but you knew what he was implying. Silver bullets, even if they didn’t hit a critical location, the silver would spread like a poison unless it was removed.

You didn’t have time to think about your next move, so you reached out and ripped his ankle out from under him. The action causing him to lose his grip on you as well as lose his balance.

Quickly taking the opportunity to push yourself up, you felt blood drip from your nose and fall to stain the snow below you. Your eyes darted around, taking an assessment of the field but you were also hoping that in that split second that you could confirm Wonwoo was okay. You didn’t immediately see him, but what you did get to witness was Soonyoung, appearing from practically nowhere and taking a running leap towards Taemin. A loud guttural growl that vaguely sounded like Taemin’s name escaping him, if you had thought he had been angry with you...well this was a different type of anger. 

Trusting Soonyoung to have the situation handled, you continued your search for Wonwoo only to find him collapsed against a wall with a Summer Fae above him ready to finish the job.

Before you had even registered what was going on, a new wave of emotions rushed through your system as you took a running start towards the woman your arms wrapped around the waist of the woman as you effectively tackled her to the ground. Landing with you on her back, you quickly grabbed the mess of red hair on her head and began slamming her face harshly into the snow covered concrete. You were so focused on causing this woman pain that you didn’t even notice the rest of the reinforcements arriving. All you could see was red, and all you wanted was for this woman to suffer. 

You weren’t sure how long you were there but...you knew it was far too long as you could hear the sickening crunch of bones. When you were certain she was dead you forced yourself off of her and rushed over to Wonwoo’s unconscious body, not caring about the rest of the fight going on around you. 

Quickly you began to examine the extent of his injuries, the top left side of his face swollen and blistering from the open flame that had been ignited on it, bits of his hairline had been burned away, there was a bullet lodged into his lower abdomen which had to be the silver one that Taemin had mentioned before. A small slew of curse words left your lips as you realized what you were going to have to do. You would rather feel the burn of the silver against your skin than sit here and just let him slowly die.

You were glad he was unconscious, as you dug your fingers inside of the wound flinching at the feeling as you tried to get a grip on the bullet so that you could pull it out. All that was pushing you forward was the need for him to be okay, you didn’t even care about the mission anymore, you just needed him to live through this. He had given you a feeling, a rush of emotions, you hadn’t felt in the longest time and you didn’t want that to end this soon. You wanted to try with him, and you didn’t care that he was a wolf, you just wanted him. 

With a small choked sob you ripped the bullet out, tossing it to the side without care. Quickly tearing off part of the bottom of your shirt you pressed firmly against the bullet wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The sounds of victory completely lost to your ears. The only thing you could hear was the slowing sound of his heart beat, it felt like you were underwater...suffocating as you watched his unmoving expressionless face. 

“No...no come on you dumb wolf, you can’t die in a fucking alley.” You muttered, words feeling frantic as you did your best to stop the bleeding but to no avail. You felt your teeth break the skin of your lower lip as your eyes focused in on the blood now staining your hands.

Soon enough members of his pack rushed over and tried to help you with him. Saying something about him needing medical attention, and the name Mingyu. You didn’t bother trying to stop them until you felt someone attempting to pull you away from him and that’s when everything went red. Your body tensed and all you couldn’t form a single coherent thought. You felt...painfully hungry and all this blood smelled wonderful. The last thing you heard before completely black out, was the familiar voice of Soonyoung shouting.

“Fuck, it’s a frenzy.  Gahyeon, restrain her!!”

***

Everything hurt.

That was the only thing Wonwoo could think of when he felt himself drifting back into consciousness. Out of instinct, he slowly tried to push himself into a sitting position only for the pain in his abdomen to spike which caused him to fall back into the lying position he had been in. 

Taking a moment to take in his surroundings he realized that...part of his face, didn’t feel like anything. He couldn’t open that eye either, his vision only coming from his right eye. That was...concerning. Before he could evaluate himself any further, he heard the sound of a door opening to his left...where he couldn’t see. Ignoring the pain, he turned his head and watched Mingyu walking into the room with a small bundle in his hands. 

Mingyu practically beamed when he realized that his friend was staring at him. Rushing over to the bedside, he quickly began looking over Wonwoo while spouting off rapid fire questions. 

“How are you feeling? Do you know how long you’ve been out? How long have you been awake? Does this hurt?” At the last question, he watched as Mingyu moved his finger towards the left side of his face but never actually felt anything more than a dull kind of numb feeling.

“No.” was all Wonwoo could bring himself to say, his throat felt like a desert. That coupled with Mingyu’s question had him a bit concerned. How long had he been out. A day, a week? Maybe more? He would just have to wait for Mingyu to return to that. 

Except he didn’t, he did grimace a bit at Wonwoo’s response and shook his head as he muttered a small ‘that’s not good’ to himself. 

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news.” Mingyu began, as he began pulling fresh bandages from his little bundle. He carefully moved Wonwoo as he began taking off the older bandages around his abdomen. “The good news is that, whatever happened that night scared the Stray and his gang. Soonyoung said that we shouldn’t be seeing them again. So yay, mission successful.”

Wonwoo was trying his best to focus on the information he was receiving but it was hard when it felt like his gut was on actual fire. 

“The bad news is, you almost died. They had been using silver bullets and if your mate hadn’t pulled it out when she did, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Since it was silver though, it is taking longer to heal than it normally would. Also, I’m pretty sure the burn on your face is fourth degree since you couldn’t feel me poking you. Which is pretty bad. Also the worst part, we had to shave part of your head to make sure it didn’t get stuck to the burnt parts of your face.”

“That’s...the worst part?”

“Yeah man, it...does not look good I promise you.” If it were anyone other than Mingyu, Wonwoo would have probably been a bit annoyed at the moment. This was Mingyu though, and jokes were how he coped. If it weren’t this then it would be moping around, upset about the situation. So Wonwoo let the joke about his hair slide. 

Forcing his voice out once more, Wonwoo voiced another question.

“Is she okay?”

It was silent for a moment as Mingyu finished up rebandaging him, and putting the the dirty bandages into a bag he had brought with his bundle. Once finished he looked back up at Wonwoo and stared into Wonwoo’s one visible eye his gaze harded a bit before he looked away to grab more bandages that Wonwoo assumed would be going on his face.

“She...We haven’t seen her since that night and it’s been about 2 weeks now. When they tried to pull her away from you so that they could get you back home for medical attention, she um. Well the Vampires called it a frenzy. She completely lost control of herself, she ended up breaking Cheol’s arm and she got one of her own people pretty good as well. It took a lot for them to get her back to the Bar.” He began, gently replacing the bandage on Wonwoo’s face as he continued. “Jacob’s been getting updates from that Kevin guy. He said they had to keep her locked up and somehow still locked up just...not as locked up as before? I’m not sure how, but that’s just what he was saying. Apparently they’re also having to give her more fresh blood recently to keep her out of a frenzy too.”

Wonwoo felt his heart drop the more Mingyu spoke. There was no way he would be able to make it all the way to the bar in his condition, but he needed to make sure you were okay with his own two eyes. Since from the sounds of it, you had been struggling since the incident and he had just been mindlessly sleeping. 

“I’ve been keeping up with her situation cause I knew she’d be the first thing you asked about. Hyunjin has been visiting and we were talking about this. We actually think the mate pull is what’s causing her to go off the rails. Since she’s a Vampire, you being hurt is just hitting her in a different way than it would have hit a human mate, or at least that’s what we’re thinking.” 

It was definitely a logical assumption, when one mate is hurt it has been known to affect the mental state of the other. This could be that manifesting, but they had no sure fire way of knowing since there were no records of a werewolf ever mating with a Vampire before. With that in mind, it was settled. Wonwoo was going to take a page from your book and throw caution to the wind. Once he was alone he was sneaking out and going to see you, he didn’t care how much it hurt. 

He needed to make sure you were okay.

***

Thinking back on it, sneaking out of the house when he could barely stand was probably a terrible idea.

The good idea had been stealing Cheol’s car. Sure he would be mad but it was smarter than trying to walk there. That would have just ended up with him actually dead.

As he pulled up to the bar he parked in the parking lot behind the building and slowly made his way out of the car. Limping his way to the front door of your Coven’s home. He had never been here, and to his knowledge no werewolf had entered here before, but he was hoping that was something that would change. Especially if you were inside. 

It was still light, just edging on twilight, and so he wasn’t too sure if anyone would be awake yet. Despite this, he slammed his closed fist against the door, hoping that someone would hear his knocking and let him in. As he waited, he felt his body grow heavier and his was growing a bit harder to breath in the cold snowy February weather. He felt his legs slump out from under him just as the door slowly opened, and he heard a gasp.

“Keonhee, Rowan! Help me!” The unfamiliar voice hit his ears almost as quickly as the sound of footsteps. Soon two sets of arms were helping him up and moving him into the bar, and at the urging of the first male voice they walked past the bar area and through a door labeled ‘employees only’ before taking a hard right into what Wonwoo was assuming was an office. 

As the duo helped him into a metal chair, probably to avoid potential blood stains. The male looked terrified of him, almost as if he was expecting Wonwoo to fall over any moment, while the female looked...moderately concerned but ultimately ended up dragging the frightened male out of the room, as another unfamiliar male entered. 

