#the glass fibers were so fun you have to wear a mask with that one though

[beatriceportinari]

2 methods of cleaning burnt deposit on an arcopal cup : scalpel blade and glass fibers pen

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

Carry Me Home (A Din Djarin/Reader Fic)

Summary: Din and Reader find themselves on a jungle planet hunting a bounty, but nothing goes as planned, and secrets are shared.

***Based off this line from a previous fic in this series: "Then the mysterious bounty hunter told you his name one day when you were trying to hold his femoral artery together with nothing but bacta gel and hope."

No spoilers. Set in Season 1 between Episode 6 (The Prisoner) & Episode 7 (The Reckoning)

Pairings: Din Djarin/Reader; Din Djarin/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, gore, & violence. Brief mentions of past slavery. 

A/N: In true Star Wars fashion, I'm just writing shit out of order lol. But the idea for this fic kept bugging me, so i just had to get it out on the page. 

You don't need to read the previous fics to understand this one, though (since the others are set in s2.) I have some more ideas for out of order stories, too, so I'll most likely be continuing this series.But let me know if you'd be interested in a fic from Din's POV! I think that could be fun, but if y'all are digging Reader POV, I'll stick to that.

And in case anyone cares, the title is taken from the lyrics of Arcade by Duncan Lawrence, which I was listening to on repeat as I wrote this. 

As always, I’ve posted this piece on Ao3, but I’ll paste the text below. 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28763814

I’ll also include the links to the other two fics here: 

The Sea Like Glass Ch 1: Here

The Sea Like Glass Ch 2 (includes smut): Here

“Dank farrik!” you hissed as the wire in front of you sparked and sent a jolt of electricity through your already singed fingers. Not for the first time, you wished you could wear your gloves, but some of the pieces that needed repairing were too small to feel through the bulky material, so you could do nothing more than sacrifice your flesh for the cause.

Didn’t make it hurt less, though. You sucked the smarting tips into your mouth, glaring at the trashed circuit board in front of you, but the ruined hardware only crackled in response.

If you were back in Hanger 3-5 in Mos Eisley, you would have probably trashed the whole part and dug through Peli’s stock for a replacement, or gone down to the market and haggled for something newer, but you weren’t on Tatooine. You were smack dab in the middle of a jungle planetoid you couldn’t remember the name of, and it was up to you to get the Razor Crest running again on what you had available.

Which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot.

You sighed as you sat back on your haunches, using the back of your wrist to swipe at the sweat trailing down your temple. The pre-Empire ship towered over you as you dug into her innards, having pried off one of the semi-melted lower side panels to access the appropriate circuits. Your thin tank top was already drenched, and the hair sticking to the back of your neck kept giving you phantom itches. You wanted nothing more than to tie it up completely, but you always felt naked when your nape was exposed. You weren’t necessarily ashamed of the scar there, or the past connected to it, since it wasn’t your fault you were born into shackles, but… still. It was a… personal story to tell, and you weren’t sure you were ready to share it with your new boss.

Well, “new” was relative. You’d been employed on the Razor Crest for several months now, but you didn’t know much more about the Mandalorian than you did when you’d first set foot onto his ship. You knew he was a bounty hunter, from a race of legendary warriors. You knew he had a partially sordid, and dangerous, past if your encounter with Ran and his crew of mercenaries was any indication. You knew the green baby was his ward, or foundling as he called it, and Mando was tasked with returning the little guy to his people. And you knew his Creed forbid him from removing his helmet.

That was about it. The Mandalorian didn’t talk much, but it didn’t particularly bother you. You’d always been a quieter person, and after years of Peli’s constant chattering, you were kind of relieved for the silence.

Most of the time, anyway.

“How’s it looking?”

You gasped in alarm, jolting yourself off balance and falling back onto your ass in the dirt.

“Maker, Mando,” you panted as you craned your neck back to stare up at the bounty hunter. “What have I told you about sneaking up on me when I’m working on electrics?”

The impervious mask of the Mandalorian stared down at you silently, blotting out the sweltering sun and providing you a modicum of relief. A moment passed, then two, and you shifted uneasily under his unblinking gaze.

“I thought you heard me approach,” he said finally, his modulated voice flat and unaffected, but he didn’t move from where he was looming over you.

“Well, I didn’t,” you grumbled as you flopped your head forward and popped your neck, stretching your legs out in the dirt.

The tight leggings you wore ended not too far past your knees, so your shins were streaked with the red soil of this planetoid. The dirt didn’t bother you, but the heat sure did. It was different than Tatooine’s dry desert. This heat was oppressive, stifling, almost cloying, and every time you took a deep breath, a small part of your brain panicked, images of drowning flashing through your mind even though you knew it was irrational. You were just grateful your clothes didn’t look a fraction as hot as the Mandalorian’s all black get-up and what had to be twenty-five kilos of armor.

“So,” the bounty hunter said after a few more moments of silence, interrupted only by the call of exotic birds in the canopy, “how are things looking?”

“Honestly?” you sighed as you pushed yourself off the ground, dusting the red dirt off your hands but not even bothering with your pants. “Not good. The bounty’s guns must have grazed us when we were still outside orbit, and entering the atmosphere certainly didn’t help matters. Some of the side paneling has been melted beyond repair, and a lot of the wiring is fried, too.”

“Can you get it flying?” Mando asked, crossing his arms over his chest and making his silhouette all the more imposing. The sun glinted off his silver beskar, and you squinted in the glare.

“Maybe.” You pursed your lips and averted your gaze, turning back to stare at the charred panels and sparking wires. Sweat trickled down your neck, and you reached back to cup your nape, feeling the bounty hunter’s eyes on you.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes.”

“You’re not paying me at all if you can’t even catch that quarry,” you snorted before your brain could catch up to your mouth.

You froze when the words finally registered, nails digging into the back of your neck. Stupid. Your mouth always did get the better of you. You used to mouth-off to your former owner until he backhanded you into silence, and now you’re starting shit with a bounty hunter you’d seen kill half a dozen men in just as many seconds.

Stupid.

You waited for Mando to say something, staring at the Razor Crest without even seeing it, and even if you didn’t really believe he’d hurt you for a simple off-handed comment, your body didn’t get the message. Muscle memory was a hard thing to forget, and every fiber in you braced for the blow.

The birds chittered in the towering blue-green canopy above your head as sweat poured from every single one of your pores, and you were just about to come out of your skin when the Mandalorian finally spoke.

“Well, to catch the quarry, I need my ship to fly,” he said, and when you chanced a glance over your shoulder, you discovered he’d somehow moved further away from you, like he took several steps back.

Was he… giving you space?

His tone was still flat, but after several months spent in close proximity with the bounty hunter, you were now able to parse out several different minor inflections in his modulated voice. You were by no means an expert, but you knew for a fact he didn’t sound angry in this moment. When he was angry, his voice took on a softer, menacing quality. The few times you’d heard it—thankfully never directed at you—every hair on your body stood on end, and the lizard part of your brain had screamed to run and not stop running until you were in a completely different star system.

This wasn’t anger. This was… something else. You almost wanted to say… amusement, but that would have been crazy.

Still, the tension bled out of your shoulders like sand through a sieve, and you dropped your arms as you turned to face the Mandalorian fully again.

“Alright, this is the best I can do,” you said. “I can get her flying again, I think I can even get her shielded enough to withstand leaving the atmosphere when we’re done here, but it’s gonna take some time.”

“How much time?” he asked.

You glanced over your shoulder again at the damage, did some calculations in your head, and added some padding to give yourself a margin for error. Then you turned back to the bounty hunter.

“At least two days,” you replied, confident in your abilities. “Anything less, and we risk blowing ourselves to the Inner Core and back when I go to start her up.”

“Hmm.” Mando stared at you for a moment and then shifted to gaze into the jungle. “The bounty will most likely be off planet by then.”

“I don’t think so,” you contradicted him, and your heart actually skipped a beat when the T of his visor turned to look at you. There was something nerve-wracking about staring into the dark, reflective glass, but then you noticed your red-streaked appearance, and you cringed self-consciously as you looked away.

“Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because,” you started, stooping down to pick up the tablet beside your tool bag, “when I first came out here and saw the damage, I was afraid we’d end up in this situation. But then I remembered that the quarry’s ship took more damage than we did in our little space battle. I know for a fact we landed at least one solid hit, I saw it myself.”

“And?”

“Well,” you said as you tapped at the screen, “given the make and model of his vessel, and the location of where we struck the ship, I was able to deduce that we most likely damaged his engines. If his engines are damaged, then there is a maximum distance he could have gone before he would have been forced to land, or even crash landed. With all this information, plus the fact that I knew the general location of where we lost visual of him when we entered the atmosphere, I’ve estimated the quarry can’t be farther than five klicks from our current coordinates. And with his entry trajectory, he’s most likely in this triangulated area three and a half klicks to the west, which should be easily reachable on foot.”

You turned the map on the tablet to face the Mandalorian, and he stepped forward to take the device from you. His gloved fingers brushed across your singed ones, remnant electricity shooting through your veins, and you stifled a flinch as you dropped your arm.

Mando studied the map for a long moment, cocking his head and zooming in to get a better look. You shifted uneasily in the silence, scuffing the tip of your boot into the red soil, but then the bounty hunter finally looked back up at you.

“When did you have time to do this?” he asked, and he actually sounded… impressed. “You were out here for less than ten minutes after we landed.”

“It wasn’t that hard.” You shrugged as your cheeks flushed with heat, but you blamed the sweltering sun overhead and the soup-like air.

“I didn’t realize you were so good with numbers,” he said, his helmet staring directly at you.

“Numbers are easy,” you replied, shrugging again as you raised your hand to chew nervously on your nails, but you stopped yourself when you saw the crimson dirt still caked on your skin. “They don’t lie, once you understand the rules.”

“Did Peli teach you how to do this?” he inquired, and you were surprised by all these questions. Most of the time, the bounty hunter asked you one-or-two-word questions and expected one-or-two-word answers. You couldn’t figure out why this situation was any different, but you found yourself responding anyway.

“Partially,” you explained, and you wondered how you could phrase your answer to be vague but satisfactory. “She… taught me a lot of the specifics for bigger jobs like ships and larger machines, but I’ve always been good at numbers and tinkering.”

That seemed good enough. You didn’t think it was relevant that you first started tinkering because your former owner used to lock you in his shop’s basement with broken droids when you misbehaved, and putting the discarded machines back together kept you from going crazy when your punishments lasted days. You also didn’t think it relevant that when your former owner found out and realized he could profit off your skills, you fine-tuned your abilities to become indispensable. The bastard still hit you occasionally, and his other slaves weren’t treated any better, but you had to admit, him locking you in the basement all those years had saved your life. If you hadn’t cultivated the skills you had, Peli wouldn’t have bought you at auction when the bastard bit the sand, and she wouldn’t have dug out your transmitter chip and effectively freed you the moment you walked into Hanger 3-5. The tiny woman had said she needed an apprentice, not a slave, and so that was what you became. Now, you were a mechanic in your own right, and a damn good one if you did say so yourself. Mando just didn’t need to know how you’d gotten there.

The bounty hunter seemed to think the same thing, too, because he nodded once before he looked back at the tablet.

“This is good work,” he said, and something in your chest preened at his words before you squashed it down. “If these calculations are correct—”

“They are,” you interjected before you could stop yourself.

“Then I think I can set out on foot, find the quarry, and bring him back tomorrow just as you’re finishing the repairs,” Mando went on, and he glanced up at you again. “Does that time frame sound right to you?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. “Should work for me, but it could take you a little longer. I’m unfamiliar with this terrain, and there are too many other variables, like jungle beasts or indigenous species, for me to be sure.”

“The terrain won’t be a problem,” the Mandalorian said as he handed you the tablet back. “And neither will any beasts or natives.”

You cocked an eyebrow at the bounty hunter but didn’t contradict his confidence. “Alright. Then, yes, I should have the ship up and running by the time you get back. Are you leaving now?”

“Once I grab some supplies,” Mando replied before he paused and seemed to consider you. “Will you be… okay until I return?”

It was a familiar question, albeit still surprising. The Mandalorian was a stoic, usually silent warrior, literally a wall of beskar steel. You’d seen him kill men as easy as breathing, and he threw each bounty into carbonite without an ounce of remorse.

And yet, every time he had to leave the ship alone, he asked you if you would be alright until he got back. The question and concern would have made no sense… if you hadn’t seen the bounty hunter interact with his foundling. He tried to hide it, but he treated the little green baby so gently you knew there had to be a warm, beating heart beneath all that beskar. You just never expected any tenderness to be aimed at you, so it drew you up short every time.

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I’ll be fine. Besides—”

You trailed off as you felt something touch your lower leg, and when you looked down, big brown eyes set in a little green face blinked back up at you. Then little green hands lifted in your direction, and you laughed as you swooped down, picked him up, and set him on your hip.

“Besides,” you continued, still chuckling as you booped the child on the nose and left a smudge of red dirt behind, “I’ll have this little guy to keep me company. Right, kid?”

The baby cooed and reached out, his three tiny fingers settling on the bridge of your nose as he tried to boop you back. When he withdrew his hand, though, his skin was dyed black.

“Huh?” You frowned at the slick ooze on his fingers, your eyes crossing as you tried to bring his hand into focus. “What’s on your hand there, bud?”

“It’s grease,” Mando supplied.

“What?” you asked as you turned your head to the bounty hunter.

“Grease,” he repeated, and he touched the intersection on the glass T of his visor, right over where the bridge of his nose would sit. “You’ve got some just there.”

“Oh.” You blushed, your hand flying up to cover your face. Not only were you covered in dirt and sweat, but grease now, too. Typical. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you knew,” the Mandalorian said, but there was that faint undercurrent in his voice that you were sure was amusement now. “Don’t you have any rags?”

“I did,” you muttered as you tried to rub at your face with your shoulder, “but I had to throw most of them out after that oil leak we had on the moon we left about a week ago. It’s fine. I’m already a mess anyhow, and I’m just going to get dirtier as I fix up the ship.”

Mando seemed to stare at you intensely for a moment, and you had the feeling he was taking in just how filthy your clothes were. You could read nothing from his body language, though, and since he wasn’t speaking, there was nothing to infer from his voice, either. Embarrassed heat crawled up your neck, and you suddenly felt naked in your tank top and leggings. You shifted the child in your arms a little to bring him more in front of you and block more of you from view, but the effort was useless because Mando was abruptly spinning on heel and marching toward the ship’s ramp.

“I’m going to gather supplies,” he said gruffly over his shoulder. “Don’t let the kid touch any of the wires.”

And then he was gone, his cape flapping behind him as he disappeared into the bowels of the Razor Crest.

“Okay, bye,” you muttered, and you frowned after him before looking down at the kid and lowering your voice. “Your dad’s a little weird, you know that?”

The child blinked up at you and then seemed to nod his head in solemn agreement.

You laughed and kissed the top of his head even though you knew you were toeing a dangerous line here. You knew you were just the ship mechanic, the hired help, but you and the foundling had spent a lot of time together when the Mandalorian was out hunting bounties, and you couldn’t help loving the adorable baby like he was your own. He was mischievous and always looking to put things in his mouth that he shouldn’t, but something about his presence was calming, soothing. Plus, those big brown eyes were to die for. You weren’t even that surprised the kid had managed to wiggle his way under Mando’s beskar. It had only been a few months, but you knew without a shadow of a doubt that if it came down to it, you would give your life to save this child.