“Thanks, you two. I’ll be back to help with opening in a minute.” The new male said, patting the taller frightened male on the shoulder and giving a longing glance towards the female, who Wonwoo was almost positive was a Fae. The kind looking male made his way over and took a seat on the plush sofa across from Wonwoo.

“We definitely weren’t expecting you to show up, still half dead.” He began, chucking lightly as his eyes gazed over Wonwoo’s body. “I know you’re a wolf and all, but coming to a Coven’s den smelling of blood usually isn’t the best idea. Your blood reaks but that doesn’t mean we won’t still drink it.” 

Surprisingly, despite what the male was saying, Wonwoo didn’t feel any hit of actual intent behind them. Like it was more of a simple statement than a warning. Which was interesting, all things considering, but maybe that night did change things. Maybe it was the push they needed to be able to co-exist. 

“I mean, it wasn’t my best idea but i’m sure it’s what she would have done if our roles were switched.” Mentioning you had the male opposite of him throw his head back in laughter that almost sounded...sad.

After a moment the laughs died down and the male fixed Wonwoo with a look. 

“Before I take you to her. I just want to clarify that I don’t approve of...whatever this is. I know you Wolves have ‘destined mates’ and all and you can’t control that but, I can speak for all of us right now. We never want to see her in this state again. I personally want to kill you right here and now so that whatever pull you have over her will go away, but I know that would make things worse.” This...this was a threat. Wonwoo understood where he was coming from, it always hurt to see the ones you cared about in pain. It made it worse that he was a wolf and that the mate pull might have been affecting you harshly. 

“So you better not get this close to death again, you hear me?” 

“Jun, stop threatening him. You don’t scare anyone.” The new voice caused Wonwoo to flinch lightly, glancing over, he recognized this man, Minghao. He was...a bit shocked that he hadn’t heard the shorter man enter the room. You weren’t lying when you said that he was...extremely stealthy. 

His words caused the man, Jun, to jut out his lower lip in a pout. 

“Come on, Hao! I was giving the dad speech! I’ve never been able to give one!” 

“If anyone is gonna give him a ‘dad’ speech, it would be Soonyoung. So stop wasting time, before he actually dies.” Minghao definitely seemed to have a no nonsense attitude, and wasn’t putting up with any of the antics of his Coven mate at this point. As Jun continued to pout, Minghao made his way to help Wonwoo stand up again.

“Let’s go.” was all Minghao said before forcing Wonwoo along with him, Jun trailing behind them complaining about having to wash blood off the floor before opening tonight. 

When they exited the room, they took a right and entered a door to the right at the end of the hall. The interior of the room made it seem almost like a living room in a regular home, plush red sofa was pushed against the far left wall with two matching wing chairs on either side with a coffee table in front of them. Minghao ignored them and instead pressed forward to the door on the other side of the room. 

“Jun, unlock this for me.” Minghao requested, interrupting Jun’s mindless chatter that honestly Wonwoo had been ignoring up until this point, having been so focused on just walking without thinking of the pain. They slowed to a stop as they waited for Jun to take off the metal bars that had been attached to the door, setting them to the side before Minghao led him down the rather annoyingly small flight of stairs. The stairwell opened up to a rather strange underground bunker of sorts, the walls made of simple concrete with no direcorations anywhere in the hall. It was rather off putting. There were 8 doors with four on each side of the room, their small group made their way towards the furthest door on the right before Minghao let him go.

“She’s in there right now. Careful going in, she might try and feed off of you. So, don’t die I guess.” With that Minghao turned away from Wonwoo and grabbed Jun’s arm and began dragging him back up the stairs. 

“Remember what I said!” Jun shouted out as he was being drug away. Which did actually get a small laugh from Wonwoo, before the still injured male turned to the heavy wooden door in front of him and slowly opened it.

[lovelikedestiny]

Snow and Ashes

Booker wants to laugh when Joe almost stumbles into a tree in the darkness in front of him, but the exhaustion weighs leaden in his bones and the past mission pulls the corners of his mouth down with sad certainty. He is content with a snort, which doesn't even sound amused, just wounded and painful.

Every one of his steps carries the weight of the innocent lives they could not save today. His hands are covered in the blood of the children who were killed a few hours ago, the sight of tears smeared faces and empty eyes has burned itself into his mind - because they made a mistake.

It was supposed to be a relatively simple mission: free the detained young women, men and children, and kick the human traffickers into Tartarus. But something went wrong. They made a shitty mistake and now the victims - people who had families who prayed for their deliverance - are dead and the world is no better place.

Booker wants to throw the responsibility of saving as many lives as possible on the ground and trample on it at times like these because he doesn't know how the hell to live with the knowledge that he let people die he could have saved.

The cries for help still echo in his ears, as well as the gunfire and the screams. Pale, non-existent fingers cling to his equipment, begging him to take them back to their families, and Booker almost chokes because his throat is suddenly too tight to breathe normally.

"The tree wasn't there two seconds ago," Joe says in an attempt to loosen the depressed mood that has settled over the four immortals like a threatening storm cloud. But his voice sounds dull and flat and when he straightens the scimitar on his back, his gloved hands shake.

Still, Booker steps in immediately to prevent Joe's attempt to come to nothing and although the words feel like broken glass in his mouth, Booker brings them out. “I bet it was just waiting to hop in your path. So that you would literally be a blockhead."

Joe doesn't laugh, but the grateful look he gives him over his shoulder is enough to take the pressure off Booker's throat a little. At least for now. “Exactly. This forest is dangerous.”

“I heard that beeches are supposed to be particularly smart,” Booker says, straightening the straps of his backpack, which dig into his shoulders as if their failure would make his backpack even heavier.

"Then I'll keep an eye on beeches," Joe says and the weak, narrow smile on his face is atypical for him and his broad grin with the radiance of the damn sun, but Booker doesn't blame him and clings to the much smaller version of this smile.

They've been wandering through the forest for two hours after rushing to leave the place on their mission after they screwed up. It's freezing, the wind feels like little blades in Booker's face, and to top it off, it looks like it is going to start to snow soon. Booker has hated snow since his first death in the icy winter of Russia and after the complete failure today he is not exactly eager to deal with snow.

The darkness has long since settled over them, but the full moon gives them enough light. Booker has no idea what time it is, and he doesn't bother to check. What does time mean when there are people whose time ended today because of them? While they are still walking around and alive despite the bullets that hit them?

At the head of their formation, Andy doesn't seem to be deciding to take a break anytime soon. Her steps are determined and harsh, though she's still limping slightly from the force of the grenade that hit her and Joe.

While her lower body was most affected and it was sheer luck that none of her legs were completely torn off, Joe had been hit mostly in the upper body. His jacket is torn, and his sweater is barely there and dark from the blood and remnants of the intestines that had previously oozed from his open abdominal wall. He protested when Nicky handed him his jacket on the grounds that his hoodie was thicker than Joe's barely existing sweater, but he put it on. And that is sorely needed.

Even Booker is already freezing in his intact, well-filled jacket and the thought of just trudging through the forest in a sweater gives goosebumps to his goosebumps. At least the numbness has disappeared from his left arm, which lurked there since one of the criminal bastards rammed a knife into his shoulder.

However, this does not lessen his exhaustion and if he is so tired, it must be worse for Joe and Andy, who suffered the most severe injuries on this mission. Without a word, he watches as Joe stumbles more and more over roots or branches, which are actually easy to see in the moonlight. And even if Andy continues to keep her tight pace, Booker reads in the way her shoulders hunch that she is drained too. There are still a few miles to go to the place, where the hut they are aiming for to gather from today's loft, is. At least if Booker's brain hasn't completely shut down yet.

There is almost nothing to be heard from behind him and if Booker had less faith in his team, his family, he would be of the firm belief that Nicky would not be walking behind him at all. As he always does, he brings up the rear this night too because he prefers to cover their backs. And although Booker doesn't hear anything from Nicky other than the occasional cracking of branches or the sounds of his weapons, he feels a little better knowing that Nicky's watchful eyes are on them.

When Joe stumbles so hard that he has to support himself on a tree trunk within his reach to avoid falling, Nicky glides past Booker more gracefully than he should be able to with all the equipment strapped to him.

One hand curves gently around Joe's neck, the other carefully grips his upper arm and he asks Joe a question so quietly that Booker can't hear him.

"Boss," Booker calls to signal Andy that they have stopped briefly, and the warrior immediately comes to a halt and turns around to them.

“We can't take a break. The fucking bastards who are still alive could be on our heels and I want to get to the fucking hut before the snow sets so that it can cover our tracks,” she says impatiently, but in her old eyes the hopelessness is visible that Booker currently prefers to drown with vodka.

"Andy, you have to rest," Nicky says quietly, without letting go of Joe, who no longer leans on the trunk, but practically clings to Nicky, even if he tries to look as if it doesn't cause him any problems to keep his footing. "Major injuries take their toll and it is not advisable to ignore your body's signals."

The fact that he speaks so steadfastly and confidently is in stark contrast to the blood that covers most of his face like a grotesque mask. Head wounds have a habit of bleeding like a stabbed pig, and although Nicky's cut was relatively small and healed quickly, the residue is all too obvious.

“It's not wise to take a break while these fuckers might be after us. We pretty much ruined their day because they lost their hostages through us and if they want revenge, I don't feel like dying in this motherfucking forest.”