Which was wildly inappropriate, but you chose to ignore that fact.

“It’s just gonna be the two of us again for a bit, little man,” you told the foundling, turning back to face the Razor Crest. “But we’re gonna have some fun, yeah? Do you want to help me fix up the ship?”

The child gurgled into your ear and patted your cheek, which you took as an affirmative.

“Alright,” you laughed as you set him on a large root right next to your tool bag. You dug around until you found a tool you would need eventually, and then you handed it to the kid. “Here, hold this until I need it, okay? But don’t put it in your mouth.”

The foundling seemed to pout at that last bit, but he dutifully wrapped his three little fingers around the tool and held it firmly.

“Thank you.” You smiled. Then you turned back to the ship, put your hands on your hips, and furrowed your brow. “Now, where to start?”

You spent the next ten minutes assessing what was completely ruined, what was salvageable, and what you had on hand that wasn’t necessary and could possibly be retrofitted to fix the damage. The skeletal beginnings of a plan were already forming in your mind by the time the Mandalorian was clomping down the ramp again. You set down the tablet you’d been tapping away at and picked up the child once more, and the foundling babbled as he waved around the tool he was still holding.

“Be careful with that,” you chuckled, and you craned your head back to avoid getting smacked in the temple. “I’ll need it soon, so keep holding onto it.”

The child cooed and then shifted to wave the tool at the bounty hunter as he approached.

“Putting the kid to work now?” Mando asked as he stopped a few feet away. The crescent-shaped hilt of his favored Amban rifle jutted out over his left shoulder, and a small bag was slung over his right, probably filled with spare ammo, cuffs for the bounty, and possibly some food. You’d never personally seen the Mandalorian eat, though, and a part of you was convinced he didn’t, even if you rationally knew that wasn’t possible.

“Nah, I’m just teaching him a thing or two,” you said as you settled the foundling more soundly on your hip. “You’re never too young to learn something new, and on the plus side, being my little helper keeps him out of trouble. For the most part, anyway.”

“Thank you for watching him,” the bounty hunter said, tilting his visor down minutely to stare at the child, who grinned a gummy grin and waved the silver tool again. “I know it isn’t exactly what I hired you for—”

“I don’t mind,” you cut him off, and you glanced down to smile at the kid. “He’s pretty good company, and some of Peli’s droids have given me more trouble than he does. It’s really no problem.”

“Well, regardless,” Mando replied as his visor returned to studying you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You nodded, flushing again under his scrutiny. Then you cleared your throat and gestured at the bag on his back. “All ready?”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter said. “Days are longer here, but the sun will set eventually, and I want to try and find the quarry before moonrise. If all goes well, I should be back tomorrow before sunset.”

“Good luck, then,” you told him, and you lifted your chin with confidence. “I should have the ship ready when you return.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his helmet.

The baby suddenly burst out babbling something, and you glanced down to see him reaching out with his free hand toward the Mandalorian. His three little fingers made grabby motions, and the bounty hunter sighed.

“Listen to her while I’m gone, okay?” Mando murmured as he stepped closer into your personal bubble and held out his finger for the foundling to latch on to.

The child cooed, swinging the Mandalorian’s finger from side to side, and the breath stilled in your lungs as the bounty hunter’s glove brushed the edge of your mouth. You smelled something like leather and smoke, probably blaster residue, but then Mando was stepping back again, and the baby was forced to drop his finger.

“Keep alert,” he addressed you as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder. “We’re pretty far from any civilization out here, so I don’t think you should encounter anyone, but don’t assume you’re safe. And get inside the ship once the sun sets. The jungle will be more dangerous at night. I’ll have my comlink on me, but it’s affected by proximity, so you most likely won’t be able to contact me until I’m on my way back.”

“Don’t worry, Mando,” you said, and you patted the blaster he’d given you that was almost permanently attached to your hip. “I can defend myself if need be, and I have no desire to be caught outside after dark. We’ll be fine.”

“I know,” he replied, but you weren’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself. Either way, he seemed to compose himself because he nodded once. “I’ll be back soon.”

“We’ll keep a weather eye on the horizon.” You smiled. “Try not to die of heat stroke.”

“I’ll try my best,” he said dryly, but after one more moment of staring at you and the foundling, he turned on heel and marched off into the jungle without another word. The multi-colored trees swallowed him almost instantly, and suddenly you were alone.

The child cooed sadly as he stared after the Mandalorian, and he turned his big brown eyes on you as if to say, Where’d he go?

“Don’t worry, bud,” you said, turning back to the ship. “He’ll be fine and back before you know it. Now, let’s take a look at those power converters, shall we?”

You set the foundling down beside your tool bag again, but you couldn’t help glancing over your shoulder in the direction the bounty hunter had disappeared in.

He’ll be fine and back before you know it, you repeated silently to yourself.

~~~~~

Two days later, you were starting to doubt the validity of your statements.

The sun had set and risen twice, and there was still no sign of Mando. Now, the celestial orb was steadily making its way across the horizon for the third time, and you sat on the ramp of the ship and glared up at the chattering canopy.

The child was down for a nap in the hammock the Mandalorian had set up in his own bunk, and your eyes burned with a similar exhaustion, but the anxiety slowly mounting in you made it impossible to sleep. The past two days had passed uneventfully. You’d spent every hour of sunlight you had at your disposal patching together the ship, and since days were longer on this planetoid, you estimated you’d spent over seventy-two hours getting the Razor Crest in working order again.

And you’d done it. It wasn’t perfect, but the ship could fly, and you were ninety-eight percent certain it would withstand leaving the atmosphere.

Now, all that was missing was the Mandalorian and his bounty.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you grumbled under your breath as you dragged your singed, cut-up, and bandaged fingers through your hair. “Where the Maker are you?”

The chittering birds and critters in the underbrush didn’t have an answer for you, and you huffed out an aggravated breath as another bead of sweat dripped into your eyes.

By your estimate, there were about six hours left before the sun set again. Part of you, the illogical, irrational part, wanted to charge into the jungle in search of the Mandalorian. You had a general direction and location he should be in. Maybe you could find him.

But the rational side of your brain thankfully pointed out all the problems with that plan. For one, leaving the ship unattended was dangerous. You hadn’t seen anyone in the past two days, but that didn’t mean you were alone in the jungle, and now that the ship could fly again, someone could potentially walk right in and steal the vessel if you weren’t here to stop them.

Then there was the issue of the foundling. Sometimes, Mando took you and the kid along with him when he was hunting a bounty in a more populated area, but he was always there to protect the two of you if something went wrong. What happened if you brought the child with you into the jungle and you couldn’t protect him? And you couldn’t exactly leave him behind. Someone could steal both the child and the Razor Crest in that scenario.

The most compelling reason to stay with the ship, though, was Mando himself. Before he left, he’d confidently declared that neither the jungle itself nor the beasts or peoples therein would pose any problem for him. If he was wrong, and these things had posed a problem for the bounty hunter, what luck did you have of doing something he could not?

Anddddd that’s where the irrational side of you chimed in again with, Well, if he did run into an issue, he could need your help, so you should go look for him.

It was a vicious cycle, and your head was pounding with how fast it was running in circles.

You groaned as you dropped your face into your hands, digging the heels of your palms into your eye sockets.

“Fine,” you sighed into the darkness. “I’ll give him until morning.”

If the Mandalorian hadn’t returned by then, you’d start up the ship and fly over the area you’d triangulated for him. If you couldn’t find him from the air… well, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

~~~~~

You huffed in irritation as you tossed and turned in Mando’s bunk that night. You turned one way, rolled another, but then you found yourself with your nose buried in his pillow, and you instantly flipped back over, face hot with embarrassment even though it was dark and you were practically alone. You weren’t sure if he slept with his helmet on when he was alone in the closed confines of the bunk, but either way, the small space smelled of him intensely. You tried not to put words to his scent, told yourself it was inappropriate and he was your boss, a Mandalorian to boot, and you had no room or right to think of him in any way other than strictly professional… but that apparently didn’t work because you knew he smelled like the cheap soap from the fresher, and the rest was a blend of smoke, leather, and metal, the degrees of which varied by the day and yet was still always uniquely him.

You knew you were playing a losing game even just having these thoughts, but you somehow couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t stop yourself. Ever since Mando stepped between you and Ran’s crew all those months ago, blocking you with his body, a startling, protective rage in every inch of his armored silhouette, this little voice had come to life in the back of your head and wouldn’t shut the kriff up.

What if? the little voice whispered. What if it’s not just you having these thoughts? What if you could have him in more than just your dreams and fantasies in the darkness of this bunk?

Usually, you shoved the voice into the deep, dark recesses of your thoughts and recited equations until it grew quiet. You knew that was nothing but wishful thinking at best and delusion at worst. The Mandalorian was just that: a warrior closed off from the world by a shell of silver beskar. He cared for the foundling, yes, but that was entirely different and bore no correlation to the bounty hunter’s relationship with you. There was little he could possibly want from a former slave turned mechanic, aside from your skills, of course, so you clenched your eyes closed and tried to take shallow breaths through your mouth, but nothing you did could get his scent out of your nose, your memory.

You sighed for the umpteenth time and rolled to face the wall of the bunk.

When the bounty hunter was on the ship, the two of you usually slept in shifts so you could share the bunk, though sometimes the Mandalorian slept upright in the cockpit. It had been his idea originally. You’d been fine with a thin sleeping mat on the floor of the cargo bay, but he’d insisted in his strange, stoic, nonchalant way. So, you shared, and when it was just you and the kid on the ship, the two of you had the run of the place.

The child was currently in the hammock above your head, but you were pretty sure he wasn’t asleep, either. Every so often, he’d gurgle or make some other noise, and more than once you peeked up to find big brown eyes staring down at you in the dimness. You wondered if he could sense your anxiety, and you shifted so you could glare past your feet, out of the bunk, and at the closed ramp door.

You wanted to be angry with Mando, but by the time the sun set a few hours ago, you’d moved past that anger and straight into worry. The bounty hunter had never been gone this long before without contact, and your gut told you something was wrong and wouldn’t let you sleep. You wished you could blame your insomnia completely on your concern, but sadly, that wasn’t the case.

As if on cue, a sudden, piercing shriek echoed through the ship, and all the muscles in your body locked up on reflex.

The child gasped and made a worried noise as he poked his head over the edge of his hammock and stared down at you, and you tried to plaster on a fake, reassuring smile.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, reaching up to gently rock the foundling. “The ship’s closed and locked up. They can’t get us in here.”

The baby made an unconvinced sound, but he settled back into his bed without any further argument.

You sighed as you continued to rock the child, and you did your best not to flinch when another high-pitched screech sounded outside the ship.

You weren’t entirely sure what “they” were, but you knew they were nocturnal and carnivorous. And hungry. The past two mornings, you’d found bloody animal remains torn to bits and strewn along the edges of the clearing the Razor Crest was parked in like gory, crimson confetti. You’d kept the child practically glued to your side during the days because of this, but nothing ever attacked you during the day. They just circled the ship incessantly at night, howling and screeching and keeping you from finding a moment’s peace or rest. They hadn’t outright attacked the ship yet, but you were ready for it, your borrowed blaster a cold and heavy weight tucked under your pillow.

Reaching for it now, you curled your fingers around the familiar hilt and tried to block out the crescendoing, bloodthirsty shrieks of the mysterious jungle beasts.

You didn’t know how or when, but you must have dozed off at some point because all of the sudden, you jolted awake with a panicked gasp.

The bunk was dark and close around you, but since you’d left the door open at your feet, it wasn’t claustrophobic. Your vision was still blurry with sleep, so you swiped at your eyes with the back of your left wrist as you scrambled into a seated position. In your right hand you grasped the blaster, and you pointed it blindly in front of you, toward the rear of the ship.

You couldn’t remember what had woken you up, but it had been something. Your heart pounded a frantic tattoo into the underside of your ribcage, your arm shaking minutely with adrenaline. The ramp was still closed in front of you, so it hadn’t been Mando opening the door and returning. You squinted in the darkness but couldn’t see anything beyond shadows and vague shapes in pale, muted moonlight. It must have still been night, then.

You strained your ears, listening for the howling, but it was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The jungle beasts usually didn’t go silent until right before dawn, but it was dark enough in the ship that you estimated it was still the middle of the night.

Where had they gone?

Your heart rose up into your throat, sweat beading at every one of your pores, and your mouth was so dry that your throat clicked when you swallowed.

The child made a noise of inquiry above you, barely louder than a breath, but it still made you jump all the same. Your gaze darted upward to find brown eyes staring down at you, but they were wide in an alarmed sort of way. One three-fingered hand poked over the edge of the hammock, making grabby motions at you, and the noise he made this time was more urgent, louder.

Had he heard something, too?

“What is it, little guy?” you whispered, reaching up with your free hand and awkwardly grappling him from his sling-bed.

He tumbled gently into your lap with a soft “oof,” but almost immediately he was standing up, turning around, and frantically patting at your cheek.

“What?” you asked with a frown.

He babbled and continued to tap the side of your face, and his noises grew increasingly distressed until he was grunting with frustration.

Then his tiny palm actually slapped down right across your ear canal so hard that both of your ears rang, and you hissed as you jerked your head back.

“Kriff, what was that fo—” you started to ask, but another hiss cut you off, and this one wasn’t from you.

Your heart stuttered, eyes skipping over the child’s head and out into the cargo bay, and your right hand tightened around the blaster you’d lowered to your side.

But there was nothing there. Nothing moved in the shadowy ship beyond you, and you frowned, thinking your mind was playing tricks on your startled and sleep-addled mind, but then the hiss came again.

And this time, you recognized it.

“Oh, pfassk!” you cursed as you craned around and shoved your hand under the pillow. Your fingers scrambled wildly across the sheet but encountered nothing, and you growled in aggravation, shifting the child off your lap and coming onto your hands and knees. You tossed the pillow over your shoulder in a fit of frustration, and your right hand slapped at the wall around your head until the bunk light came on.

You squinted in the flood of harsh light, the child gurgling behind you, but when your vision cleared, you spotted the thumb-sized comlink off the edge of the cot, shoved up into the far corner of the bunk. You lunged forward and wrapped your fingers around the small device, and the words were falling out of your mouth before you were even sure you had hit the button.

“Mando?” you called into the comlink, cringing when your loud voice echoed back to you in the close confines of the bunk. “Mando, can you hear me?”

Mild static crackled back for a moment as you huddled around the tiny communicator, but then a louder burst of static—the hiss from earlier—exploded to life.

And you were sure you heard Mando’s voice in there.

“Mando!” you shouted as you heart did its best imitation of a speeder, and you cupped both hands around the comlink like that would help him hear you better. “Mando, it’s me! I’m here. Can you hear me?”

Another burst of static. Then…

Mando yelled your name, clear as day, followed by a scream of what sounded like “help” and a chorus of familiar howling, and your stomach bottomed out inside of you.

“Mando!” You were gripping the communicator so hard you were afraid you were going to break it. “Mando, where are you? What’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond. You sat there frozen for a full minute, ears straining to the point of ringing, but only quiet static crackled back at you.

“Dank farrik!” you cursed, punching the side of your fist into the bunk wall.