The effect of her words does not go unnoticed: a muscle in Nicky's jaw twitches, Joe lowers his head as if he wants to hide and Booker can't suppress a jerk of his hands. The truth of Andy's words is like salt in a wound that cannot heal. And it shows Booker how much damage they have done today instead of helping.

The innocent are dead and those who deserve to die may hunt them down because they lost their wares to the immortals.

If Booker's stomach wasn't empty, he might throw up. Purely on principle.

Nicky doesn't look satisfied, but he doesn't argue, and Booker believes this is just because of Andy's demeanor, which is so crooked as if she could feel all her millennia to the core.

They start moving again and Booker is tempted to hold his backpack in front of him to protect himself from the razor-sharp wind that makes his eyes water. After a few meters, Joe sways slightly in front of him, but before Booker can move to help him, Nicky is already at Joe's side.

“Tesoro, you are tired. Give your body a break,” Booker hears him say.

Joe makes an indefinable hand gesture that was originally supposed to be a wave aside sign. "I'm fine," he mumbles, blinking like an owl. Booker, who knows what a deep sleeper Joe is, grimaces sympathetically. “I can go on in five minutes. Just five mnts...” The last sentence is so mumbled that Booker can only understand the content from the context.

Five minutes later, Nicky carries Joe piggyback, his own backpack on the front of his chest. Joe's faint protests are silent now, his head resting on Nicky's right shoulder and his curls brushing Nicky's cheek regularly in the rhythm of his steps.

How Nicky doesn't even falter despite his sword, the two backpacks, the sniper rifle and Joe with his scimitar, is a mystery to Booker, but it is very likely that Joe is the reason. And this tender consideration from Nicky for the love of his life on his back causes a bittersweet pain in Booker's chest.

He breathes on, however, and is relieved that the memories of his wife and babies are not surfacing in addition to today's shit and that the pain goes away as soon as it comes.

Booker really doesn't begrudge Joe and Nicky their relationship, despite the occasional touch of envy, for the two never behave cruelly, never rub their love under anyone's nose, and embrace everyone in their aura of joy. Booker is one of those people lucky enough to experience love from them. In the form of the jokes and hugs from Joe, the derisive comments and headbutts from Andy and the barely visible smiles and blankets that Nicky carefully puts over him when Booker has drunk himself into a coma again.

He is not alone in the sinking ship that the world seems to be from time to time. But sometimes it feels like that.

Because Nicky now carries Joe on his back, he has taken his position in their formation and even if Booker is not often at the tail, he has nothing to complain about. Having no one behind you has the advantage of being able to think about it without having to pay attention to how you appear to the outside world.

It's not the first time Nicky has carried Joe because he's too tired, and Booker has seen it the other way around, albeit not very often. Nicky doesn't retire until he's made sure they're safe and everyone is fine, but when he was injured so badly that he couldn't walk alone and they had to leave, Booker got the chance to watch Joe carrying Nicky.

The familiarity with which the two deal with each other always tells of the length of their relationship without needing words and it is equally fascinating and frightening: fascinating because they are the only people in this world who have been together for centuries and have reached a depth in their connection that no one will ever reach and scary because Booker doesn't want to find out what happens when one of them ultimately dies and leaves the other behind.

Nicky's lowered voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he is happy about it, preferring to concentrate on something other than his head and what is in it. "Andy, please wait.”

Her leader walks two more meters before she complies with Nicky's request and turns her head to them with a raised eyebrow in question. "What is it?"

Instead of answering her, Nicky turns to Booker and the request in his bright eyes is so clear that, for once, he doesn't have to put it into words for Booker. "If that goes wrong, you'll pick up my remains," Booker grumbles so quietly that Andy can't hear him as he walks past Nicky.

Andy takes note of his approach in silence, but then rolls her eyes when he stops next to her and takes his backpack from his back to put it on his chest like Nicky. "Fuck off, Book. I don't need to be carried.”

Andy's hard shell is easy to see through with centuries of practice and Booker sees her exhaustion as clearly as if it was broad daylight and the lines of tiredness had been circled with a marker on Andy's face. It's no wonder Nicky spotted the signs long before Booker. When it comes to their family, he never misses anything.

“I know you don't need to be carried. You don't have to tell me,” Booker replies casually, but makes no move to put his backpack back on its proper spot. "But we both know who wins when Nicky has a say in this matter, and what we need least at the moment is a discussion with that stubborn man." They both know what Booker is doing, but Andy doesn't address it and Booker pretends not to notice that she got it. "So, it would only be beneficial if we could avoid these problems by letting me carry you, even if you don't need help, right?"

As Booker follows her gaze backwards, Nicky's focus is not on them, but on the sleeping Joe, whom he carefully pushes higher on his back to get a better grip on his legs. But it is no secret that Nicky was still following their exchange closely.

With a low growl, Andy lets out a sharp gush of air through her nose, which rises into the sky in clouds of steam. “For fuck's sake, fine. But if you drop me, I'll break your nose.”

Booker coughs a strange kind of a dead laugh. "Got it." It's not the first time he's carried Andy either, during missions there is no time to make out who is carrying whom with which injury and when she climbs onto his back, he finds her warmth a little comforting.

Read more on AO3 ;)

[warriorssurvivalandstuff]

Thinking about a non-bender Zuko AU that changes things up for the Fire Nation by a lot, Zuko is the one majorly altered to start a butterfly effect here but I haven’t written that much about him, actually. Full text with musings under cut.

Summary: Ozai yeets Zuko out of the palace, family, succession as he was a non-bender. Ursa manages to keep him somewhere relatively safe but they are still separated. Azula no longer has a punching bag that always distracts her mother from her and instead receives the blunt of the consequences from Ozai’s little show to usurp the throne, she is to capture the Avatar, a dangerous, time-consuming, and generally seen as impossible feat. Vehemently trained by her father and accompanied by her mother, the princess sets out on her mission. During so, she meets many faces, the Avatar, some old friends, and a mysterious figure wielding swords who seemed to defend both the Avatar’s team and her.

Major events/points:

Ozai casts Zuko out

Ursa finds somewhere to keep him safe, but cannot keep him close

Zuko is raised outside Ozai’s influence

Iroh goes to look after him after Lu Ten’s death

Zuko fully relies on his swordsmanship, trains under Piandao still with word from Iroh

Would join Aang probably due to Iroh

Azula is basically an only child

She has most of both Ursa and Ozai’s attention

Ursa is still troubled and kinda distant but is still significantly closer to Azula than canon

Ozai is always subtly distancing the two however

Azula is more learnt on compassion and empathy, but really it’s mostly just soft manipulation compared to always using fear

There would be genuine friendship with Mai and Ty Lee however I imagine

So Ozai makes his move to replace Iroh and Azulon orders to sacrifice Azula

Azula hears it and confides in Ursa, who is reminded of Zuko

Ursa confronts Ozai, simmering with all the repressed ferocity 

Ozai wouldn’t do anything permanent to Azula of course, she’s too valuable

He proposes to have Azula sent on some dangerous mission

Azulon sets the mission as hunting the Avatar, who had been missing for nearly a hundred years and is very able curbstomp a child even if found

Ozai manages to bargain for training time for Azula before the mission

Ursa all but demands to go with her

She can’t firebend iirc and Azulon is punishing Ozai so he allows it, believing she won’t make much of a difference

Ozai isn’t too happy but having Ursa to look after Azula would be favourable to her survival

He does make it clear to not try anything and makes it his task to tell Azula

Ozai and takes over Azula’s training for the period and his grooming intensifies, her time spent with Ursa is taken over by training

After some time, Azula and Ursa set off on their hunt 

Some time into the hunt, Zuko would get involved

He would probably not fit into any side initially and only show as the Blue Spirit

He is against the capture of the Avatar but will not let harm come to Ursa and Azula

Possible for Mai and Ty Lee to join her after Azulon’s death 

I do not have the motivation to get further.

First, Ozai makes good of his word and has him out. Ursa manages to keep him somewhere away, but safe, either secretly or not, Ozai would probably find out some time anyway. However I think as he sees Zuko as absolutely nothing, nothing immediate is done. He makes sure Ursa knows what he can do and uses the knowledge to threaten and blackmail her. She is kept in the palace to separate them and Zuko is raised by some old friends.

I don't know when or how non-firebenders can be determined with high certainty especially with pressure from Ozai so Zuko might fully remember or have hazy memories of his past, though clearly remembers his mother. The two scenarios would lead to rather different development for him so I won't comment too much, but I believe he would have been rather young when casted out and he would not have as much influence from Ozai as canon so act kinder from the start. At some point Iroh might get involved after losing Lu Ten, though it wouldn’t be direct, maybe through Piandao and White Lotus. Zuko would still pick up sword fighting and hone it even more without the ability to bend.

Back at the palace, Azula is now an only child. There's no competing for affections but Ursa is troubled and still distant with her daughter, not that Ozai want her too close to his prodigy child anyway. With that said, I do think Ursa would still manage to have observably more influence on Azula than canon. That or there's no one so heavily antagonised by Ozai like Zuko always being around, Ursa may fall somewhere close but canon Azula does have an attachment when really young to her mother, don't think it could be severed that easily. 