The child cooed at you, brown eyes big with concern, and he put his tiny hand on your knee as you raked a shaking hand through your hair.

Your chest heaved up and down as you fought for breath, your mind spinning off into a million directions at once.

Mando was in trouble. Mando needed your help. He was fighting jungle beasts, and he was far enough away that you couldn’t hear the shrieking with your own ears, but close enough that he could partially reach you over the comlink. You had to do something. You had to go help him.

But what about the child? What about the ship? You couldn’t take the Razor Crest. It was pitch black outside, and you wouldn’t be able to see Mando below the thick, dark canopy. You had to go on foot.

And you had to take the kid with you.

“Come on,” you said as you tucked the communicator into your pocket, grabbed the foundling and blaster, and scooted to the edge of the bunk. Your boots were on the ground below you, and you shoved your feet in them blindly, tying the laces in three deft movements.

Then you were on your feet, turning on the cargo lights, and jogging the child over to his floating silver carrier. You grabbed the spare remote on top of it, pressing the button and watching the top slide open with a hiss. Then you set the foundling down inside of it, and in the same motion you were tucking the remote into your pocket, turning on heel, and striding for the armory.

Another button press, followed by the hiss of hydraulics, and you were left staring at several walls of guns and weaponry. Some of them you knew. Mando had even taught you how to shoot a few, but those were typically smaller blasters.

And based on those howling screeches, you needed something with more of a kick.

Your eyes skipped over the blaster pistols since you already had the one on your hip, and after a moment’s indecision, your gaze settled on a midsized rifle you’d shot once before. You hadn’t been very good at it, only hit four of the ten targets Mando set out, and you remember it being very heavy.

But it was better than nothing, and you needed something to fight back against the dark jungle.

So, you took the rifle down and looped it around your shoulder, pursing your lips as the strap dug into your skin. You spent a moment checking the power cell and gas canister, and even though both were full, you still stuck a few spares into a belt that you wrapped around your hips. You also added a few grenades to your arsenal, both explosive and ones set to stun, plus a pair of Mando’s vibroknives, as a last defense measure. If you were being honest, if the rifle and grenades failed you, you probably wouldn’t live long enough to use the knives, but it made you feel better to clip their sheaths unto your belt.

The rifle and belt weighed you down with an extra five to six kilos, but you had lugged far heavier burdens through Tatooine’s desert, so you knew you could handle it.

The last two things you grabbed were the head lamp you typically wore when working under or inside ships and the cuff you’d programmed to work the twin lights—along with a variety of other tasks aboard the Razor Crest—resting at each of your temples. The cuff was a haphazard creation of yours made of old leather, metal, and glass, but it worked and was comfortable, which was all that mattered. It also had a small magnetic slot that was specifically meant for the remote of the foundling’s floating carrier, so you fished that out of your pocket and felt it snap into place with a satisfying click.

You were armed and ready now. All you had to do was move.

“Mando,” you said as you stuck the comlink in your ear and synced it to your cuff, which had a built-in frequency booster. You were already moving toward the ramp, tapping at your wrist and listening to the foundling’s carrier humming after you. The rifle felt heavy as you maneuvered it into your slick palms, and your heart hammered a war song in your ears. “Mando, I’m coming for you. Just hold on, okay?”

Static crackled in your ear, and your chest began to heave up and down as adrenaline flooded through you.

“Okay, little man, you’re going to take a nap, alright?” you said as you looked down at the child in his pod, your voice shaking even though you tried to stop it. “And when you wake up, your dad will be back with us.”

He cooed up at you with a fearful expression on his face, but you only spared a moment to press a kiss to his head before you were tapping at your wrist again. The lid of the pod started to hiss close as the ramp of the ship began to clank open, and you slid your finger onto the rifle’s trigger as the door slowly lowered before you.

The ramp finally thudded to the jungle floor, and you took a moment to stare out into the foreboding darkness. The moon was pale and wan in the purple-tinted sky, and all you could see were shadows along the edges of the clearing. Your eyes darted back and forth, every muscle in your body locked and braced for an attack, but nothing happened. Nothing moved save the indigo clouds over head, and the only sound you heard was the muted chirps and hums of insects.

“Okay, come on, quit stalling,” you muttered to yourself even though your heart felt like it was about to roll off your tongue. “Mando doesn’t have time for this.”

At the sound of his name—or at least, the only name you had ever known the bounty hunter by—some of the fear inside you vanished, and you were suddenly jogging down the ramp without further thought. The child’s carrier trailed after you quietly, and you jabbed at your wrist to close and lock up the Razor Crest.

You spared half a glance over your shoulder to make sure the ramp was secured, and then you looked down at your cuff. Mando’s comlink had a built in GPS transmitter, but its range was limited. However, if he was close enough to briefly contact you…

A dot flickered in and out on the grungy screen on your wrist, and you spun in a circle to figure out which direction had the strongest connection. The dot flared brightly when you angled toward the west, and you started running before you even had a plan.

You crashed through the underbrush with the child’s pod hot on your heels, and the thick, humid air sawed in and out of your heaving lungs as you gasped for breath. The lights at your temples provided enough illumination to see several steps ahead of you but not much else, and you tripped and careened over root and vine as you tried not to lose your grip on the rifle.

The good news was the dot on your read-out was no longer flickering, and it was now a strong red point about a kilometer ahead of you.

The bad news?

The jungle was no longer quiet around you.

As your feet pounded into the red soil and carried you forward, static crackled loudly in your ear, and the howling returned, faint at first but growing closer. Shivers wracked your sweat-slicked spine, and every fiber of your being was screaming to run the other way.

But you couldn’t. Because now you could hear Mando grunting and shouting over the comlink, clearer and clearer with each step, and as you vaulted over a protruding root in your path, you distinctly heard a roar of rage directly ahead of you.

You would have shouted his name if there was any breath left in your lungs, but instead you just lowered your head and sprinted as fast as you could.

The howling was nearly deafening now, echoing all around you, seeming to come from every shadow in the jungle. Your ears rang with the soul-piercing shrieks, and the cacophony was so disorienting, you tripped over your own feet and crashed into the dirt.

“Kriff!” you gasped, your knees and palms stinging as you skidded to a halt. Dots danced in front of your eyes as you panted harshly, and the rifle knocked painfully against your sternum.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the child’s pod come to a stop several feet away, the silver orb glinting in the pale moonlight barely filtering through the canopy.

Then you saw something else shift in the shadows behind the floating carrier.

At first, you thought it was your swimming vision, but then the weak lights of your headlamp reflected off several glinting eyes, and the breath stalled in your lungs.

A guttural, wet growl echoed out of the bushes beyond the foundling’s pod, and in the next instant the beast was lunging forward, vaulting over the carrier in one bound.

You yelped as you scrambled backward, fumbling for the rifle’s trigger, and you got the barrel up just in time to block a bifurcated jaw of gnashing fangs. The beast let out a piercing shriek as it snapped at your face, and the familiar sound nearly popped your eardrum at this proximity, but the pain barely even registered as you wedged your legs up under the creature’s chest and heaved it off you.

The beast let out a high-pitched yip as it smacked into a tree trunk, but you didn’t give it the chance to regain its feet. In one swift movement, you brought the rifle up, sighted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.

The blaster must have been set on full-auto because a continuous stream of energy screamed out of the weapon, and the barrel jerked upward with the recoil. Bolts of energy shredded through the vines and branches overhead, and some kind of bat-bird creature screeched as it dove out of the canopy and swooped over you. It thankfully wasn’t trying to attack, merely flee, and the avian-beast cawed angrily as it disappeared into the jungle.

“P-Pfassk,” you panted, your voice as jittery as your racing pulse. Still, you scrambled to your feet, with the smoking rifle held tight in your shaking grasp, and you stared wide-eyed at the corpse of the beast that had attacked you.

The thing was almost two meters long, and six disjointed looking limbs jutted out from underneath it. Your would-be-killer looked vaguely canine yet also insect-like, with its long snout and what looked like scaled plates along its spine. The combination made your stomach churn. The blaster had carved smoldering holes into most of the creature’s flesh, but the uncharred remains were blackish-purple, mottled with spots of blue and green that matched the jungle’s underbrush. The beast was entirely hairless and slick-looking like an oil spill, and its bifurcated maw hung open to reveal rows of rotted black fangs. Two pairs of pale white eyes stared blindly up at the dark sky, and purplish blood seeped out around the carcass to stain the jungle floor.

Bile rose in your throat, but before you could even process your fear, terror, and revulsion, a very human sounding scream echoed through the dark night, and you whipped your head in the direction it had come from.

“Mando,” you breathed, and you spared the dead beast one last glance before you took off running again, every sense on high alert.

You didn’t dare blink as you crashed through the underbrush, and you pushed your aching limbs as fast as they would go. The din of snarling and howling was so loud now it was rattling your teeth, and all of the sudden you were stumbling out of the thick tree line and into a small clearing.

A clearing riddled with bodies, both living and dead.

Your brain stuttered as it tried to assess the scene before you. The canopy overhead was broken in a perfect circle, so the moonlight here was strong and bright after the deep shadows of the jungle, and it illuminated everything perfectly. The Mandalorian stood in the center of the carnage, half collapsed against a rotten log twice as tall as he was. Carcasses of the canine-like beasts were piled up in mounds around the clearing, some shot but some charred into blackened skeletons, and the stench of burnt flesh invaded your nose and sat heavy on the back of your tongue.

For every dead beast, though, there were two more still snarling, and boy, were they pissed.

The pack of creatures prowled in a semi-circle before the bounty hunter, all their attention centered on him, and they growled and snapped their bifurcated jaws in his direction. They didn’t seem to want to attack him head on, and a moment later you saw why.

One of the beasts must have reached its breaking point, because with the same piercing shriek that had kept you up the past two nights, it lunged for the Mandalorian, the moonlight glinting off the armored plates along its spine.

The poor bastard never made it.

While the creature was still in mid-air, Mando jerked his wrist up, and a blast of flames roared out of his vambrace. The beast screeched as it was swallowed by the inferno, and its charred corpse crashed to the ground at Mando’s feet a moment later. The remainder of the pack snarled in fury as they paced in front of the bounty hunter, but you felt your throat tighten with fear.

The flamethrower was obviously a great weapon at repelling these creatures, but judging by the radius on that last spurt of fire, you estimated Mando had enough fuel for one, maybe two more attacks.

And there were dozens of the beasts left.

What were you going to do?

You heaved for breath as your eyes darted around the clearing, trying to look for a solution, but you knew the answer was obvious: you were going to have to fight.

You blindly tapped at your wrist, and a moment later the child’s carrier rose up above your head and nestled against the lowest branch of the tree you were standing under. You didn’t know if the beasts could climb, but the pod was made of a strong, reinforced metal, so as long as the creatures didn’t notice the kid, he should be fine.

The same couldn’t be said for you.

Maker, you were going to regret this, weren’t you?

You didn’t give yourself the chance to change your mind.

“Hey!” you shouted as you stepped further into the clearing, one of your hands dropping to the belt on your waist.

The chorus of snarls and growls tapered off for a moment as the pack whipped around in unison to face you, and the saliva evaporated in your mouth as you stared at the dozens of glowing white eyes.

At the sound of your voice, you could see Mando jerk upright in your peripherals, but you didn’t dare tear your eyes off the pack as they started to stalk toward you. Sweat dripped down your face and trickled along your spine as you palmed a cold, heavy orb in your right hand, and you watched the distance between you and the creatures shrink bit by bit.

Mando shouted your name, but you ignored him.

“Yeah, that’s right!” you yelled at the beasts instead. “You guys hungry? Why don’t you come and get me?”

“What are you doing?” Mando roared, but you still didn’t pay him any mind as you tracked the pack. There were maybe three dozen left alive, and they bared their black fangs at you as they drew closer and closer.

Twenty meters… fifteen… ten…

Now.

“Take this!” You heaved your arm back, aimed at the beast in the center of the pack’s line, and threw with all your might, and the creature yelped as the stun grenade struck him in the skull.

A moment later, a web of electricity exploded out of the orb and arced through half of the pack, and the poor bastards screeched and screamed as they fell spasming to the jungle floor. The beasts on the edges snarled as they jumped away from their sparking brethren, and you saw some of the canine-monsters retreat into the shadows of the clearing.

This was your chance.

You darted forward the moment you had a clear path to take, and you vaulted over the pack’s twitching bodies in three swift strides. When you landed on the other side of them, you spun around and faced the fallen creatures as they whined and spasmed on the ground. Then you lifted your rifle, aimed haphazardly, and pulled the trigger. You swept the barrel from side to side for a moment, energy bolts tearing and searing through flesh, but then you whirled back around and sprinted toward the Mandalorian’s prone form.

He was propped up against the log with his legs splayed out in front of him, and you inhaled sharply when you saw the dark stain of blood on the ground beneath his right thigh. His Amban rifle lay beside him, but since he wasn’t using it, you assumed he was out of ammo. The bounty hunter listed heavily onto what you first thought was a rock of some kind, but as you skidded to a stop in front of him, you realized the lump was the body of another humanoid, except it didn’t look to be breathing.

“Mando!” you gasped as you crouched down in front of him. “Maker, w-what happened—”

“What are you doing here?” he cut you off with a snarl, and the absolute rage in his voice drew you up short.

You gaped at his visor, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “W-What… you called—”

“I didn’t call you, he did, right before they tore out his throat,” Mando growled and shoved the prone form beside him.

The body flopped over with a thud, and you stifled a gag when you realized the poor bastard had been eviscerated. He was torn open from gut to gullet, intestines and innards gleaming wetly in the dark, and his bulging black eyes stared up unseeingly at the moon.

“Dank farrik, Mando,” you breathed in horror. “What happened?”

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet up to look at you, but then his gaze seemed to shift over your shoulder, and he was suddenly latching onto your wrist with an iron grip and tugging you forward.

“Watch out!” he shouted as you tripped over his legs and landed on the other side of him, and a moment later you heard and felt the roar of flames at your back as another beast met a smoldering end.

You scrambled up onto your knees and whirled around, rifle held at the ready, but there were only the two new dead creatures sprawled at Mando’s feet. Their corpses smoked as their blackened flesh crackled, and this time you weren’t successful in stifling your gag. You dry-heaved off to the side, tears blurring your vision, but when the chorus of bone-chilling howls started up again, you blinked away the tears and clenched your rifle in a white-knuckled grip.

“We gotta get out of here,” you panted, your eyes darting from place to place as you tried to track the beasts slithering through the shadows.

“Can’t,” Mando grunted, and all of the sudden, you realized his voice sounded off, slurred.

You whipped back around to face the bounty hunter, and your gaze immediately fell to the dark stain under his leg. It had grown since you’d first seen it, and then you realized a haphazard tourniquet was lashed around the top of his leg, right above the metal plate that covered the front of his thigh.

“You’re hurt,” you breathed. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Mando’s head jerked up and down in an unsteady nod. “Just… happened. One of them got me… when I was trying to save the bounty. Pretty sure they nicked my femoral.”

His words were softer and definitely slurred now, and panic rose up in your throat like a burning coal.

“Then we need to get back to the Razor Crest now,” you said as you reached for his shoulders, but the Mandalorian sluggishly shoved you away.

“I’ll… only slow you down,” he grunted. “The bounty and I… are easy meals. The pack should stay to finish us off while you make a break for the sh—”

“No,” you cut him off, and the snarl in your voice surprised even you. “No, Mando. I’m not leaving you to die. We’re only a kilometer away from the Razor Crest. I have extra power cells and grenades. We can make it.”