Most important part is when Ozai makes his move after Lu Ten dies, Azulon would have ordered to sacrifice Azula instead. Ozai had indeed casted his actual firstborn away but Azula excelled both mentally and physically, referred to as a true prodigy and so cannot be compared to Zuko’s case. Azula still eavesdropped and learns of the Firelord’s order, she knew no matter how much Ozai took pride in her abilities, he could not defy the Firelord. She sought comfort from Ursa and she is reminded of what happened to Zuko, then determined to protect Azula from harm. She is aware that Ozai might save his own skin over anyone, including his prodigy daughter and prepares to confront Ozai on the matter.

Ozai expected her and states that he values Azula upon her entrance, stopping the worst case scenario Ursa thought of. She skips to enquire him on any plan he has for Azulon’s order and Ozai’s reply was to have Azula in a situation the Firelord could take as as good as gone, which he suggests to be some sort of grand mission. [On the alternate options of Agni Kai and assassination, I feel Ozai would’ve gone for Agni Kai to challenge Azulon if he could, though he was bent on making Zuko’s life hell, being commanded to kill his own child and just taking it seems kinda weak. With an Agni Kai victory he might as well claim the throne as well. Assassination was suggested by Ursa in canon, which was a rather desperate option she resorted to with about only herself unwilling to let harm come to Zuko. We don’t really know if Ozai had considered that, wouldn’t put it past him to consider it before Ursa barges in with a hand. So it could be similar to canon and the two have Azulon dead, just Ozai would be the one to raise it most likely... But that’s boring and I need to have someone go after Gaang, I doubt Ozai/Iroh has any reason to chuck Zuko off to find the Avatar or that he would try to capture the Avatar himself.] Ursa contemplates the plan and their other options, then makes a condition that she would travel along Azula should the Firelord accept the proposal. Ozai tries to brush her off and talk her out but Ursa wouldn’t back down and makes points on how she would be useful. At last, Ursa is triumphant and Ozai decides that he would mould Azula before the long time that she’ll have to spend away, when Ursa is sure to sow her own beliefs on their daughter and he would not be able to tell Azula otherwise, Azulon would make sure they are to have minimal contact.

Azula would most likely hear the discussion as well, I haven’t thought up if this would cause much impact, she would probably make some suggestions to improve it if she could. Unsure if she has a strong enough opinion on Ursa coming along to talk about it.

Ozai and Ursa presents the proposal to Azulon the next day with the most convincing tone he could muster, Azula is to be sent on a mission away from the Fire Nation with the company of Ursa, with some time allowed for training prior. Lu Ten had died in battle, and there’s no reason to just throw someone skilled like Azula away for nothing, she could do to help Fire Nation’s conquest. Azulon accepts and states his conditions, he would set the goal, only a minimal crew as company, Ozai is not to communicate with her during the mission, training is to be overseen by Azulon etc. He had expected similar requirements and does not object, then Azulon drops the bomb by setting the goal as capturing the Avatar. [I don’t really know much about Azulon so I didn’t complicate things on his end. Avatar hunt is basically a wild goose chase, disappeared for about a hundred years with no hint of location and expected to be extremely dangerous, perfect for getting rid of someone.] The prince and princess had expected something along those lines, but still tensed at the impossibility of what the Firelord set. Regardless, they had got what they bargained for, and Ozai prepares Azula for ramped up training.

Azula is a quick learner and has talent, but Ozai and Azulon’s training is enough to burn even her out in just a few sessions. She is pushed to her limits, expected to master multiple forms simultaneously at quadruple normal speed for one. Ozai is already tough on Azula and does not shy away from potential non-permanent injuries, but Azulon seems like he’s straight up going to murder her at times. [Something like this: Lightning 101, after they tell her about conjuring lightning, Azulon charges up a lightning bolt and just fires at her general direction without warning, then Ozai interrupts it with a bolt of his own. Azula is then expected to know to counter it at the next blast.] Training also shortened the time she was to spend with Ursa beforehand, which he fully took advantage of, emphasising strength and power. When Ursa did not seem increasingly impressed by her quickly widened set of moves, Ozai would tell her to ignore her mother, not to seek from her and continue training with him. [Ursa does praise her, but kinda repetitive in wording... and she isn’t familiar with bending forms to notice new things. I can’t describe it clearly but to Azula, it seemed like she was saying for the sake of it, and more words just made it feel smothering.] Azula soon gains her signature blue flames and lightningbending, but also grew apart from her mother and closer to Ozai. 

Training allowance passed, Azula with Ursa is sent away on her hunt. I have not thought about basically anything that would transpire with her hunting Aang in place of Zuko and with Ursa instead of Iroh to temper her dedication to the throwaway quest. Ursa doesn’t consider the possibility of actually finding the Avatar and awaits for Azulon’s day but Azula does ponder it and genuinely looks for information. [Ursa would have picked up some extra skills to help with the hunt, mostly for defence, on top of herbalist knowledge. It would be funny if they come upon Aang right when Azulon dies. Ozai sends them the note that they can return and he instead gets their report of having found the Avatar. Though for storytelling, it might be better that he does so after the events of season 1. Unsure if Iroh would ascend to the throne in Ozai’s place in canon, he would probably stop the war then and there, and Ozai might challenge him and take the throne anyway.] No particular points of interest come to mind as this gets to the start of the show. Azula would no doubt be more effective and ruthless, and the Zhao rivalry that happened with Zuko would not happen, but something else.

Back to Zuko, he would first make appearance as the Blue Spirit [not definitely the same chronological events] then be revealed to Ursa later down the line. He would start on the Avatar’s side but be held back once he recognises Ursa. Afterwards he would probably harbour some resentment for his situation and confront her one day. Ursa tells him the whole story with an apology and Zuko tries to convince her to drop the Avatar mission. Ursa thinks it’s unlikely for Azula to change her mind but does what she can.

No clue what happens next.

[do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them]

Til the End of the Night / Ch1: In which Roman phones a friend

Masterpost / Next 

Summary:  While Thomas is asleep, Roman dreams himself into a predicament he can't get out of alone. Fortunately, he has three friends who are eager to... er, willing... look, at least they're going, alright? It's quest time!

Warnings: imprisonment, fantasy violence/non-graphic injury

A/N: finally starting to crosspost this fic! yay!

Read on AO3

Roman may have been slightly trapped in a tower. It was a long story, which did not refer to its actual length so much as to the fact that he didn’t want to tell it. He would hate to have to admit to anyone that he’d climbed up here to rescue a princess, as one does, only she’d told him there was wifi in there and then, when he’d joined her inside to partake of the free internet, vanished completely.  In the moments it had taken him to look around and realize she’d been an illusion all along, magical vines had grown to almost completely cover the only window, impervious to his sword and his inventive curses alike.  This had to be the work of that foul sorceress, the Dragon Witch.  He’d said as much out loud, not that anyone was around to hear him.

He needed to get out of here.  He couldn’t see anything lying around that would be of use, although he couldn’t see much of anything at all with the vines blocking all but a few slivers of light.  Of course, he still had his creative powers- the world around him was in story-mode at the moment, so he couldn’t do anything too unreasonable, but he was able to pull a lantern from thin air and light it with a wave of his hand.

Taking a better look revealed only that, just as he’d thought, the room was pretty much empty.  These tower scenarios weren’t exactly designed for convenience of escape. How would he ever get to save anyone if they went and left on their own before he got there, after all?  That wouldn’t be any fun.  It had never been an issue before, given that those inconvenienced were never real people... unlike now.  He threw the lantern at the window in a combination of anger and hope that it might do something.  Flames splashed over the vines only to die out a moment later, extinguished by a dark flash of magic.  The barrier was warded against every attack he could come up with, even the ones he was stretching the rules to even be able to try, and tossing an arcane explosive at a wall showed that the whole room was just as indestructible.  And the force sent him flying across the room, which hurt.  And he had to make a new lantern now.

“What have I ever done to deserve this?” he demanded of the ceiling, gesturing to the overall situation with his free hand.  It didn’t answer.  He sighed loudly and collapsed to the floor, sitting against the back wall. He couldn’t stand feeling useless like this, coming up against a challenge he couldn’t dance around or make a way out of- and in his own realm, too, the place he came to get rid of frustration.  While he’d been looking for a way out and coming up empty, what little light made it in had dimmed to nothing, and noticing that made him also notice how tired he was.  As much as he hated to give up on… anything ever, really… there was no part of him that wanted to move right now.  Time worked differently here and sleeping through the night would only take a minute of real-world time, so he might as well just put the lantern out and… close his eyes...

When Roman woke up, it was still about eleven at night back in reality, and he was about eleven different types of sore.  It seemed his body wasn’t a fan of getting knocked into walls and then falling asleep on a stone floor, who knew?  Which was hypocritical, because it hadn’t been his brain’s idea to pass out like that.  When he got up and bit back a groan, however, it wasn’t because of the protests from his muscles, but because of what he saw.

The tower room was furnished now.  There was a bed, a chest in which he could see folded clothes, and a small table holding an array of food and the lantern, which had been mysteriously lighted again.  It bordered on cozy, which wasn’t a problem in and of itself- he liked cozy- but what it meant most definitely was. The world was expecting him to be staying here for quite a while.  It was official: in the terms of the story that was now unfolding, his role was no longer that of an adventuring prince, but a witch’s prisoner locked in a tower, and that meant the very laws of this reality would make sure he couldn’t escape on his own, even if he thought of something that would normally work.  There was nothing else to be done: as much as he would hate it, he was going to have to call for help.