Mando’s head thunked back against the log he leaned on as he stared up at you, and even if you couldn’t see the face underneath the visor, you could see the resignation in every inch of him.

And it ignited a fury in you unlike anything you had ever known.

“So, what?” you growled, bending down to bare your teeth in his face. “You’re just gonna sit here and die? What about the kid? You just gonna abandon him?”

You’re just going to abandon me? you didn’t say, but the words rattled against the backs of your clenched teeth.

“He’ll… have you,” Mando said, and suddenly his gloved hand reached up as if to touch your face, but he didn’t seem to have the strength, and the tip of his index finger barely grazed the edge of your jaw. His touch left behind a warm streak on your skin, and you didn’t have to look to know it was blood.

“That’s not good enough,” you snarled before you stooped down and grabbed the ends of his makeshift tourniquet, yanking tightly on both ends until Mando groaned in pain and latched onto your shoulders.

He murmured your name, his modulator crackling in your ear, but you ignored him as you looped his spent Amban rifle over his shoulder and shifted to slide your left arm behind his back, throwing his right arm over your shoulders. You took two deep breaths to brace yourself, and then you dug your fingers into his waist as you tried to leverage the both of you onto your feet.

It was nearly impossible. The Mandalorian had to weigh nearly ninety kilos in his beskar, and with the added weight of the weapons and grenades you carried, you could feel the muscles in your legs, core, and back scream at the strain.

“Dank… farrik,” you hissed out between clenched teeth, but you managed to get the two of you upright, even if Mando was practically limp against you. Still, you had to leverage your back against the log behind you to keep from collapsing.

“We’ll never make it… back to the ship like this,” Mando panted, his cold helmet brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Shut up,” you gritted out, listening to the howling beasts closing in again like they could sense your weakness. “I refuse to leave you behind. So, unless you want to kill us both, you need to get your ass in gear, Mando. I can keep them off our backs as we go, but you need to walk with me. Understand?”

“Cyare,” he slurred, and the unfamiliar word sounded pained as his helmet thunked into your temple. “I… don’t want you to die.”

“Then walk,” you grunted as you tightened your grip on his waist and lurched forward a step.

Mando staggered behind you, half draped over your back, but you widened your stance and refused to go down.

“Please… Mando,” you panted, shoving the barrel of your rifle into the loamy red soil to act as a crutch. “Help me save us. Just… just put one foot in front of the other.”

“Wait,” the Mandalorian said, and he actually lifted his head off your shoulder. “The bounty…”

“The bounty’s dead,” you grunted as your eyes darted to the trees again. You could see the sinuous shapes of the pack weaving between the towering trunks, but they kept their distance for the moment. They’d lost more than half of their numbers by your estimate, and you prayed to the Maker they would just give up, but you knew that would be way too convenient for your life.

“The puck… said dead or alive,” Mando sighed, his arm weighing down on the nape of your neck like a yoke, and it reminded you of the slave’s collar you once wore.

“I can’t carry both of you back, Mando,” you growled in frustration. “I can barely drag you.”

“Don’t need the whole body,” he clarified. “Just… the head. It’s… a big bounty.”

You groaned as you glanced down at the quarry’s corpse, and then you tilted your head back to try and look at Mando.

“Can you stand by yourself for a minute?” you asked.

“Maybe,” Mando grunted, but he shifted his weight off you bit by bit and leaned up against the tall log at your backs. His boots slid a few inches in the blood-soaked dirt as he almost collapsed, but he dug his gloved fingers into the rigid bark and stood there shaking.

“Didn’t know I was paying you for maybes,” you parroted his words from days ago back at him in an attempt to take his mind off the pain, and it seemed to work because he actually huffed out a strained-sounding chuckle.

“Hurry,” he panted, and you nodded as you quickly stepped away from him, stood over the bounty’s corpse, and shoved the barrel of your rifle between his shoulder and neck.

It was so dark, and you were running on so much adrenaline you couldn’t even be sure of what species the man used to be, but you pushed the thought away as you took a deep breath and held down the trigger.

The rifle screeched as it tore through flesh like a hot knife through butter, and you tried to ignore the feeling of lukewarm blood splattering across your lower legs. Moments later, the jittery, rapid-fire motions of the gun ceased, and the bounty’s head rolled away from the smoldering stump of his neck.

Bile rose up in your throat again, but you swallowed it down as you picked up the decapitated head and started punching buttons on your cuff.

Instantly, you heard the familiar hum of the child’s pod drone closer and closer, and behind you Mando inhaled sharply as the jungle dogs yipped in curiosity from the shadows.

“You brought the kid?” he growled.

“Well, it wasn’t like you left me much kriffing choice, but you can fire me later for child endangerment,” you snapped as the carrier floated down to stop in front of you. Then you turned to the Mandalorian and held out your bloodied hand. “I need your fibercord whip. Eject it.”

Mando didn’t even question you, he just did as he was bid. Within moments, you had the thin but strong wire wound up in your palm, and then you started the gory process of wrapping it securely around the bounty’s bloody head. Your stomach churned at the slick warm goo covering your skin, but you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth as you tapped at your wrist again.

The child’s pod opened with a hiss, and you made sure to lower the decapitated head so it was below the carrier and out of the foundling’s line of sight.

“Hey there, bud,” you said as you leaned down and tucked the end of the fibercord into the interior of the pod near the hinges. “Look who I found.”

The foundling cooed and gurgled happily when he caught sight of the Mandalorian, and he lifted his arms and made grabby motions at the bounty hunter.

“Not yet,” you said as you stepped forward and blocked Mando from view. “First, we need to get back to the ship, so I need to close you up again. Don’t worry about anything you hear, though, okay? I promise we’ll be fine.”

The child murmured a soft sound as you bent down and kissed his wrinkled brow, but then you tapped at your wrist, and the pod closed with another hiss, locking the wire with the dangling head in place. You keyed in a few more commands, and the carrier rose up high above you, hovering at least six meters off the ground. Blood dripped from the severed stump of the quarry’s neck as it dangled from the pod, and you flinched when a speck of it landed on your cheek. It might be disgusting, but this way, the child and the remainder of the bounty would hopefully be out of reach of any of the beasts, and you could focus all your energy on getting you and Mando back to the Razor Crest.

“Alright.” You tore your gaze away from the silver pod and shifted your grasp on the rifle, wedging the stock against your right shoulder as tight as you could. You knew your aim would be abysmal since you were going have to shoot one handed while dragging Mando, but you hoped the full-auto setting would grant you some leeway. “Let’s go.”

“You really should—” the Mandalorian started, but you clicked your tongue to cut him off.

“That wasn’t a request,” you said as you sidled up against the bounty hunter and double checked that his tourniquet was secure.

“Fine.” He reluctantly draped his right arm over your shoulder, and you wrapped your left one around his waist. Then the two of you pushed off the log at your backs, and you staggered forward several steps, trying not to trip on any dead jungle dogs.

Mando’s cold beskar felt like it was burning you wherever it brushed against your bare, hot flesh, and he groaned in your ear as he practically dragged his injured leg behind him. The agony of his voice made you want to stop and sprint forward all at the same time, but you settled for stumbling several more steps.

“That’s it,” you panted in encouragement. “One step at a time.”

The pack howled and shrieked as you painstakingly shuffled your way across the clearing, but you haphazardly aimed your rifle into the jungle and held down the trigger. Rapid-fire bolts of energy careened into the darkness, illuminating white eyes and flashes of twining vines and snarling beasts, but several yowls echoed through the night, so you knew you’d hit at least some of them.

“Mando,” you gritted out as you neared the tree line. “I need you to hit my cuff. There’s a button on the side that will turn up my headlamp. I want it at maximum. Since these bastards are nocturnal, I’m guessing they don’t like the light.”

The Mandalorian grunted something that sounded like an affirmative, and then his left hand was swatting blindly at your cuff. After fumbling for a moment, his thick, gloved fingers encircled your wrist, his thumb brushing faintly over your thudding pulse point.

Your feet nearly tangled beneath you, but then Mando found the button on your cuff, and he pressed on it until the lights at your temple were bright enough to blind. The beams of white light cut through the oppressive darkness of the jungle, and the canine creatures yelped in pain as they darted back into the shadows. You swung your gaze back and forth, your lamp dragging over the scenery like a burning laser, and the beasts whimpered as their tails disappeared into the bushes.

“Come on,” you groaned as you dragged Mando forward, and the two of you finally stumbled into the thick of the trees.

You didn’t know how much time passed as you and the Mandalorian struggled back to the ship. Seconds seemed like minutes, minutes hours. The moon appeared frozen in the sky above your head, and more than once you had the thought that you were already dead, and this was some messed up version of an afterlife where you were tortured for eternity.

In the end, though, you knew you were alive.

If you weren’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

“Left,” Mando slurred in your ear, half draped over your back, and your feet stuttered as you swung both of you around to the left.

The rifle screeched as it fired off into the darkness, followed by the yelps of dying dogs, and you hissed as the stock dug into your already sore shoulder. The pack snarled and gurgled as they encircled you, but they were hesitant now that you’d killed a majority of them. You wondered why they just didn’t give up, but you realized they could most likely sense you weakening, slowing.

Sweat ran in rivers down your face and spine, and every tendon in your body felt like it was on the edge of snapping. You could tell Mando was trying to take some of his weight off you, but he was becoming more and more unsteady with each step, his breath jagged and uneven as it rasped out of his helmet. He probably wouldn’t remain conscious for much longer, and if he passed out before you reached the ship, you were both dead. You couldn’t fully carry him, and you would not even entertain the idea of leaving him, so it was all or nothing.

Either you both reached the ship together, or neither of you did.

But, as you glanced up at the child’s pod hovering high over your head, you knew the second choice wasn’t really an option. The kid needed you. Needed both of you.

So, you were going to kriffing live, even if you had to break your body down to achieve your goal.

“Come on,” you encouraged as you stumbled over a tree root. “Come on, Mando. We’re almost there. Stay with me, okay?”

You had no idea if you were almost there or not. The homing beacon on your cuff was beeping steadily, but with all the howling, and the blood pounding through your ears, you couldn’t approximate how close you were to the Razor Crest.

“I’m… trying,” Mando mumbled, lifting his head just slightly. “B-Behind us.”

You cursed under your breath, letting the rifle dangle against your chest as you fumbled at your waist. Your fingers curled around a cold, metal orb, and you clicked the button in its center before you lobbed the grenade over your shoulder with all the strength you had left, which wasn’t much.

Then you staggered forward a little faster, dragging the bounty hunter behind you, and five seconds later, you heard the stun grenade go off, followed by the crackling of static and the yelping of beasts.

“That’s my last… stun grenade,” you panted, and the hair on your arms stood on end with all the electricity in the moist air. “I have some explosive ones… but…”

“But we’re not fast enough to get out of range in time,” Mando finished for you, his helmet bumping into the crown of your head as he sagged a little more.

“Yeah,” you huffed, but then a crunch to your right had you whirling and firing in one motion.

The canine yipped and screeched as the energy bolts tore through its chest mid-lunge, and it crashed into the ground at your feet as you staggered into a tree. The bark scraped painfully across your bare shoulder blades, and Mando groaned as you almost lost your grip on him.

“No,” you growled, tightening your arm around the bounty hunter and tugging you both upright. “Dank… farrik!”

The muscles in your arm burned hotly from the strain of keeping the Mandalorian on his feet, and you bit through your tongue to keep from crying out, the metallic taste of blood coating your teeth and whetting your parched mouth.

You stumbled forward blindly as you tried to work through the pain, but all the sudden, the claustrophobic darkness caused by the towering trees lessened a few degrees. You thought you were hallucinating it at first, but then you lifted your head a fraction and realized the trees were thinning out ahead of you.

And the beacon in your cuff was beeping like mad.

You were almost there. The Razor Crest was so close.

Of course, that’s when the snarling behind you reached new frantic heights, and you knew the pack was gearing up for one final assault.

“Mando, listen to me,” you gasped as you shifted to shove him against a tree, using your palm to keep him rooted at the sternum and on his feet.

He groaned as he listed there, mumbling something that didn’t sound like it was in Basic, but he remained upright, so you seized the opportunity to jab at the screen on your wrist. A moment later, the child’s pod swooped down from where it had been hovering near the canopy, and the bounty’s head dragged against the jungle floor with a dull crunch. You tweaked the carrier’s settings half blind, one eye on the encroaching darkness and the beasts therein, and then you grabbed the floating orb and shoved it against Mando’s gut.

“Ugh,” the bounty hunter grunted, his feet starting to slide out from under him.

“No, lean forward,” you rushed out, grabbing one of his shoulders and tugging him toward you.

Mando moaned as he collapsed onto the child’s pod, but since you’d cranked up the carrier’s power output to the max, the bounty hunter didn’t crash to the ground. Instead, he hung there half suspended, the pod whirling angrily from his added weight, his feet limp and dragging behind him.

“Mando,” you said as you tapped the side of his helmet, eyes still on the shadowy trees. “Mando, I need you to hold onto that pod as tight as you can, okay? Can you hear me?”

“Hear… you,” the Mandalorian just barely breathed, and you saw his arms wrap around the bottom of the silver carrier.

“Hold on like your life depends on it,” you instructed as you tapped at your wrist again. “Because it does.”

“What—” he started to ask, but he didn’t get to finish the question because the pod was suddenly surging forward, in the direction of the ship. The bounty’s head and Mando’s feet dragged loudly against the ground, but with one last jolt of power, the pod lifted away from the jungle floor and began to float away.

The pod would probably have just enough power to get Mando back to the ship before it died, but that was fine. That was just what you needed.

The jungle dogs howled and shrieked as they watched the Mandalorian drifting away through the trees, but as you listened to them start to skirt around you in his direction, you finally gripped the rifle with two hands and aimed into the dark.

Then you pulled the trigger, full-auto, and the shrieking of the energy bolts collided with the screeching of the canines and crescendoed into a deafening cacophony. You sprayed the jungle in wide sweeps as you slowly started to walk backward toward the Razor Crest, the rifle stock jolting into your shoulder in time with your racing heart. You just needed to give Mando time to reach the ship. You had programmed the pod to open the ramp at a certain distance, so they would just fly on into the cargo bay, and it would close behind them. Once they were safe, you could make a break for it and—

Suddenly, one of the shadows broke away from the trunk directly to your right, and you turned too late to see it was a slavering beast, its bifurcated jaw wide open and aimed for your throat.

“Ahh!” You stumbled back, trying to crane away from those jagged black fangs, but your feet got tangled up beneath you, and you came crashing down. A root slammed into one of your rear ribs so hard you heard and felt the snap as the bone gave, but you didn’t even have time to register that pain before the jungle dog smashed into your chest.

You instinctively shoved your arms outward, wedging the rifle between those deadly, snapping jaws. One of the beast’s jagged fangs scraped down your forearm as you tried to keep the bastard from swallowing you whole, and you screamed in fury and pain as blood spilled from your rending flesh.

Then you brought your knee up and smashed it as hard as you could into the jungle dog’s ribcage, and this time you felt its rib snap, and grim satisfaction burned like a wildfire through your blood. The warmth filled your limbs until you thought you would burst into flame, and you kicked the beast again and again as it yipped.

You were just starting to think you had the upper hand when the creature’s jaw started to close with a creaking sound of bone on metal, and your eyes widened in horror as the canine jerked its head back, taking your rifle with it. Then its bifurcated jaw snapped close with a horrible crunch, and the rifle shattered into shards of metal and sparks.

The beast roared in pain and rage as it tossed the remains of your rifle aside, but now you were acting on pure survival instinct, not thought, not logic, and you were already wrenching two grenades and a vibroknife off your belt when the nightmare dog finally settled its four milky white eyes on your face.

“Eat this, you bastard,” you snarled as its terrible jaws, rowed with serrated teeth, descended on you.

Then with one hand you stabbed the vibroknife into its neck just above the shoulder, and with the other you activated the grenades and shoved both of them down the jungle dog’s throat.

Warm blood sprayed down on you like humid rainfall, and you twisted the blade in to the hilt, feeling as it tore through flesh in a jittery fashion. The creature gagged and gurgled as its throat muscles convulsed around your other wrist for just an instant, but then you yanked your arms back with all your might, teeth catching on your elbow again, before you crashed into the dirt.

You were scrambling up in the next instant, barely listening to the creature heaving and choking behind you as you staggered forward into a clumsy sprint.

The rest of the pack howled at your back, but you were flat out running now, and you could see the Razor Crest through the trees. The pounding of paws on dirt sounded at your heels, and you couldn’t tell if you were gasping for breath or sobbing as you tore the final grenades off your belt, activated them, and let them fall through your numb fingers.

In the next instant, you broke through the tree line, and you could see the ramp of the Razor Crest, closing. You slapped at your wrist blindly as you sprinted as fast as you could, lungs heaving to the point of seizures, legs at the point of collapse. You didn’t know if the dogs were still right behind you, but the grenades…

You must have finally hit the right command because the ramp suddenly shuddered before it started to lower again, and you were ten meters away when the grenades went off like dominoes falling.

The first two explosions—of the grenades you shoved into the jungle dog—only shook the ground hard enough to make you stumble forward, but then the rest of them detonated much closer, and the combined shockwave hit you moments later and catapulted you into the air.

Thankfully, the ramp was just low enough that you scraped over it and crashed into the ship, smashing into a bulkhead with a dull crunch. The howling shrieks of dying dogs reached you through the ringing in your ears, and you felt a wave of heat hit you as the grenades engulfed the jungle trees. You curled into a ball on the cargo bay floor, your back to the ramp, and you just barely had the presence of mind to tap at your wrist one last time. A moment later, you heard the whirling of the ramp closing, and when it clanked shut a moment later, you rolled over onto your back and stared blindly above you.

You could just barely hear the roar of the building wildfire outside the ship, and the screeching of the jungle dogs died down within seconds. Your entire body—your lungs, your heart—heaved up and down as adrenaline pulsed through you like a bad hit of spice, and your ears ached in the relative silence.

Then the child cooed, and Mando groaned weakly, and you jolted upright like you had just been struck by lightning.

“Mando,” you rasped, flipping over onto your raw hands and bruised knees.

The bounty hunter half-sat, half-sprawled on the floor at the foot of his bunk. The foundling’s pod lay askew on the ground in front of the fresher like it had crash landed there when it finally died, but the child stood unharmed beside the Mandalorian.

Who was currently bleeding out on the floor of the cargo bay.

“Kriff!” You scrambled forward when you saw the spreading stain of blood below his leg, and as you drew closer, you realized his tourniquet must have been loosened when he collapsed.        

The Mandalorian barely even seemed conscious at this point. His chest stirred only slightly beneath his beskar chest plate, and if it weren’t for the soft groans he was exhaling, you would have thought him dead.

“Mando!” you shouted as you shakily rose onto your feet and staggered the rest of the way to the fresher. Your hands were shaking as you tore one of the storage compartments open in search of a med kit, and your voice cracked when you said his name again. “Mando! Stay with me. We made it back. We’re on the ship. Just stay with me for a few more moments. Please.”

You crashed down onto your knees beside the bounty hunter, tearing the med kit open with bloody hands and broken nails. His helmeted head lolled onto the edge of the bunk behind him, and you could barely hear his raspy breaths through the modulator.

The child stood between Mando’s splayed boots, eyes large and frightened, but you couldn’t pay him any mind right now. Your frantic gaze darted between the bacta gel patch in your hand and Mando’s bleeding leg, and even though it felt crazy, you set the patch down for a moment and reached for the last vibroknife on your belt.

Suddenly, Mando jerked awake with a gasp, and you reached out without thinking, pressing your left palm over his heart and feeling his faint, fluttering pulse.

“Mando, I’m right here,” you murmured soothingly. “Keep breathing for me.”

The Mandalorian muttered your name as his head lolled toward you.

“Yes, that’s me, I’m here,” you said, rising up on your knees and leaning over him. The vibroknife glimmered in your hand, looking like a real-life glitch, but you shook off the unsettling feeling and fixed your eyes on Mando’s visor.

“Mesh’la,” the Mandalorian slurred. The word was soft and elongated to the point of sounding like gibberish, but his hand settled firmly on the wrist you still had pressed to his heart, like he was talking directly to you.

In any other situation, your own heart would be fluttering with a feeling you didn’t want to name, but as the bounty hunter’s blood started to soak into the knees of your pants, all you could feel was dread.

“I need you to stay still, okay?” you said as you dropped your hand from his chest to grip the top of his injured thigh. “I need to cut your pants away from the wound.”

“O… kay,” he muttered, and his hand fell to settle over yours again on his leg like he was grounding himself by touching you.

“Nice and easy,” you cooed, trying to blink the tears out of your eyes so you could see to cut through his pants and not his flesh. “I’ll have that bacta patch on in just a moment. Why don’t you talk to me, huh? Mando, talk to me. Tell me something. J-Just stay awake.”

“Aw…ake,” he whispered, but it sounded like he was just repeating you now, barely clinging to consciousness.

Your hand shook as you slowly sawed through the blood-soaked fabric, and an aborted sob rose in your throat. But you shoved your hysteria down, down, down, you had no time for it, you had to stay level-headed, steady-handed, Mando was counting on you, Mando was dying.

“Mando,” you choked as you finally pulled the cloth away from his wound. Three parallel gashes, each nearly five centimeters deep, ran from his hip crease and nearly all the way to his knee, and blood pulsed sluggishly from the wounds in crimson gobs. “Oh, Maker, Mando.”

You dropped the vibroknife with a loud clang as you lunged for the bacta patch, and out of your peripherals you could see the child waddling closer, standing in between the Mandalorian’s knees, the hem of his little robe slowly staining scarlet. You didn’t have the heart or the strength to shove the child away now, so instead you focused on settling the bacta patch over the bounty hunter’s grisly injuries.

Mando twitched and inhaled sharply as the bacta adhered to his skin, and you sent up a million prayers to the Maker that you had administered aid in time.

“There y-you go,” you sniffled, unable to stop the tears from coursing down your cheeks now. “I got the patch on, Mando. You’re going t-to be okay. You… you have to be okay. Do you hear me, Mando?”

You felt like a glitching holotape repeating his name over and over, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You wanted, no needed, him to stay awake, and every time you said his name, he seemed to jerk a little, like he’d been recalled from a long distance at the sound of your voice.

For a moment, there was only the faint, raspy wheeze of the Mandalorian’s breath through his helmet, but then he suddenly mumbled something.

“What?” You shuffled closer, slipping in blood. You practically had your ear pressed against his visor. “What was that, Mando? Say it again. Come on, talk to me, Mando.”

“Not… Mando.”

The words were stilted, sluggish, and you frowned in confusion. “Huh? I-I don’t understand.”

“My… name isn’t… Mando,” the bounty hunter struggled out, and his helmet tilted forward a fraction like he had lifted his head and was looking right at you. “It’s… Din. Din Djarin.”

The shock you felt was muted, distant and removed, like a crack that formed deep in the heart of a glacier, buried beneath the adrenaline, horror, and helplessness warring within you.

“Din,” you breathed, and the word somehow tasted like the exact moment Peli dug out your transmitter chip. It tasted like freedom, like infinite possibility, and you didn’t understand why.

Mando—no, Din, Din Djarin—exhaled heavily as his head thunked back against the bunk, and even if you couldn’t see it, you could tell his eyes were slipping closed. “I… wanted at least someone to know before I—”

“No,” you cut him off vehemently, reaching out to cradle the sides of his helmet like you were cupping his face. “No, you’re not going to die. Not now. Not when… no, do you hear me, Din Djarin? I will not allow you to die. Not when I worked my ass off to fix this ship and drag you back onto it by the skin of my kriffing teeth.”

“Mmmm.” Din’s head lolled in your grasp, the weight of him growing heavier and heavier. “I knew I would like the way… you say my name.”

Oh, Maker. He was nonsensical now, and terror gripped you by the throat and squeezed.

“Then stay awake, Din,” you begged, and your heart felt like it was on the edge of a great precipice. “Stay awake for me.”

“’m so… tired,” he sighed.

“I know,” you breathed as you guided his head back to rest against the bunk, and you couldn’t speak above a whisper because your voice was thick with tears. “I know, but just listen to my voice, Din. Just—”

You trailed off as the child suddenly waddled into your line of sight, and you dropped your gaze slightly to find him standing between the Mandalorian’s thighs, right next to the bacta covered wounds. The foundling stared up at the bounty hunter with a furrowed, seemingly determined expression, and then he closed his big brown eyes as he reached for Din’s leg.

“Oh, buddy, don’t,” you started, reaching out to stop him, but Din—Maker, his name felt delicious and forbidden even in your mind—weakly placed his hand on your wrist to stop you.

“It’s… okay,” he panted. “He can help.”

“Help?” You frowned down at the child. How could he help? Was this one of the “powers” the bounty hunter had vaguely mentioned before? You thought the foundling’s ability dealt with physically moving things, not healing, but honestly you could do for a miracle right about now.

The child gurgled a small noise as his three fingers settled over Din’s wound, and the Mandalorian inhaled sharply at the same time that you felt… something. You weren’t sure what it was, but it was like the very air shifted, became magnetic, charged somehow. The air stilled in your lungs as you feared even the barest breath would fracture this fragile spell you were bearing witness to, and you watched with wide eyes as the gashes on the bounty hunter’s legs began to close right in front of you.

Bacta worked fast… but not that fast.

Several still, endless seconds passed as the foundling healed the Mandalorian, but then just as soon as it began, the moment ended. The atmosphere snapped almost tangibly, time jolted back into motion, and the child suddenly started to pitch backward.

“Oh!” you gasped as you lunged forward, your hands cupping the baby and bringing him close to your body. The foundling’s eyes were closed, his face slack, but his little chest still moved up and down with breath.

“He’s okay.”

You snapped your head up, more tears spilling down your cheeks with the motion.

Din was sitting up a little straighter, and his helmet looked squarely at you. His voice sounded stronger, too, and you gaped at him in bewilderment.

“He’s okay,” the Mandalorian repeated when you continued to blink at him. “He usually… tires himself out when he uses his powers.”

“I d-didn’t know he could do that,” you breathed, and your tongue felt like a disembodied lump of flesh in your mouth. “I… wait, how do you feel? A-Are you okay?”

You suddenly realized how close you still were to the bounty hunter, practically kneeling in his lap, but you ignored this as your eyes darted back to his leg. It was a little hard to tell through the dried blood and blue bacta, but it looked like the three gashes had closed altogether, leaving behind faint pink lines.

“I’ll survive,” the bounty hunter sighed, thunking his head back against the bunk again, but he tilted it to the side to regard you still. “Thanks to you.”

“I-I’m not the one who just healed you with magic,” you stuttered incredulously as your cheeks flared hot, and you cuddled the child against your chest even though you realized you knew almost nothing about the apparently powerful foundling.

“No,” Mando said evenly, “but you did charge out into a dark, unknown, dangerous jungle, fight off a pack of wild dogs, and drag both me and the bounty back safely.”

“Well,” you snorted with an edge of hysteria in your voice, and you gestured to the discarded head that lay sprawled against the corner of the fresher. “I don’t know if I’d say he got here safely.”

Maker, you felt a little crazy, hollowed out and wrung dry by the sheer amount of emotions you’d just experienced in a span of a few minutes.

“I’m serious,” the Mandalorian replied. “You… saved my life. I am in your debt.”

“I-I’m not one for debts.” You shook your head to try and clear it, dropping your gaze to the foundling’s face, nuzzled against your sternum. “I don’t like to owe anyone or be owed. You’ve stuck your neck out for me before, so let’s just call it even… Din.”

You saw the bounty hunter freeze out of the corner of your eye, and you bit your cheek until you tasted blood.

You should have known that was too much to ask for.

“Sorry,” you muttered, peeking up at the Mandalorian through your lashes. “You… mentioned your name when you were—”

“I remember,” Mando said, cutting you off, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his expression hidden as always and his voice pitched in a way you didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, feeling the adrenaline starting to drain out of you and be replaced by every ache and pain you had ignored in lieu of survival. “Of course, I can just forget about it. You weren’t exactly in your right mind, after all. I’ll just… using ‘Mando’ is fine for me.”

The Mandalorian’s visor stared you down unflinchingly for what felt like an eternity. Then…

“You can… use my name, if you like,” he said haltingly, then quickly amended himself. “But only when we’re alone, on the ship. I… my name could be a dangerous thing in the hands of my enemies.”

You blinked in shock at the bounty hunter.

“A-Are you sure?” you asked, and you tried to keep the hope out of your voice, but you knew you failed miserably. “O-Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You’d thought giving up his name had just been a delusional, dying declaration, and you didn’t want him to regret it. What you said had been true enough. You were fine using “Mando,” even if the traitorous feelings buried deep in your chest said otherwise.

“I’m sure.” The bounty hunter nodded minutely. “I… trust you.”

The admission flooded your whole body with warmth, and goosebumps broke out across your skin. You’d known the Mandalorian trusted you, he wouldn’t have left his ship or his foundling in your care otherwise, but hearing him say the words felt like something out of a dream.

“Okay, then.” You smiled, heart thudding against where the child was pressed into your chest. “Din.”

At the sound of his name, the tension in the Mandalorian’s worn body seemed to bleed out of him entirely, and he sighed as his helmet fell back again.

“Let’s get off this Maker-forsaken planet,” he grumbled.

“I second that,” you chuckled dryly before you slowly clambered to your feet, careful not to slip in Din’s tacky blood or jostle the sleeping baby in your arms. You very gingerly leaned over the prone Mandalorian to set the foundling in his hammock, but you hissed when the movement jarred the bruised or fractured rib in your back.

“What’s wrong?” Din asked below you, and he was so close you could feel the rumble of his modulated voice against the bare skin of your stomach, your tank top having lifted up a fraction.

“Nothing.” You took a quick step backward, trying to put distance between you and the bounty hunter, but now that he was no longer actively dying, you were starting to realize you were a little more beat up then you’d previously thought.

The moment you stepped back on your right leg, your hamstring seized up, and when you went to grab at it, you realized your fingers were a little numb. You glanced down and saw fresh blood dripping down your forearm—your blood, not Mando’s—and the sight of the wound seemed to flip a switch in your brain because a moment later, pain crashed over you like a wave.

“Dank farrik,” Mando cursed lowly as he tried to shove himself up.