Fortunately, the tower really did have wifi, because he certainly wasn’t going to have good reception out here.  He sat on the bed, which was decently comfortable, opened the list of contacts on his phone and looked over them for a brief moment. Easy decision, really- two out of three would immediately make fun of him for getting himself into this situation in the first place.  He called Patton.

Patton was half-asleep on the couch in a pile of blankets, midway through a TV show he was no longer paying attention to, when the ringing of his phone jolted him back to consciousness.  He turned the TV off and answered at the last second before it would have gone to voicemail.  “Hello?”

“Hello,” Roman said on the other end.  He didn’t usually wait to be prompted to start talking about whatever he called for, that was odd.

“Roman!”  He sounded awake now.  “I thought you were busy with one of your adventures in the Imagination right now? Fighting bad guys and saving various royalty and stuff?  Not that I’m not happy to hear from you, of course!”

“Er, about that, it’s-- you have to promise not to laugh,” he interrupted himself.

“Of course, I would never laugh at you!  Unless you were making a joke, because then it wouldn’t be very nice not to…”  That train of thought was getting off track, he realized.  “What’s wrong?”

“Well… It seems that this time, I’ve become the royalty in need of rescuing.”  He explained recent events, or at least a slightly edited version of them that made him sound cooler, and paused at appropriate moments for a reaction.  Patton did not disappoint.

“Oh, no!” he gasped.  “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Roman said, which was mostly true.  “This has all been rather confusing.”

“We’ve got to figure something out…”

Patton was too busy fretting to notice Logan rise up in front of him until he spoke.  “I don’t mean to intrude on… whatever’s happening here, but if you two need help figuring something out, I’d be happy to contribute a more rational perspective. What’s the problem this time?”

“Roman is--” Patton interrupted himself with a surprised squeak as Virgil appeared as well, balanced on the arm of the couch.

“Patton, are you okay?  I felt...”  He trailed off slightly and looked between the two of them, fidgeting with the hood of his jacket as if he expected to need it up soon.  “Somebody tell me what’s going on.”

Logan started telling him what he knew, despite the fact that he knew pretty much nothing. Virgil quickly realized this and responded sarcastically, starting an argument over whether Logan should be saying anything at all right now, and meanwhile Roman was talking into Patton’s ear asking what was happening over there, and there were so many freakin’ words he couldn’t process any of it.

“Guys,” he tried to interrupt.  “Hello?”  They didn’t seem to hear him.  He cleared his throat and mustered his sternest voice, which wasn’t very stern, really, but they would know it meant he was serious.  “Logan!  Virgil! Quit it!”  They stopped bickering and turned back in his direction, looking sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“I apologize, that was- immature.  Please continue.”

“Alright, well, Roman- you know what, I should just put him on speakerphone.  I’m putting you on speakerphone, Roman, okay?  Can you tell Logan and Virgil what you just told me?”

Patton set his phone on the table, and the first thing they all heard from Roman was an annoyed sigh.  “If I must,” he said reluctantly. Virgil muffled a laugh with his sleeve- he could just hear the pout in his voice.  “This is so embarrassing,” he muttered.  “I was tricked… by a very cunning witch… and now I am unfortunately, er, stuck, in a tower, in a story.  I would, uh… greatly appreciate some assistance, honestly.”

Logan blinked.  “Well, that’s simple enough to fix.  All we need to do is wake Thomas up and--”

“No!”  Roman coughed.  “I mean- he does need to be well rested to face the day’s challenges, you know how erratic his sleeping habits can be- we shouldn’t resort to disturbing him unless there are truly no other options.  ...And have I mentioned that this is very embarrassing?  It’s bad enough that you all know now, I’m not telling Thomas as well!”  And if Thomas knew something, everyone did, or could if they chose, at least.  Some of those “dark” sides would never let Roman live this down if they heard.

“Okay, so you need someone to get you out.” Surprisingly, or maybe not all that surprisingly, Logan knew a bit about the technicalities of the Imagination. Once he’d found out technicalities existed, he couldn’t resist asking questions until Roman yelled at him to stop killing his fun by trying to dissect how it worked. “Why not just conjure up a hero with those fanciful mind-powers of yours?”

“I… can’t.  Not without being part of the action myself.  I can’t move the focus of the story to anyone who isn’t real.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”  Virgil dropped onto the couch beside Patton, legs folded under himself, the better to yell into the phone.  “It’s your world, you literally created it, what even- what does that even mean? Just tell it to stop, or whatever.”

“It’s not always that easy,” Roman snapped back.  “I can’t just do whatever I want- I mean, I can, but… look, I didn’t want it to be that easy, alright?  I need a challenge sometimes if I want to improve!  Anyway, I’m sure your room is so much more manageable,” he added seconds before wondering if this was going too far, “what with how it nearly made Patton cry after being there for ten minutes and all.  I suppose that was all entirely on purpose.”

“My room is a room, Roman, and you’re in an infinite world with way more dangerous stuff in it that I had kind of assumed you could always control, but okay, fine. Figures your realm would make everything have to be about you.  What’s your plan, if none of ours are good enough?”

“We-ell…”  A slight pause.  “It doesn’t have to be about me, thank you very much, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Even-More-Dark.  In theory, if someone else, another person who exists in some real sense, were to enter the realm, and take on the role of a traveling hero…”

“Oh!  That sounds fun!” Patton exclaimed, at the same moment as Virgil said, “Absolutely not.” Logan just shook his head skeptically.

“Pleeease?” Roman and Patton said in unison.  Patton was even giving them his best puppy-dog eyes. How did they sync up like that without being able to see each other?  Why was it almost working?

“Roman just said he lost control of his stupid realm, and now you want to skip on in there after him and probably get eaten by a rogue dragon or something?”

“I thought the dragon was a witch, not a rogue…”

That got a snort of laughter from Virgil despite himself, and a pained sigh from Logan.  Virgil tried to regain his look of “why are you even considering this,” but before he could quite get there Roman was talking again.

“Guys, it’s completely safe, I promise.  On my honor as a prince, which, in here, I actually am. Nothing in this realm has ever so much as scratched me unless I decided it could, and I’m not going to tell anything it can hurt any of you. Like Patton said, it will be fun!  Just a quick walk through the Imagination- which is beautiful, I designed the landscape myself- I can give you a proper tour once you get me down, and we’ll all be back long before Thomas wakes up.” There was a muffled noise and a distant curse-substitute as he almost knocked the lantern over with the gestures they couldn’t see him making.

“Yes!”  Patton was practically bouncing in his seat.  “Can we go?  Logan? Virgil?  Please?  I really wanna go and it wouldn’t be as fun by myself, please?”

Logan considered it.  “I still think it would be much easier to just inform Thomas of the situation-”

“Thank you,” Virgil sighed.

“-but if Roman doesn’t want to be summoned-”

“-which I don’t-”

“-he can choose to ignore it.  Knowing how stubborn he can be, it might in fact be less hassle to just go along with his plan.”

“You’re actually agreeing to this?  Are you serious?”

Logan pointed silently to his necktie.

“Ugh, fine.” Virgil threw his hands up in defeat. “But if anything bad happens, it won’t be my fault.”

Patton touched Virgil’s knee softly, trying not to startle him with limited success.  “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, you know.  If you’d rather stay here and wait for us to get back, that’s completely fine.”

“No, I’m going.”  He looked sideways at Patton with the ghost of a teasing smile on his face. “I mean, somebody has to keep the rest of you out of trouble, you’re not getting away from me that easily.”

“We wouldn’t want to,” Patton assured him, while Logan breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t be left to corral the rather impulsive emotional side by himself.

Roman’s slightly tinny voice broke in.  “Are you coming, then?”  He was trying not to sound like he cared very much, which was revealing in itself.

Patton grinned.  “Yep! Just as soon as we get ready!  Ooh-” he turned to the other two in the room- “can I say something?”

Logan shared a confused glance with Virgil.  “...I would assume so?”

Patton didn’t bother to clarify, just grabbed one of their hands each, throwing them up above all their heads as he cheered.  “Who’s ready for an ADVENTURE?!”

[allyinthekeyofx]

Affirmation 1/4

Series of post eps starting with Orison that are my take on the path to ‘All Things’

Post episode ORISON

I stare into the mirror, my reflection vaguely distorted by the lingering condensation on the glass, the usually sharp, well-defined lines of my face turned bleary, non-descript.

The shower has done nothing to ease either my aching body or my aching heart, and even though my skin is suffused with a rosy glow from the heat, I am still cold, shivering like a day old infant ripped from its mother’s comforting embrace.

The woman who stares back at me is not the woman I know. She has changed irrevocably, never to be the same again, sullied, cheapened by a single act of vengeance.

Today, I killed a man in cold blood; took away his life almost on a whim. I watched him squirm, saw the fear in his face as he realized what I was about to do. And I revelled in the power I had over him, rejoiced as I applied pressure to the trigger, the sound of my partner’s voice coming at me from far outside myself as I watched the bullet tear in to Donnie Pfaster’s flesh.

And just for a second it had felt so right so just.

But the feeling was fleeting, quickly replaced by a spreading numbness as Mulder reached me and gently loosened the gun from my grasp.

I couldn’t speak, could barely stand to look him in the eye as it slowly dawned on me that he had seen everything. He had seen his stoic by-the-book partner lose control in a way I had vowed never to do.

And yet he hadn’t flinched; he had simply taken control as he always did, speaking soft words of reassurance as he helped me through the next few hours.

I had packed a bag under his ever watchful eye, knowing I had to leave the apartment to allow the forensics team to do their work but at the same time not wanting to go; knowing that when I returned, things would never be the same again.

I wanted to stay, to roll up my sleeves and scrub every inch of that monster from my home, from my soul.

Mulder had wanted to take me back to his place, to allow him to take care of me, to make amends for not being there for me - for allowing Pfaster to get to me once again. He didn’t say as much of course, but his expressive hazel eyes eloquently begged me to please let him do this.

Of course I refused him.

Directed him instead to drop me at the nearest Motel. He opened his mouth just once to argue, but something in my face caused him to abruptly shut it again as he nodded sadly, knowing that nothing he said would change my mind. And all the while my heart was screaming out to just let him take me away, away to the only place I might find some semblance of peace. Wanting so much to step in to his strong embrace and let him soothe away the tears that prickled at my eyelids like a thousand needles.

Instead, I had simply turned away from him like I always did. Feeling my walls go up as surely as if I had been armed, not with a gun, but with bricks and mortar, filling in the cracks as they appeared.

I had felt my resolve weaken as he had stood beside me watching me trying to make my shaking hands co-operate sufficiently to unlock the door leading in to the tiny cinder block motel room that was to be my home for the next few days.

Finally, he had put one warm hand gently on the nape of my neck, whilst the other had taken the key from me and deftly succeeded where I had failed.

"You shouldn’t be alone right now."

He had spoken the words with such gentleness, a final attempt to break through my walls, and I had so nearly crumbled, wanting nothing more than to cling to him and never let him go, to breath in the scent of him that so often invaded my dreams.

"I’m fine Mulder."

Of course I was. Wasn’t I always? Seven years of sharing everything with this man except my emotions. How many times had I said those words to him? How many times had I lied?

Just like I had lied then.

He had dropped his hand away, leaving me feeling bereft once more. The connection between us broken, shattered in to a million pieces by the utterance of three little words, just as I had known it would.

And of course he had left.

Just as I had wanted him to.

Because once again, I had pushed him away.

How many more times would he allow me to do that before he stopped caring?

Right now, I don’t have the strength, either physical or emotional to question it. I stand here, shivering, rapidly cooling water beading my skin and wonder instead just what the hell I’m doing.

Why am I like this? Why can’t I for once admit that I need him?

The face of the woman I used to know, crumples before me, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she slowly traces a finger along the misty glass of the mirror, lingering on the livid purple bruise just above her cheekbone. Another bruise to add to the multitudes already etched on to her heart.

So many injuries over the years, but the physical challenges are the easy ones, easily healed, easily forgotten.

The real pain comes from inside.

Seeing the first tear finally escape its confines, I angrily swipe at my image with the palm of my hand, obliterating the delicate patterns forged by the steam filling the small room, and turn away from all that I see.

Out of sight out of mind

If only that were true.

The light in the bedroom is muted, curtains tightly drawn against the outside world. A small, inadequate desk light throws out a weak glow that only really brightens the area immediately around it.

But that’s fine.

My head hurts - stress induced, the doctor inside me supplies helpfully - and I am afraid that to turn on more lights will make the pounding inside my skull intensify to a point I will be forced to acknowledge it fully.

For now, it is simply another cross to bear.

I deserve it. Call it penance.

I have no idea what the time is right now. Time stopped for me when I pulled that trigger. But I am tired and to crawl under the covers and go to sleep has an undeniable appeal.

But I fight the urge for a short while. Even turn on the TV, try to lose myself in the trials and tribulations of the characters who live their lives within that little square box, and for a scant few minutes I actually succeed. I stop thinking.

And then the scene before me changes.

Stupid really, the interior of a church fills the screen.

Candles burning.

Candles

Oh God.

I make it to the bathroom just in time before I lose the last remnants of my hastily consumed dinner down the sink, trying to control my breathing as I retch and retch, soon bringing up nothing but acrid tasting bile, and then nothing at all.

But still my hands grip the slick porcelain as my body is wracked with painful spasms, no longer in my control, I feel the tears streaming down my face as I wait for it to subside.

I’d forgotten just how much throwing up really hurts and I feel something below my rib cage tear through the strain.

I haven’t thrown up like this since I was first diagnosed with cancer, but somehow this is worse. Back then, the nausea was something to be tolerated; a direct result of the drugs being pumped in to me to prolong my life.

But this?

This is as a result of something evil.

And the knowledge I have brought it on myself makes it a thousand times more painful.

Finally, the spasms are replaced by the sound of gasping as I try to breathe and cry at the same time. My freshly washed hair hangs around my face, the honeysuckle scent mingling with the acrid stench below me and I straighten up abruptly.

The sudden shift makes my now pounding head spin, and my legs cease to be co-operative, buckling suddenly to deposit me in an ungainly heap on the cold tile beneath me.

I don’t try to move. Pressing my uninjured cheek against the floor I revel in the delicious coldness that replaces the heat in my body.

I close my eyes, and mercifully see no images behind them as I am dragged away from conscious thought.

XXXX

"Scully?"

I hear his voice from far away, unsure as to whether I am imagining it.

I’ve imagined him so many times in my dreams, always disappointed when I open my eyes to find myself alone and I refuse to acknowledge that this time is any different.

"Scully wake up. You’re freezing."

Freezing? I’m not cold. A little uncomfortable sure. This damn bed is as hard as stone and about as giving to my tired muscles.

And then I remember, I am not in a bed.

Normal people sleep in beds. I sleep on bathroom floors in low budget motel rooms.

The realization is enough to force my eyes open, blinking them rapidly as I focus on the figure above me. He is silhouetted by the harsh glare of the fluorescent strip light, but shadowed or not, I would recognize that profile anywhere.

He shouldn’t be here.

Go ‘way Mulder. I’m trying to sleep.

"Scully, wake up......I have something to show you."

I try to ignore him and fail miserably as usual. Mulder is impossible to ignore, I learned that early on in our partnership.

The last vestiges of sleep fall away as I shake my head irritably and drag myself up in to a sitting position, a frown furrowing my brow as I realize he isn’t beside me anymore.

Mulder?

"In here Scully. You won’t believe it."

His voice sounds weird, strained, like he is forcing the words out, and suddenly, my senses are on full alert as I command myself to stand. My muscles ache from a combination of fatigue and from forcing them to stay confined in the small space I had chosen for sleep.

I obediently follow his voice in to the bedroom to find him standing in the corner beside the TV that still played happily to itself, oblivious to the fact that no one was there to watch.

What is it Mulder? What do you want? I’m tired and.......

The words die in my throat as he grins at me.

Mulder never grins, at least not like this.

I must be tired, because the expression on his face seems.....

Evil

I almost laugh out loud at the word that popped unbidden in to my mind.

Evil? Mulder doesn’t have an evil bone in his body.

But something is wrong. Very wrong...and suddenly my heart stops. I actually feel it cease it’s steady rhythm in my chest and for long seconds I feel like it’s never going to start up again.

Because the man facing me isn’t my partner.

I take a step backwards, colliding hard with the bathroom door I can’t remember closing behind me, frantically feeling along the wood for the handle, Instinctively needing to put something solid between us. My terror intensifies as I realize that my fumbling is in vain. My fingers trail along the surface. A surface hard and cold and bare.

This has to be a nightmare.

He isn’t really here,

I have to wake up.

I squeeze my eyes shut and start to count.

1

2

3

"Open your eyes Dana. Look at me. Look at what you did to me."

4

5

"DANA"

6

Oh God.......I feel him close to me. I can smell him.

I cry out as fingers curl around my arm, bruising the tender flesh beneath and I can’t deny it any longer. Despite what my rational scientists mind is telling me, the pain is real.

This is real

I open my eyes, my vision blurry from the pain still being inflicted from his steel grip and I find myself looking deep in to his eyes, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

He holds up his free hand, palm outwards and it glistens wetly in the light of the single lamp I left illuminated.

And then I realize that it is covered in blood. His blood. Blood I spilled.

I shake my head from side to side, denying even now what in my heart I know to be true.

No .I killed you. This isn’t real....

He seems to find this vaguely amusing, and just for a moment, the sound of his laughter assails my senses, replaced almost immediately with the feel of his free hand enveloping my face, his fingers pressing cruelly in to the bruised flesh beneath. Worse though, is the cloying stench of his blood, smeared now on to my own skin. It attacks every part of me, and I feel my stomach somersault, the bile rising once again to burn my throat.

He has come to kill me. To finish what he started, and I am powerless to prevent him.

And then, abruptly, he releases me and steps away.

"I have a gift for you, Girly girl. Something to remember me by when I’m gone."

I stand there stupidly, unsure as to how to react. There is no threat in his voice now, and inexplicably, this only frightens me more.

I flinch as he once more raises his hand, holding my breath as I wait for the inevitable, an inevitable that never comes as I realize he is pointing toward the bed.

A box sits upon it, roughly the size and shape of an old fashioned hat box, tied up with wide velvet ribbon.

And I have never been more sure of anything in my life than I am at this moment. I do not want or need to see the contents of that box.

"Aren’t you going to open it? I went to such trouble on your behalf to get you something you really wanted."

I shake my head numbly. I am crying now. I’m not sure when I started. I don’t think I really care anymore.

He shrugs nonchalantly and heads past me, making for the bed.