“No, no, no, no,” you babbled, holding out your less injured left hand in a gesture to stop him. “Don’t get up so fast.”

“You’re hurt,” he grunted, and you could practically hear the scowl in his voice as he tilted his helmet back to stare at you. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you stressed, even though you could still taste blood on the back of your tongue. “Also, you seriously have no room to talk. You were literally just bleeding out less than five minutes ago.”

“How much bacta do we have left?” he asked, completely ignoring your statement. “We should take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“Maker, you’re not even listening to me, are you?” You rolled your eyes as you leaned your shoulder against the bulkhead, but when the Mandalorian started to get up again, you held your hand out once more. “Alright! Alright. Let me at least set the coordinates to meet up with the client and get the ship in the air. I’m pretty sure the jungle is burning down around us as we speak anyway, so the sooner we lift off, the better.”

Din stared up at you silently for a moment like he wanted to argue.

“It will take me two minutes, max,” you reasoned with him. “I won’t pass out or die in that time frame, okay?”

“Fine,” he finally sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “Just… be careful climbing up there.”

“I’ll try my best,” you snorted, wincing when pain flared through your body, but you still slowly made your way to the ladder.

It took you way longer to climb five rungs than it should have, but you thought not falling back into the cargo bay was a feat in itself, given how every muscle in your arms and legs twitched in pain. The blood pouring down your arm also did nothing to help your grip, nor did your scraped up palms, but you still made it into the cockpit relatively unscathed.

Dawn was just breaking beyond the windows, but you could barely see it through the black smoke that hung thick in the air. Guilt sat heavy in your chest as you saw the charred trees and the birds fleeing the flames overhead, but you told yourself you did what you had to in order to survive.

And it wasn’t like you were walking away scot-free, either. Your arm pounded painfully in time with your slowing pulse, and every time you took a deep breath, you became a little surer that the rib in your back was, in fact, broken.

You punched in the client’s rendezvous coordinates without sitting in the pilot’s chair since you knew if you sat down now there was no way you were getting back up. While you waited for the Razor Crest to power up, you cringed at the blood you were dripping all over the floor, but there was nothing for it at this point. The whole ship would need a thorough scrub down the next time you made a pit stop, but that was a future-you problem. Right now, you were mainly focused on getting off this planetoid and out into orbit without crashing and burning.

You held your breath as the pre-Empire ship rose up above the now smoldering jungle, but no warning alarms or messages sounded. The Razor Crest glided steadily upward, and you leaned heavily on the control panel as you breeched first the clouds and then the atmosphere. Entering orbit rattled the ship and you more than you cared for, but nothing broke off or burst into flame, and before you knew it, you were drifting through the familiar black void of space.

“Thank the kriffing Maker,” you sighed as the autopilot took over, and then you turned and shuffled back to the ladder, exhaustion starting to make the edges of your vision go fuzzy.

Or maybe that was blood loss?

You were a little less graceful with the descent than you were with the ascent, but you at least landed on your feet before you nearly collapsed into the fresher.

“Careful,” Mando’s modulated voice murmured, and suddenly his bare hand was on your left, uninjured elbow, skin against warm skin.

“What are… you doing up?” You frowned as you studied the Mandalorian, trying to make sense of what you were seeing as he led you to sit in the open mouth of his bunk.

“I told you,” he said, reaching over and grabbing another med kit from the fresher. “We need to take care of your injuries before they get any worse.”

“You should be resting,” you grumbled, but you were too tired to put any real heat behind your voice.

“I’m fine,” Din parroted your earlier proclamation back at you. “The kid did a thorough job.”

Then the bounty hunter sat on a crate before you, a crate that hadn’t been there before, and you realized he was no longer wearing a majority of his beskar, save the ever-present helmet, of course. Instead, a faded but clean pair of duraweave clothes covered his body, and the bloodied outfit you’d basically sliced off him was piled up between his feet. It also looked like he had haphazardly tried to mop up some of his blood with the dirty clothes, and you wondered if you’d been up in the cockpit longer than you thought.

“Hey,” you chuckled suddenly, and you distantly noted that your voice was a little slurred with exhaustion. “Looks like I’ll have some new rags after all.”

You giggled a little loopily as you gestured to the Mandalorian’s blood-soaked clothes and then to the blood and dirt your outfit was also currently coated in, but Mando didn’t seem as amused as you were.

“Let me see your arm,” he said as his helmet stared at you impassively, but then he paused and added, “Please.”

“It’s really not that bad,” you tried to argue as you held out your injured limb, but since it was still actively dripping blood, your words didn’t carry much weight. Then the bounty hunter gingerly gripped your wrist with tentative fingers, and you hissed through your teeth as pain lanced up your arm.

“Osik,” Din cursed in a language you didn’t recognize, slowly rotating your arm to take in the extent of the damage. “Did one of those dogs get you? The bastard almost flayed you to the bone in some spots.”

“Yeah, well I shoved two grenades down his throat, so I think we’re even,” you gritted out.

Din froze and lifted his head, your blood, sweat, and dirt-streaked face reflecting back at you from his visor. “You what?” 

He must have really been on death’s door if he didn’t notice or remember you literally blowing the jungle dogs to Tatooine and back, but you just shook your head.

“Story time later,” you huffed, narrowing your eyes as you tried to breathe through the pain. “Bacta time now, please.”

“Right.” Mando jerked back into action, and in the next moment he was shifting into medic-droid mode.

Few words were shared between you two as the Mandalorian tended to your bumps and scrapes. Beside the deep lacerations on your forearm, your palms and knees were scraped bloody from tripping your way through a dangerous jungle in the dead of night. Your upper back was in the same condition since you’d been wearing a tank top when you decided to grapple with blood-thirsty hounds, and when Din accidentally brushed against your lower back, a small whimper squeezed out between your clenched teeth.

“This rib is probably broken,” the bounty hunter said, and there was a heavy quality to his quiet voice.

“Thought as much,” you grunted, trying to sit up straight without breathing too deeply. “Too bad we don’t have a full bacta tank to soak in.”

“I could always… drop you back off on Tatooine,” Mando muttered. “With the payment that I owe you, of course. Should be enough to pay for a full treatment and then some.”

You froze sitting there in the doorway of his bunk. The Mandalorian wasn’t looking at you, too busy double checking the bandage he’d wrapped over the bacta on your forearm, but you could see how rigid his body was as he awaited your answer.

“Do you… want to drop me back off on Tatooine?” you asked hesitantly, the breath shallow in your lungs. You could hear the child snoring softly in the hammock directly behind your head, and the thought of leaving him opened a dark pit inside you.

And that was nothing to say of the thought of leaving the Mandalorian. Of leaving… Din.

Now that you knew his name, the feelings you had done your best to ignore came surging up to the surface, that little voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

He told you his name. He trusts you. He wants you here. Maybe he wants you for more than just your skills.

You shoved the thoughts away as quickly as they cropped up, but that didn’t stop something small and fragile from unfurling in your chest. You almost wanted to call it hope.

“I—” Mando started, stopped, fidgeted on his crate, and then sighed as he scooted back a little to stretch out his injured leg. “No, I don’t want to do that. You’re a talented mechanic and… good company. I’ve… enjoyed having you on my crew.”

“Oh.” You blushed as the breath whooshed out of your lungs, leaving you feeling lightheaded and buoyant. “T-Thank you. Current circumstances notwithstanding, I’ve enjoyed being on your crew, too. A-And not just for the payment. Seeing new worlds, as dangerous as they are, was something I never thought I’d get to experience. So, even if the price to pay is a few bumps and scrapes, I think that’s a fair deal.”

“You have a skewed idea of ‘fair,’” the Mandalorian chuckled dryly as he reached down beside him, picked up a pair of his gloves, and slipped them back on.

“No kriff,” you snorted, the scar on the nape of your neck tingling. “But it works out in your favor, so I wouldn’t question it too much.”

“Fine.” Din held up his hands, but then he lowered them to his knees and cocked his head at you.

“What?” you asked when he didn’t say anything for a full minute. His gaze made your skin prickle even if you couldn’t see his eyes, and with each passing moment, you grew acutely more and more aware of how dirty and disheveled you looked and felt.

“Nothing,” he said, fingers flexing against his knees. “Just… thank you. Again. For saving me, the kid, the bounty, and the ship.” 

You fidgeted in discomfort. You didn’t know what to do with praise and compliments, having never really received them before, so you shrugged your shoulders as you picked at the bandage on your arm.

“I told you, we’re even,” you muttered.

“It doesn’t feel that way to me,” he argued, and something about his tone told you he wasn’t going to let this go. “So, how about this: after we drop off this bounty with the client, you can pick the next planet we stop on.”

“Really?” Your eyes flicked up to the bounty hunter and widened. He’d never let you pick a destination before. You’d always just been along for the ride.

Mando nodded. “And make a list of parts and stuff you need to keep the ship running. We’ll stock up wherever we stop off next.”

“Okay.” You grinned as your heart did a little jig in your chest, and you stuck out your bacta-wrapped hand to shake on it. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Din Djarin.”

His name rolled off your tongue like a grain of sand spiraling down a dune, picking up momentum as it went, and it sent a shiver of pleasure straight down your spine. You knew you were playing a losing game with your own heart here, but as you stared into Mando’s visor, you also knew there was no stopping yourself now. You would just have to deal with the future heartbreak.  

The Mandalorian tentatively reached out and grasped your fingers in his gloved ones.

“Deal,” he rumbled back.

“Good.” You nodded as a yawn cracked open your jaw, and you reached up to cover your gaping mouth and scratch your nose. “Now, given the client’s rendezvous coordinates, we should have a few days of rest before we reach our destination, and if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to start right now by taking a well-deserved nap.”

You made to stand up, but Din gently placed his hand on your shoulder to keep you seated on the edge of the bunk.

“Take the cot,” he said as he nodded behind you. “I’m going up to the cockpit to send a message to the client anyway.”

“Are you sure?” you murmured around another yawn.

“I’m sure,” he said, but then his gloved fingers were suddenly ghosting over the bridge of your nose. “By the way, you’ve got a little grease right here. Just thought you should know.”

You went cross-eyed as you tried to draw his finger into focus, but when he stepped back, you noticed the fingertips of his glove were shiny, and glancing down at the hand you used to shake his revealed that your palm bore the same black sheen.

“Hey, this is your grease,” you muttered indignantly, but then Din was pressing gently on your shoulder, guiding you to lay back on the cot, and you went willingly.

“Get some rest,” he said, turning off the bunk lights. “We’ll worry about cleaning up later.”

You tried to grumble something, but exhaustion was starting to tug at your limbs and eyelids, and your body unwound bit by bit as you buried your face in the bounty hunter’s pillow with no remorse.

A moment later, Mando’s boots were clomping up the ladder to the cockpit, but he left some of the cargo bay lights on and the door to the bunk open, like he somehow knew you were afraid of the dark.

The beginnings of a smile tugged at your lips, but you spiraled into sleep before you could fully process the thought.

[ikeromantic]

Curiosity

Mitsuhide finally gets his answers and it’s more than he bargained for!

@yukina-otome who’s comment inspired this continuation of the scene from

Mitsuhide and the Mystery (of a Woman’s Purse)

Mitsuhide Akechi main route start of Chapter 5, fluff, around 1500 words. This ended up longer than I intended but it was a lot of fun to write. 

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Mitsuhide and the Mystery of a Woman’s Purse

Mitsuhide felt ashamed of himself. The little mouse had bested him at his own game, and worse, seen right through his carefully crafted mask. Despite her flushed cheeks and galloping heartbeat, she’d told him she wanted nothing from him. That she would answer all his questions without any persuasion.

The hollow victory was deflating, but at least he would have the answers he sought. And her cooperation. That was the most important thing. His little mouse would be safe, and Mitsuhide would be able to continue his carefully laid plans without her interference. 

They sat across from each other. Teacups steamed in front of them, lending a sense of comfort to the uncomfortable conversation. The items from her strange bag were laid out across the desk. His little one looked at him intently. “Please understand that everything I’m about to tell you is true.”

And then she launched into the most ridiculous, convoluted fable Mitsuhide ever heard. It was like nothing he’d ever heard. Worm holes in the sky. A world where buildings and lights blotted out the stars. Where metal carts rolled horseless through smoothly paved streets . . . But she seemed to mean every word. He contemplated the objects between them, wondering where they fit in her narrative.

“You still haven’t explained these -” Mitsuhide gestured to the desk.

The chatelaine yawned. “Oh, I forgot. So that -” she pointed at the strange sack, “is a purse. Women in my time carry their personal things in it.”

“What is it made of?”

“A poly-blend.”

Mitsuhide looked at her blankly.

“Ah, like plastic? You don’t have it yet but -” she struggled for the best way to explain it. “It’s cheaper than wood or leather, and keeps water out. In the future, we use it for a lot of things. Probably too many things. My purse is a blend of plastic fibers and cloth - that’s why it keeps its shape.”

Mitsuhide picked up the bag and squeezed it experimentally. “And it keeps what is in it dry?”

“Yes . . .”

The warlord set her purse down and picked up the smartphone. “And this dark mirror? What is it for?”

“It’s for -” she paused, chewing at her lip thoughtfully - “for talking to people far away and looking at pictures and playing music. It does a lot, actually.”

Mitsuhide held the plain rectangle to his ear and listened. He shut his eyes, trying to focus but he heard nothing in it. 

“That’s not how it works,” his little mouse giggled. 

He set the thing down, blushing. “Then show me.” 

“Like this.” She squeezed the side of it whispering, “Please be charged. Please be charged. Come on.” 

The mirror lit up with an array of colors and then glowed a steady blue. She slid her fingers across it in patterns, and the colors changed, resolving to a picture of her with two fingers up, the ocean behind her. 

“It is magic,” Mitsuhide whispered. Kyubei had been right to suspect. Here was proof. 

“No,” she laughed again, “It’s a smartphone. All I did was turn it on, but there’s not much battery left.” She handed it to him carefully.

The warlord looked closely at the image. It was a near perfect replica of his little one. “So this was painted on your . . . smartphone? Who painted you?”

“It isn’t a painting, it’s - let me show you.” She scooted around to his side of the desk and put her cheek against his. “Smile!”

Mitsuhide did not smile. The clicking sound surprised him and he would have dropped the device if the chatelaine had not also held onto it. She touched the front of it a few more times, and then he saw himself. And her. Just as they were a moment ago.

“This is . . . amazing. You said it talks to people as well? Far away?”

She nodded. “Yes but, well, there’s no one else around with one for me to call. So I can’t show you that. But I can play you some music from my time!”

Mitsuhide gave a nod of assent. He was curious what music would sound like in 500 years’ time, though it would have been more interesting to see how the communication with it worked. He could think of a lot of uses for a magic that was faster than horses or boats. 

His little mouse tapped away at the thing again, and more colors shifted. Then a strange, discordant sound began. The beat was fast, and the singers’ voices were high pitched and cheery, yet he couldn’t pick out the instruments in the melody, or identify many of the words they sang. “What - what is this called?”

“It’s a pop song. Very popular right - well, 500 years from right now.”

Mitsuhide listened to it until the song came to an end. He couldn’t decide how he felt about it. He considered himself well versed in music and poetry, but this was outside his knowledge completely. “How is it played?”