I know what he is going to do, and once more I clamp my eyes shut.

I hear a rustling sound. Tissue paper I think, maybe plastic. I can’t be sure.

"Surprise!"

He is close to me again, the knowledge of this is enough for me to almost give in to reflex and open my eyes again.

Dontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlookdontlook

The reflex is stronger than the mantra I am chanting, though and against my will my eyes snap open.

Like a manifestation of my worst nightmare, my partner’s once beautiful hazel eyes stare back at me, fixed in a startled look of horror, rolled back up in to his head that has been roughly severed at the neck.

His thick, dark hair has been cut jaggedly in places, reminding me suddenly of that ridiculous buzz cut he adopted after our incarceration in Antarctica.

*Joining the army, Mulder?*

**Why? Does the thought of me in fatigues turn you on Scully?**

And then I start to scream.

XXXX

I am still screaming when someone grips my shoulders.

No Please, no more, I can’t take anymore

"Scully...sssssshhhhhhhhh it’s ok."

and still I scream, the sound terrifying in its sheer volume. I can’t stop. It’s like something inside of me has snapped, finally succumbed to the pressure that has been building for so long.

The hands are pulling me in to sitting position, clawing at the thin material of my oversize T-shirt in an effort to manipulate my body. Still gripped by the nightmare I resist with all the strength and determination my lithe body allows me, lashing out blindly, feeling one of my fingernails connect with soft, pliable skin.

"Jesus Scully.......wake up."

Mulder?

"SCULLY STOP!"

The naked fear in his voice is enough to make me do just that, and slowly, painfully slowly, I become aware of where I am. The scream dies in my throat, only to be replaced with a drawn out cry, so anguished in its delivery that for a second I have no idea of its origin.

And suddenly, out of the darkness, he is there, in front of me, on his knees, arms straight out before him, gripping my shoulders.

I wonder suddenly if he is really there at all, whether he will suddenly dissolve before me in to the form of Donnie Pfaster, whether this is just another cruel trick of my tortured mind.

Then I allow myself to really look at him and I know for sure that this is real.

"Muh.........muh........muh"

My lips refuse to co-operate, but as always he understands my need and for once I allow him to gather me to him, clinging on to him as though for life itself. I feel his hands on my back, in my hair, hear his whispered words of assurance as I finally let go and weep on his strong shoulder.

And all the while he rocks me gently, giving me what I need.

I have no idea how long we remain there. My only conscious thought is that he is with me. I don’t question the hows or the whys. They will come later.

I cry like I’ve never cried before, purging my battered body of its inner demons, until all that is left are dry, wracking sobs that make my chest ache.

And still he holds me.

Seemingly unwilling to let me go for a second, until finally his soft voice reaches me once more.

"C’mon Scully. Let’s get you out of here. You’re ice cold."

His words trigger a wave of trembling in me as I become conscious for the first time of just how cold the floor beneath me really is.

"Can you stand?"

I nod shakily against his shoulder, but my confidence is misplaced. Mulder helps me to my feet, relaxing his grip slightly as we both reach a standing position, and without him to prop me up, my knees once more begin to buckle. Before I can fall though he wraps one arm around my waist and another under my knees, hoisting me easily in to his arms as though I weigh no more than a feather. Suddenly conscious that I am clad in nothing more substantial than thin cotton I squirm in his arms, embarrassment flooding my features with hot colour.

Blushing. The curse of the red head.

Stupid really. Mulder has seen me buck naked before now. I know that, but this is different somehow. More intimate

"Mulder....there’s no need....I’m Fi........"

"Don’t Scully. Please."

I realize that I have said the wrong thing and I feel him tense as he waits for me to argue.

But not this time. This time I won’t push him away, and he nods, satisfied as I drop my head to rest on his shoulder.

I am still shivering despite the warmth I am stealing from him, and it comes as no surprise when he heads for the Queen size bed, still holding me whilst somehow managing to pull back the sheets and blankets covering it.

Instead of depositing me under them though, he sits carefully on the edge of the mattress, sliding his arm out from under my legs so that I end up perched on his knee, my body curled foetal position against him and then I feel his hand on my hair again, his fingers ever so softly teasing out the tangled strands. Hair I never bothered to comb after my shower.

"Want to tell me what’s going on with you Scully?"

He slips the question in casually, without warning, carefully working on my hair at the same time, as though that is taking up his entire attention, and his enquiry in to my precarious state of mind is a mere trifle to pass the time whilst he frees the strands from the tangles that bind them together.

I feel him pause momentarily in his ministrations though, as without warning, another shudder courses through my body. I feel the goose bumps rise up on my exposed skin as I remember the cold grey eyes of Pfaster as he came at me.

Inhuman eyes; windows to a soul that did not belong on this earth. I will never forget those eyes if I live to be a hundred years old.

My throat closes up on me once again, and, not trusting myself to speak, I simply shake my head, praying that he won’t push the issue.

Later Mulder I promise with my mind.

Maybe he hears me, I don’t know, but he falls silent once more.

And I lay my head more firmly against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, a combination of the light cologne he wears and his own unique male muskiness.

The scent of Mulder.

For the first time all day, I begin to feel something akin to peace as I listen to the steady beat of his heart directly beneath my ear.

That, coupled with the gentle stroking of his fingers in my hair, along my arm, is lulling me to sleep. My eyelids grow heavy, and I don’t even attempt to fight it as exhaustion washes over me.

I should feel awkward, lying as I am in my partners comforting embrace, and maybe in different circumstances I would.

But I need this. I need him to be here. And I know that in allowing him to heal me, I am in a sense also healing him.

And then, I finally fall in to dreamless sleep.

XXXX

My first conscious thought on awakening is that Mulder's arms are no longer around me. And despite my best intentions I feel bereft, incomplete somehow.

He is still in the room though, of that I am certain.

I feel his presence, feel him watching me; watching over me.

Right on cue, I hear his voice from across the room

"Hey, look who’s awake."

Blinking sleepily, I automatically follow the sound of his voice and my gaze settles on my partner, stretched out on a chair far too small to comfortably accommodate his lanky frame.

I realize immediately why he has chosen it, and not it’s larger, more comfortable counterpart.

From his vantage point, he is able to keep an eye on me while I sleep whilst still following the football game that is playing out on the small screen TV beside him.

The other chair would have given him a clear view of the TV but not much else.

I stare fuzzily at the game, trying to determine the players by their colours before dismissing the notion as being irrelevant.

"You’ve been out for hours. How are you feeling?"

I simply shrug non-comittally in response, because the truth is, at this precise moment in time, I don’t really know.

"What time is it?"

"Late. You should eat something."

I feel my eyebrows raise, almost against my will.

Aahhhhhhhhh Typical Mulder. I know how his mind works at times like this.

Scully sleep, Scully eat, Scully talk.

He doesn’t usually deviate much from his game plan.

Unfortunately for him though, I have a much more pressing need.

Wrinkling my nose like a kindergartener I drop my gaze to the crumpled T-shirt I am wearing. I can still smell the fear that drenched me earlier, manifested now in unpleasantly dried in sweat.

"I need a shower"

Mulder crosses one leg languidly across the other, hazel eyes twinkling suddenly at me from across the room.

"Need me in there to help at all Scully?"

I almost laugh at this typical Mulder quip, but the truth is, that there is nothing I would like more than to reach out my hand to him and lead him in to the small room with me.

It’s a fantasy I have played out in my mind a thousand times.

But a fantasy is unfortunately all it is.

"I think I can manage just fine by myself thanks." I assure him as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, heading for the bathroom. Mulders voice follows me inside.

"Hey.....if you change your mind............"

My third shower of the day is wonderful. After washing and shampooing, I simply lean against the tile, the jets of hot water turned up high drumming against my neck and shoulders as effective as any massage I have ever had and slowly, slowly, I feel the tensions of the day disappearing from me.

This evening in my apartment, the nightmare that found me lying in a crumpled heap on this very floor, all now seem so very long ago.

And while I know I will have to deal with them at some point, for now I can place them at the back of my mind.

Harder to forget though, is the memory of Mulder cradling me in his arms after I collapsed against him, and despite the hot water, I shiver as I remember how it felt to be held so close to him, feeling his hands on me, his warm breath tickling my cheek as he gave whispered assurances that everything was okay. That I was okay.

I close my eyes against the visions inside my head.

To think like this is dangerous.

Forbidden.

And yet, I acknowledge, even if only to myself, that I love him, am in love with him.

I have been for as long as I can remember.

I can’t imagine a time in my life when I haven’t loved him.

He feels the same way. I know that just as I know that the sun will rise to greet another dawn tomorrow. I see it in the way he looks at me, feel it in his touch, hear it in his voice.

But at the same time, we both know that to succumb to that knowledge would only spell disaster for both of us.

Mulder and I have chosen to walk a dangerous path, and while we walk that path holding tightly to one another, we know that ours is a love that can never be.

Our choices were made so long ago, our paths forged by unseen hands, and we are destined to walk those paths for the rest of our lives.

Nothing else matters.

Nothing.

We do not have the luxury of living normal lives.

I realized that early on in our partnership.

Despite this realization though, I feel the tears that rush to my eyes as I once more mourn for all that can never be, and angrily I swipe them away.

These are dangerous thoughts to be having right now. My emotions are still raw. Too close to the surface, and I am afraid that I might betray myself.

Clamping down on myself, I turn the faucet to off with a quick savage flick of my wrist and step out of the cubicle, reaching out blindly through the steam as I search for the Motel towel.

And then I freeze as realization hits me.

Shit.

I neglected to bring a change of clothes in to the bathroom with me, and my favourite blue flannel pyjamas are still sat atop the bed where I threw them earlier. To retrieve them I will have to step out of this room, with only a woefully inadequate low budget motel towel covering me as I negotiate my partner to reach them.

I don’t normally display such modesty around a man, who, let’s face it, has dragged me half naked through the frozen wastes of Antarctica.

But that was different. For one thing I was half unconscious throughout the experience.

And then there was the shower incident, kindly provided by Diana Fowley, because the wall separating us offered no protection since my partner could see right over it.

But he didn’t see anything right?

Yeah right I believe that in my dreams.

The bathroom is not heated, and I am beginning to shiver as the steam around me rapidly disappears, replaced instead with the cool air from the air con unit set high upon the wall.

And my subconscious makes the decision for me as I reach for the door handle.

After all, it’s not like I’m naked or anything.

The minute I step out the door, I realize my fears have been for nothing. Mulder has abandoned his position by the TV and is now stretched out atop the bed.

Asleep

And even though I know it is foolhardy, I allow myself a minute or two to indulge in one of my favourite pastimes.

I love to watch my partner sleep.

In sleep his handsome face relaxes, taking on an almost boyish naivety that I simply don’t get the pleasure of seeing during the course of our normal lives together. No conspiracies, no betrayals, no hurt. Just Mulder.

How he should look

In many ways, he has been cheated out of so much, and while he is without a doubt, the most handsome man I have ever seen, every line on his skin has been etched from blood and tears and pain.

It’s a pain he carries round with him every day of his life.

A pain I stopped trying to heal a long time ago.

A few strands of his dark brown hair have fallen over his forehead and I can’t resist gently brushing them away, settling them once more where they belong, my fingertips trailing the length of his face..

I have no idea what possesses me to do what I do next.

Holding my breath, I bend over my slumbering partner, closing my eyes tightly as my lips make just the gentlest contact with his smooth, warm skin. Careful not to wake him I remain there, savouring the moment.

I’ve kissed him like this before of course, but those times have always been in response to a need to comfort, to reassure.

This kiss is a stolen kiss.

A kiss just for me.

Allowing me to say all the things to him I need to.

Sentiments I keep locked away inside myself that I would give anything for him to hear.

I am also aware of the risk I am taking by even doing this, and reluctantly I pull away, opening my eyes and feeling them widen in the horrified realization the Mulder is staring straight back at me.

He’s awake. He’s been awake the whole time.

"Trying to turn me in to a frog Scully?"

I don’t answer him, feeling the burning humiliation flooding my cheeks as one hand instinctively grips the edge of my towel tightly. I feel like I am about to disintegrate before him, the sound of my increased heartbeat reverberating in my ears.

All I can think about is my need to escape, and I take one stumbling step backwards.

In response, Mulder sits up and curls his long fingers around the wrist of my free hand. His grip is loose and if I wanted to I could easily shake him off.

But I don’t. Because he opens his mouth to speak, pleading at me with his eyes.

“Don’t."

The word is whispered, barely intelligible, and something in my heart shatters as I hear the painful yearning in his tone, and I can’t, can’t walk away from him; at least not like this.

Instead, I allow him to pull me back toward him, easing me down until I am seated, barely an inch away from him on the bed. I shiver as he releases his hold on me, sliding his hand up my arm and tracing a finger the length of my collar bone.

The sensation is electric and I feel a line of goose bumps break out to follow in his wake and I know, that I have to stop this now, while I still can.

"Mu......"

He realizes my intention, and the words die on my lips as he presses the errant finger against them, and I am suddenly struck by the realization that I don’t want him to stop, that this is exactly what I need right now.

I finally turn my head, locking my eyes with his and I realize that we can’t lie to each other any longer.

Almost against my will I inch closer to him, dipping my head until I am right there in front of him, and I do what I have wanted to do for so long.

The kiss is innocent, chaste almost, not unlike the night not so long ago when, at the stroke of midnight, Mulder allowed his barriers to come down.

My hands snake up to cup his face, deepening the kiss, moistening his beautiful lower lip with my tongue before gently pulling it in to my mouth, and I am lost in the feeling of him and he groans as I open my mouth, allowing him entry and I feel his tongue slide in to greet mine, breath mingled as we explore what has up until now been forbidden fruit.

He tastes just like I always imagined him to; a delicious combination of citrus and peppermint. I know this taste as though it is a part of me, and I can’t get enough of him.

I run my tongue along the hard ridges of his teeth, the velvet softness of his cheeks and tremble as he slowly draws his lips from mine and gently nibbles a path down my neck.

My hands are in his hair, teasing, burrowing, holding on to him as though he might, at any moment, disappear as he has done so many times in my dreams.

The reality of it though hits me like a bullet as his hands go around my back, loosening the excuse for a towel I still wear, so it falls forward, leaving my back exposed.

He seems content to languidly explore every inch of me, but I need more, so much more than he is giving me right now.

Closing my eyes, I reach around and grasp his wrist, sliding his hand along my ribcage, settling it atop my  breast and his eyes widen as the towel slips even further, exposing me.

"Oh God Scully......."

And he suddenly backs away, pulling my hand with him and bringing it to his lips where he kisses it gently, settling his hazel eyes on me which at that moment are a confusion of arousal, sorrow and concern.

“We can’t do this. Not now. Not like this.....”

His voice is barely audible, but the softness, the respect in his tone is lost on me as each word slams in to me just as though he has raised his palm and delivered each one with a stinging slap to my face.

Because he doesn’t want me; because whatever drove him to instigate this has somehow passed and I am suddenly mortified that I even allowed it to get this far, that I allowed him to go so far; I killed a man tonight. Took away his life in cold blood and instead of getting down on my bended fucking knees and asking forgiveness, I am allowing my partner, my best friend, to put his hands all over me and even worse, I am allowing myself to enjoy it.

No wonder Mulder can’t bring himself to keep touching me; I am unworthy of him, perhaps unworthy of anyone and right now I am shaking with a combination of shame, regret and a burning humiliation that causes me to stumble backwards even as I snatch my hands from him and clutch the towel against myself.

“Scully....”

“I think you need to leave Mulder.”

I can’t look at him now and I turn before he can witness the tears that begin streaming down my face, snatching up my earlier forgotten pyjamas as I escape to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me before I collapse to the floor for the second time that evening, wishing that I could just sink through it and never have to face him again. Because I know him and I know he won’t leave me like this; that he will wait all night if necessary for me to exit this room, to affirm that I am okay, that we are okay and while a part of me wishes he wouldn’t, the part of me that is terrified to be alone right now is praying that I am right, that he will stay.

 I can’t say for sure how long I remain there in a crumpled, sobbing mess, but slowly I am faced with the realisation that the floor is no less unforgiving than it was earlier and I feel myself begin to shiver against the harsh cold of the tile. It’s enough to bring me slowly to my feet, gritting my teeth against the sudden wave of dizziness that thankfully passes fairly quickly, allowing me to dress myself in the soft flannel warmth of the pyjamas. And then I clean my teeth, fighting back the tears once more as I replace the taste of Mulder with the far more benign taste of spearmint. It’s enough to almost make me unravel once again, but I slam a lid down on my emotions, refusing to let him see me break down once more.

I am unsurprised to see him still there when I finally open the door. In fact he hasn’t moved an inch other than the fact his head is now bowed, eyes on the floor, defeat and uncertainty radiating off him.

“I’m okay.” I manage, my voice sounding weak and brittle and far away somehow. “I’m sorry Mulder...I shouldn’t ha....”

But I don’t get a chance to finish before he is on his feet, reaching me in just a few short strides before he pulls me roughly against his chest, encircling me with his strong arms, holding me there, denying me an escape.

“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare apologise Scully.”

His words are sharp, harsh almost, but the way he drops his lips to the crown of my head belies his tone. And then, slowly he slides the palms of his hands up my back, across my shoulders and tracks them upwards until he is cradling my face, forcing me to finally meet his eyes.

“Because I’m not sorry” he continues, his eyes intense, dark green and gold as he holds my gaze in his. “But we can’t make this about what happened today in your apartment. We can’t make this about him.”

And deep down I know he is right. That absolution can never come at the expense of what we share, of what we can be, that if tonight, we had answered the need that has burned inside us both for so long, the memory would forever be tainted by the evil that had sought to destroy me; a man intent on capturing me, of raping me, of killing me and then carrying out his last sick, twisted defilement of me before leaving me for my partner to find.

The realisation brings a wave of fresh trembling that even with Mulder right beside me I just can’t seem to still and I bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist even as he pulls me tighter against him, letting me ride it out, holding on to me just as he always does.

“Please don’t leave....please stay with me....”

I am appalled at how fragile I feel, ashamed of my vulnerability, wanting to be strong but not knowing how and I am terrified that he will refuse, that he will simply drop another kiss on my forehead and then he will be gone, leaving me to face this alone, penance for all the times I have pushed him away.

But of course he does none of those things. He just holds me even tighter, his muffled voice slicing a path right through my desperate fear.

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.”

And even though it’s anything but okay,, right at that moment I know that it will come......eventually.

End of part one