“Ummm, probably a keyboard, a guitar . . . I’m not very good with music. I just like listening to it.” She slid her fingers along the glass again. “I should probably turn this off. The battery is almost dead.”

“It is broken?”

“No, it just needs to be charged. I can’t really do that though.” She squeezed the sides of the smartphone again, and it went dark.

Mitsuhide picked up the thin rope with metal ends. “Then let’s move on. What is this? Is it some kind of weapon women in your time carry?” He held it up to show how he thought it could be wrapped around a throat and felt very clever about figuring it out. At least, he felt clever until his little mouse laughed again.

“No, oh - most women - we don’t carry weapons. That’s my - my charger cable.” She got the words out between giggles. 

“For the, ah, the smartphone?” 

She took the rope from him and showed him how one end fit into it. “The other plugs in, but there aren’t plugs I can use here.” She shrugged and set it down. She picked up the other small case from the purse, one that looked like leather but wasn’t. “And before you ask, this is my wallet. These are bank cards - they have money, in the future. Or they would if I had a good job. And this is my ID.” She held up a shiny rectangle with writing on it, and her image painted to one side. Another excellent likeness.

“Not a painting either. A photograph.” Mitsuhide took it from her, still in wonder over how the images were made. 

“Yes, exactly.” She beamed. 

It was awkward to be the student, Mitushide reflected. Yet he was getting the answers he asked for, even if they were so far beyond his expectations as to be fantasy.

“And this - this is my makeup kit.” She popped open a slim container. In it were a variety of powders in several colors. 

This was something Mitsuhide recognized, though the case was odd. “Ah, for a stage performer or an entertainer.” His eyebrows went up, considering his little mouse working as such.

She must have seen his thoughts on his face because she flushed pink to the tips of her ears. “No, no, no. Most girls in my time wear make up. Not like that - not like . . . anyway -” she set the case down and reached for the painted scroll. 

“Ah, now this object. This gave me many questions. Some of which you answered in your story. But why are all these men . . . hot? Is it summer painting - ah, photographs?” 

If she was pink before now she went crimson. “Y-yes! Summer! Hot summer!” She rolled the scroll up and shoved it into her purse. “There are lots of umm, scrolls like this. We call them magazines. They have pictures and stories. This one . . . it’s a tourist guide. About the warlords from this era.”

“And I am in it.” 

“Mhmmm.” His little mouse looked like she would rather talk about anything else. Curious. 

“And it is about me, in the summer?” Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow. Something was not adding up in her explanation. “The . . . guide . . . didn’t mention summer. It did mention my ‘silver white hair and golden eyes’. And the term heartbreaker?” 

“D-did it?”

“Yes. Along with the physical attributes of the other Oda warlords.”

She was still sitting on his side of the desk, and now she inched away from him with every word.

Mitushide gently took the purse from her and opened up the magazine. The first page was about his lord. He held it up and read the first line. “Nobunaga is a hottie? Do explain, little mouse.”

She actually squeaked. “It - it means attractive. Good looking.” The chatelaine wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s about all - all the most attractive . . . historical . . .”

Mitsuhide leaned forward and tipped her chin up with a finger. “And I am one of them?”

“Yes?”

“You consider me a . . . hottie?”

His little mouse scurried over to the other side of the desk, not afraid but - embarrassed? Yes, that was definitely it. 

She stared down at the other items still on the desk. “You shouldn’t ask a girl things like that. Now . . . what else are you curious about?”

Many things, the kitsune thought, but he kept them to himself for now.

Next: One Kind of Temptation

[snowdice]

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 23]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-8 and what I have of Chapter 9 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

Alright! Let’s go!

Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite it being late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight, so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. That in mind, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time. Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you here and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my second question!” he called back to Remus.

“It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

“My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So, could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

“Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted with and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.” He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look back at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

“I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

“I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

 Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

 She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

 “We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

 “Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

 He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of thick glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness. It was so caked on that Janus couldn’t even recognize him.

 In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

 Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

 As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

 They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

 After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

 “Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

 They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

 Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

 “Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

 “Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pat said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

 Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

 “Oh,” Pat said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

 “Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

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“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

 “He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

 He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

 “Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

 As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

 Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

 Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

 “Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

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Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

 “Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

 “There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

 Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

 “Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

 “You are the worst partner,” Janus hissed. “When I’m right you owe me 10 loafs of your fresh bread.”

“Branching out from poptarts?” Remus asked.

Janus shook his head. He still wasn’t happy about the state of things, but he could feel himself cooling down a bit.

Khalid came out of the integration room after a few minutes, leaving Pat with Remy. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He got under my skin,” Janus said.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “For now, we’re letting him go and then going back to looking for the bomb like we’re meant to be.”

 “Fine,” Janus relented. “Just do me the favor of tagging him before he leaves. Just that. I beg of you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “If it will calm you down.”

He nodded.

“Then, let’s go,” she said. When they met back up with Remy and Pat, he saw Khalid make the subtle gesture that would tag Pat like they would have for the Millennium Birds. Pat sent him what could pass as a sweet smile if Janus didn’t know better. Then, they walked him outside, leaving Remy on clean-up duty for the make-shift security office.

“So, I’m free to go?” Pat asked. His bemused expression edged far too much on the side of amused verses confused for Janus’s taste.

 “You are,” Khalid said. “Have fun at the festivities.”

His hands went flapping about. “Oh, you too!” he said. “Well, I guess you’re working, but you can have fun anyway, I’m sure.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said.

He gave her a blinding smile and reached forward to shake her hand enthusiastically. Janus rolled his eyes and looked up at the heavens. “It was nice to meet you!” he said, “and you too, Remus!” He turned to meet Janus’s eyes. “Macy Misa.”

Janus pressed his lips together.

Then, Pat turned and walked away.

“Well, now that we’re done with that,” Khalid said, turning to them. “We have only a few more hours before midnight and we really need to find the time bomb.

 “Oh,” Pat called. He’d paused a few yards away and turned back to them. “Thanks for letting me go so easily by the way,” he said, “and just in the Nick,” he winked, “of time too.” Janus narrowed his eyes at him. He smiled back. “Wrist check,” he said holding up his arm to show off the timepiece there. Khalid immediately looked down at her own wrist just to see that the one timepiece that could move through the time lock was no longer there. Pat made a gesture and disappeared.

All three of them stared at the spot he’d been for a long moment.

Janus was the one to speak first. “I want. The yellow. To be erased. From my record.”

 Chapter 9

Khalid immediately called everyone back to base.

“What happened?” asked Fred when he and Lena arrived. The tech people were already scrambling to get through to the TPI and get the time lock broken from the outside.

“Remus, Remy, and Khalid got played by Pat or whatever his name is. It certainly isn’t Nick. He was just setting up a joke,” Janus told him.

“Stop being smug,” Remy said. “It’s not a good look for you.”

“Pat is…?” Lena asked.

“They guy who fucked me over in 1923,” Janus said, “and is currently in the middle of fucking us all over because he stole the pin timepiece, and by extrapolation, probably the time bomb too.”

 “It will be fine,” said Khalid, “because what he doesn’t know is that timepiece has a tracker on it. Wherever and whenever he went, we’ll have his coordinates.”

“Speaking of,” one of the techies said. “It’s about to break. You might want to hold onto something.” Janus grabbed for a support beam next to him as the techie put a device on the ground in the center of the base. It blinked once, twice, and on the third blink the ground rumbled. There were sounds of panicked yelps outside. The fail safe for the time lock was not nearly as gentle as ending it correctly.

 Everything settled after a few moments, and they all straightened themselves out. Janus’s timepiece buzzed to indicate it was now functioning normally. Khalid had returned her usual timepiece to her wrist and now used it to open a display they could all see. “The pin timepiece’s closest time/space coordinates are…” she trailed off. “Right outside?” She frowned. “That’s strange. Why would he still be here?” She turned to march outside, following the coordinates to a trash can. She pulled the pin timepiece out and stared at it. “Fuck,” she said.

“What just happened?” Remy asked.

“He ticked us,” Janus said. “Again.”

 “He was stuck in the time lock,” Khalid said. “That’s why he got our attention. He couldn’t leave with the time bomb unless he had the pin timepiece or we broke the time lock. Apparently, he’s smart enough to know that if he took the pin timepiece away from here, we’d probably be able to find him, but he knew we’d break the lock as soon as the pin went missing. So, he must have stashed his own timepiece and went back in time within the time lock to grab it while we were distracted with the past version of him. As soon as the time lock went down, I imagine he left.”

 “Probably with the time bomb,” Janus said.

“Probably with the time bomb,” she confirmed.

And everyone knew the only thing worse than a time bomb was a time bomb you didn’t know the location of.

They evacuated after that, of course, and time locked the location once they were out just in case they were wrong, but midnight 3000 struck without thousands of people dying in Brazil, so the time bomb had defiantly been removed from then.

The, they initiated a time travel lockdown for all nonessentials, not willing to let random history students get caught up in an explosion if Pat decided to set the thing off somewhere.

 Then, it was a matter of figuring out everything they could about ‘Pat.’ First, they checked the tracker data as Khalid had tagged him with one of the Millennium Bird trackers. It wouldn’t work outside of the zone they’d set up that day, but the record would show his behavior during the time lock after he’d escaped with the pin timepiece.

There had been many little green dots on the map that day as Fred and Lena had actually been doing the job they’d set out to do, but most of those were running around in the south. There had been one green dot, however, that appeared suddenly in the game area about 10 minutes before the time bomb had been stolen.

 They could see Janus’s yellow dot almost brush his when he’d been chasing the earlier Pat down, around when he’d lost him briefly. The earlier Pat must have all but handed it off to his future self.

“He doubled back,” Remus commented when they watched the recorded data. It was a ballsy move and one that most people balked at, because there were inherent dangers any time you interacted with yourself from a different point in the timestream. It was ripe for paradoxes. It made everyone at the agency even more worried, because if he was willing to risk that, then what else was he willing to do?

 Because of the lockdown of all nonessential time travel, people working for the TPI were not allowed to go home for the night. They were allowed to pick up anyone or anything dependent on them for care like kids and pets if there wasn’t someone in their home time to care for them, but other than that, they were unfortunately all sleeping in their offices for the foreseeable future.

“You are the only tolerable one,” Janus told the cat who upon being let loose in the office by Remus, immediately jumped on Janus’s lap.

“I have literally done nothing to you,” Lena said, but then added. “Yet.”

 “You exist. In my space.”

“Can’t we just all get along?” asked Fred. “It’s only been an hour past when we’d usually go home. I went and grabbed milk and I have my giant thing of different flavored hot chocolate under my desk. We can try them all and vote on which is better.”

“Fuck your hot chocolate, Fred,” Janus growled, having been one of the three who had chipped in to buy it for him on his last birthday.

“Don’t go after Fred, jackass,” Lena spat.

“He’s just testy because his boyfriend escaped,” Remus contributed.

Janus’s lips turned down into a frown and he cupped Diesel Fuel’s face. “We agree we’re eating him first, right?” he asked her.

 She purred her agreement.

“I’d have it no other way,” Remus replied.

“There is plenty of food,” Fred said, sounding stressed. “In fact, I was thinking we should all chip in on ordering take-out soon. “What does everyone like on pizza?”

“This is not a slumber party, Fred,” Janus pointed out.

“Shut it,” Lena snapped and turned to Fred. “I’m fine with almost everything, except…”

“Bananas and tuna salad!” Remus interrupted.

“…whatever Remus is about to say.”

Janus rolled his eyes as that started a debate about whether or not fruit and/or fish belonged on pizza. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, which was when there was a knock on the door.

 He froze when he heard the familiar voice. “Hello, hello,” said Emile, cheerfully. Janus looked up to see Emile standing at the open office door. Shit. Apparently, the man had decided to give up on sending lackeys to come fetch him and had decided to track him down himself when Janus couldn’t even escape without breaking a time lockdown. They met eyes briefly and Janus could see irritation if not anger in his eyes despite his otherwise cheerful expression and tone.

“Janus,” he said when he’d gotten their attention. “I’d like to have dinner with you.” The word choice told Janus everything he needed to know. Usually Emile was careful with how he said things to make sure people knew they had a choice. Typically he’d say something like, “I was wondering if you’d have time to have dinner with me tonight,” or “I’m about to go get food, would you like to come?” Today, there was no choice in the statement.

 Janus still dried to dodge anyway. “Uh,” he said. “We were actually about to order pizza.”

“Go ahead,” said Fred kindly. Janus wanted to strangle him. “We can order pizza with olives if you’re not here.”

“I…” said Janus. “Guess, I’ll be going with you.”

“Great!” Emile said. “Let’s go.”

“Oh,” Janus said. “Uh, now?”

“Now,” Emile said a bit of uncharacteristic steel to his tone.

 Well, Janus was screwed. He swallowed his nervousness and got to his feet, taking Diesel Fuel with him. He turned to hand her off to Remus with a plea in his eye, but he just got an eyebrow raise in return. Traitor.

Then, he followed Emile out of the office door. “What would you like to eat?” asked Emile.

“Uh,” Janus said. “I don’t know. You asked me to eat, don’t you have any ideas?”

“I don’t actually,” Emile replied. Right.

“…Noddle Bar?” Janus threw out the nearest restaurant he knew.

“The one noodle restaurant? Sure,” Emile answered simply. They walked side by side out of the front doors of the TPI building. Janus actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken these stairs. He usually used his timepiece to get in and out.

 The noodle bar was only moderately busy at this time. They were quickly able to find a table near the back and Emile pulled his menu up in front of him. Emile hummed as he flipped through the different displays. “What are you having?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Janus said, only then pulling up the menu himself, but still not quite looking at it.

“What about the fortune noodles,” Emile suggested.

Janus shook his head. “I don’t like those,” he said.

Emile glanced at him through the menu displays. “You used to.” Fortune noodles were a bit cheekily named. They didn’t actually indicate anything about your future. They were just supposed to taste like what you wanted from your future. A grad student might experience a feeling like they’d just aced a paper. A child that they got to stay up an hour later that night. Janus had liked the experience when he was younger, but in recent years, he’d begun to taste the underlying chemicals in the dish until that’s all he could.

 “Well,” Emile said lightly, eyes on his menu. “That makes me even more worried for your mental health than I already was because of the almost three years of you avoiding talking to me.”

“No small talk, huh?” Janus asked.

“Forgive me,” Emile said, eyes now focused on Janus, and tone much darker. “How has your life been since I last saw your face 5 months ago during a business meeting and you refused to look me in the eye? Anything interesting happen? Shave your head and let it all regrow? Develop an allergy to peanuts? Join a convent and take an oath of silence that you only just broke today?”

“No,” said Janus quietly into the table.

 “Great,” Emile said clipped. “Small talk over. Order your food.” Janus reached up blindly to select the first thing that came up on the food and drink menu as Emile punched something into his own and both menu displays disappeared, meaning there was nothing between their faces anymore. “You know, I was willing to give you a year,” Emile said. “I was willing to let you deal with it on your own because I thought eventually, you’d come talk to me about it, but apparently I was mistaken. The next year, I thought maybe you thought I didn’t want to talk to you, so I subtly made myself available, and you never took me up on the offer. I thought maybe I was just not being clear, and I should make my desire to talk to you more explicit, but as you have been routinely, clearly avoiding me at every single turn, I’ve decided I’ve had enough. So, let’s lay it all on the table. Is it me or do you need help?”

 Janus closed his eyes. “It’s not you.”

“Then you need help,” Emile concluded.

Janus shook his head.

“Yes,” Emile snapped. “Whatever this is has gone on far too long.”

Janus stood up and slammed his hand down on the table. “And it’s going to keep going on!” he said. The food popped up at that moment. It appeared Janus had ordered lasagna and bubble tea, and Emile had ordered something with spaghetti and a fizzy drink.

“So, you’re just planning to go on being miserable then?” Emile asked, and Janus wasn’t sure if it was worse or better that he didn’t sound angry anymore.

14656

Janus slapped his hand down on the “To Go” button and his dinner was insta-wrapped by the table. “Yes,” he said.

“What exactly do you think you’re paying penance for, Janus?” Emile asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Janus said, paying for both of their meals with his fingerprint.

“That’s a cop out and you know it,” Emile said. “All you’d have to do is talk to me. Or even just talk to someone else. Please.”

“Just…” Janus said, grabbing his bag of food to avoid looking at him. “Just, leave me be.” He walked out of the noodle shop without another word.

 Chapter 10

“And I thought Remus was going to be the most disgusting roommate in this equation,” Lena grumbled. Janus and Lena were apparently the earlier risers in the group as Fred was still curled up around a pillow and Remus was sprawled out under his desk.

Janus flipped her off.

“Protein infused Poptarts and caffeinated orange juice for breakfast?” she asked. “Just eat an energy bar and have a cup of coffee like a normal person.”

He took another pointed bite of his Poptart.

“You’re a horrible roommate. This is why they gave us different partners.”

“Yeah, well you snore, asshole,” Janus said after finishing off his meal.

 “I’d tell you to go eat shit, but you already did that once this morning.”

A pillow flew across the room and somehow managed to hit the both of them. “S’op fighting,” Fred mumbled. “It’s sleep time.”

“It’s morning Fred,” Lena said.

“No,” Fred mumbled.

Janus ignored them, turning back to his integration port to continue to keep plugging in phrases of interest, but he kept getting nothing.

“What are you doing?” Lena asked after a few moments of him huffing at his screen reader.

“Trying to do anything that may change our current living arrangements.”

She puffed out an amused breath. “Can I help?”

 “Can you see any connection between these words and phrases?” he asked, pulling away his screen reader and tapping at the words he’d typed out.

“Paranoid, tonight, I live to party, comeback, love Bug, BB good, Mandy, Macy Misa, I believe, cool, that’s just the way we roll, burnin’ up,” she said. “What are these?”

“They’re things Pat said when we interrogated that struck me funny,” Janus explained. “I feel like he was saying something more than what he said.”

“Hmm,” she said. “PTI for the first three?”

“Maybe,” Janus agreed, “but what about the rest of it? I feel like I’m missing something.”

15080

“Millennia,” Remus mumbled from under his desk. Janus hadn’t been aware he was awake. “He said something something about it being the only time he could see the change of the millennia.” He turned his head to look at Janus. “Considering he’s a time traveler, that’s definitely a weird thing to say.”

“Millennia,” Janus contemplated. “A different turn of the millennia. Oh no.”

“What?” Lena asked.

Janus sighed, and rubbed his temple. “I know someone who studied the 1700-2200s.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“No,” Janus groaned, “because now I have to go talk to him.” He stood with a sigh and then paused. “How do I even get to Silver Mountains University without my timepiece?”

 Luckily Sliver Mountains ended up only being about an hour away from the TPI by time adherent travel, but considering Janus was used to his travel being instantaneous, it was an aggravating trip. He had to show ID and be buzzed up to the fourth floor since it was usually locked to everyone not traveling by timepiece or who worked in the office.

The receptionist was the same man as before. “I’m here to speak to Professor Eran,” Janus said.

The receptionist nodded. “He mentioned you asked to meet him but didn’t know when you’d arrive. He’ll be done teaching his class in about 5 minutes. You can wait over there.”

 Janus nodded and sat, waiting for time to slowly tick by. Virgil arrived after a few minutes, lugging a giant bag with him. He caught sight of Janus and wordlessly jerked his head towards the hallway. Janus followed him.

“What’s in the bag?” Janus asked.

“Early 21st century cell phones,” Virgil said, dropping it on his desk. “I let my students mess around with them for their lab.”

“I see,” Janus said.

“What did you need?” Virgil asked. “You said it was official business.”

“You’ve heard about the lockdown, I presume,” Janus said.

“Yeah, it really screws up my research schedule for the summer,” Virgil said.

15412

“Do you know why the lockdown was instituted?” Janus asked. Virgil shook his head, so Janus explained briefly that they had been trying to find a timebomb on the eve of the year 3000, but it had been swiped by a free agent time traveler. “Some of the things seemed to be references to things that I couldn’t place, and I was wondering if you would recognize any.”

“Shoot,” Virgil requested, seeming intrigued by the prospect.

“Okay,” Janus said. “First, the alias he was using was Nick Jonas.” A weird expression crossed Virgil’s face immediately and Janus paused.

“You said the year 3000?” Virgil asked.

 “Er. Yes.”

“Nick Jonas. Year 3000,” Virgil repeated with a snort. “Were Joe and Kevin a part of this too?”

Janus blinked. “Yes, how did you know that?”

“Yo-you’re going to have,” his sentence was broken by a giggle, and actual full-fledged giggle, “have to give me a minute.” With that, he sort of listed to the side and seemed to purposefully fall off his chair onto the floor under his desk.

Janus blinked and when he didn’t surface after a moment, he stood up to lean over the desk and look down at him. Virgil had his arm thrown over his beat red face, as he shook from what Janus thought was suppressed laughter.

 “What?” Janus asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Just…” Virgil said, sobbing through his laughter. “Just tell me the things he said.”

“Er, mostly he just had weird inflections on words and phrases. There was ‘paranoid, tonight, I live to party, comeback…’”

“Wait, stop,” Virgil said. “Let me guess a few. That’s Just the Way We Roll, Burnin’ Up, Sucker.”

“The first two were, but not the last one.”

Virgil laughed. “Maybe the last one was just implied.”

Janus frowned down. “What are you talking about? What does this all mean?”

Virgil pulled himself out from under his desk and grabbed his bag of phones. He dug through it for a few seconds before pulling one out and handing it to Janus. “I have a lab for my students where they get preloaded phones from the early 21st century and are supposed to guess the demographics of the person who owns it. This one is an iPhone 3 meant to belong to a pre-teen to teenage girl from the year 2009. Look under music artists starting with the letter ‘J.’”

15810

Confused, Janus scrolled through the old style phone, finding the music app and opening it easily. Upon getting to the ‘J’s, he immediately paused on an artist called the ‘Jonas Brothers.’ He clicked on it and read a few of the song titles. They weren’t all there, but…

“That rat bastard,” Janus said.

“Scroll to the bottom,” Virgil said. Janus did and found a song titled ‘Year 3000.’

“You’re kidding me.”

“Click on it,” Virgil requested.

Janus did, listening to the fairly standard pop like intro from the time period. It wasn’t until he got to the lyrics saying, ‘He told me he built a time machine’ that he cursed, understanding exactly what Pat had been doing. When the singer a few lines latter proclaimed that his neighbor said ‘I’ve been to the year 3000’ he almost smashed the artifact to pieces right then and there.

“I have no idea who this guy is,” Virgil said, “but he’s a comedic genius.”

 Chapter 11

Khalid caught him on his way back into the TPI building. “I heard you went to Silver Mountains to follow up on a lead,” she said.

“Yeah, but it was garbage,” he seethed. “All I learned was ‘Pat’ knows early 2000s popular culture and likes to fuck with us.”

She hummed. “I’d still like a report about whatever you found. Who knows what we might end up getting from seemingly inconsequential data.”

“Sure,” he said.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I have a mission for you.”

“We’re on lockdown,” Janus pointed out with a frown.

“For nonessentials,” she said. “This is essential.”

 “What happened?” Janus asked.

“We picked up a small time distortion in France 2027. At the moment, it is small enough not to cause any disruptions, but it is slowly growing, and we don’t know what caused it. Usually we’d just send surveillance agents at this stage, but considering what’s going on, I think it would be best to send a field agent. And it would just be you, because we don’t want to send too many people out at once.”

“Is this related to the time bomb?” Janus asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “At the very least, it’s not it being set off as it was in 2999, but if it’s been altered for some other purpose…��

 “I’ll go,” Janus said.

“I’ll send over the mission directive to everyone who needs it. You’ll go in around 3 hours.”

He nodded. “I’ll be ready,” he agreed.

In less then 3 hours, he was dressed for 2027 France and in decontamination. “Well,” he said out loud when he was given the all clear sign, “I hope I don’t explode.” He selected the coordinates on the timepiece and the next moment he was in a small alleyway in the city of Montpellier, France in 2027.

It was a little bit warm, but not stifling even in the mid-afternoon and he could faintly smell the sea on the breeze.

 After a moment to get his bearings, Janus made his way out of the alleyway and onto a small street. The street was lined with restaurants and shops as people went about their daily lives. He carefully integrated himself into the crowd and began weaving his way through them. He needed to find the source of the distortion but doing a quick scan with his timepiece told him there wasn’t any sign of it yet. He’d have to wait for it to act up.

For now, he decided to get slightly away from people by heading towards the river. He found a park that had benches along water.

 As he walked towards the river, he noticed a man on the bench, angled slightly away from Janus and looking out at the water. He immediately recognized the man. “You!” he exclaimed.

Pat’s head shot around to look at him, and he gave a slight head tilt. Then, he smiled, amused. “You are not the person I’m here for,” he said.

“Well, I am now,” Janus snapped. “Where’s the time bomb?”

“Time bomb?” Pat asked, eyebrows drawing together, but amusement on his lips. “Oh sweetie, the time bomb happened a long time ago for me.”

“What?” Janus asked.

“Oh, you’re just a baby,” Pat laughed. “Don’t you get it yet? The two of us are out of sync timeline wise. You’ve been apparently running around with a much younger version of me, but all of that happened quite a while ago for me. Don’t worry though, it gets better.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The time bomb has been long deactivated. Here,” he reached into his pocket and tossed him something. Janus caught it on instinct. “Proof. Don’t worry, we took all of the dangerous bits out years ago from my perspective.” It was the core of a time bomb, the time bomb Pat had stolen if he was to be believed. “You can tell your people it’s safe to remove the lockdown.”

Janus curled his fingers around it. “I don’t get it.”

Something on Pat’s wrist beeped and he looked at it curiously before he stood from the bench, “and I don’t have time to explain it.”

Janus jerked forward to grab his wrist. “Don’t you dare.”

Pat reached up to pat his face. “Don’t worry honey, you’ll be seeing me later.” He twisted his wrist and a small electric current sparked between them. Janus jerked his hand away, and Pat smiled at him. “Or… earlier.” He winked, and then he was gone.

Janus cursed, but he didn’t have more than a moment to be angry because in the next second there was a yelp, and something landed on top of him. He was bowled over into a tangle of limbs and pained noises.

“Oh my god, we need to figure out the height thing,” a familiar voice groaned, just as Janus managed to pull himself away. Pat blinked up at him and his eyes narrowed. “You,” he hissed.

“…What?”

 Pat jumped to his feet, leaving Janus on the ground in front of him. “What are you doing here?” he spat, his tone much different then the one he’d been using a moment earlier. His hair was longer than it had been before, and if Janus looked closely, he did seem like he was a couple of years younger suddenly. Out of sync timelines. I’ll see you earlier. Holy shit.

He was suddenly very glad he’d been forced to let the other Pat (the older Pat?) go, else they’d have a whole thing on their hands.

“What are you doing here?” was Janus’s retort as he stood up and dusted himself off.

 “It’s none of your business,” Pat told him.

“It is my business,” Janus said, “because for all I know, you are the cause of the time distortions I’m after. Considering that I doubt you have a license for that,” he waved at the odd looking timepiece of Pat’s wrist, “it’s very possible.”

“What are you?” Pat asked, “the time police.”

“Yes.”

Pat dared to roll his eyes, but then he tilted his head slightly. “Time distortions?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.”

He still had a confused frown on his face. Did… did he not know what a time distortion was?

 Just then there was a sudden flash of lightening through the sky despite the absolutely lack of clouds. He and Pat both looked up.

“Is that the time distortion?” Pat asked.

“It’s probably the beginning of it,” Janus said.

“That doesn’t look good,” Pat said as he squinted at the sky.

“Just wait,” Janus answered grimly. He looked at Pat. “Usually I’d arrest you on the spot,” he said, “but I’m alone for this one, and that is far more important at the moment. So, have a nice day doing whatever bullshit you are doing.” He glanced at his timepiece.

 Janus turned to walk away from him.

“Wait!” Pat exclaimed, and Janus turned back to him to see that his eyes were wide. Janus raised an eyebrow. “So, this time distortion thing is dangerous, right?”

“Depending on the severity, it could cause time to fracture around this place and time, basically erasing it from existence and killing everyone in it.”

“Well, in that case, I should go with you. To help.”

Janus looked him up and down. “You… have no idea what’s happening, do you? You’re an amateur.”

“I’m not,” he claimed. “I just. Pooling resources. You know?”

Janus sighed. “Well, you going around mucking about this time period without knowing what you’re doing could just exasperate the situation, so fine, you can tag along.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he grumbled even as he rushed to Janus’s side at the permission.

“Sure,” Janus said with an eyeroll. He guessed he was a babysitter now. “I believe you.”

 Chapter 12

There was something off about his readings. Clearly the time distortion was starting to pull at this place with the way the weather was flickering between storming and sunny, but he still couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact location of the source of it. He could, however, get that it must be somewhere on this side of the river more into the downtown area, so that’s the way he was walking, Pat close on his heels.

“What’s your name, by the way?” he asked.

Janus shot him a glare. “Elvis Presley,” he said.

Pat frowned, clearly knowing who that was. “There’s no reason to be mean.”

 “You did it to me first.”

“…Introduced myself as a famous musician?” he asked. Janus didn’t respond, and after a moment, Pat laughed lightly. “You really don’t understand time travel, do you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Janus said. “Name the three types of time distortions.”

“Just because I don’t know the names of things doesn’t mean I don’t understand them.” He stuck out his tongue. Janus was dealing with an actual toddler. “Unlike you who has a bunch of fancy words, but just caused a time loop.”

Janus scoffed. “I did not just cause a time loop.”

“Maybe not a big one,” Pat agreed, “but you did.”

 Janus raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never introduced myself to you with a musician’s name, but now you’ve told me that I will. So, at some point in the future I will have to, thereby making you think to say that now. Time loop.”

“That’s not… that doesn’t count.”

“Does too,” Pat claimed. “Like I have said once before and you may or may not have heard me say before, anything you do to me to get back at me for something I haven’t done yet, just causes whatever that is to happen in the first place.”

“But you’re still going to do it.”

 “Then take it up with future me. I haven’t done anything to you.” Then he paused and sighed. “…Which I guess means you’ve done nothing to me.” He seemed to mull this concept over for a long moment. “Well you were a bit crabby about me not knowing what a time distortion was, but I can forgive you for that.”

“And I’m supposed to forgive you?”

“Like I said,” Pat said. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You also haven’t done anything to endear yourself to me either,” Janus grumbled.

“Hmm,” Pat said. “Fine.” He pulled something out of his pocket. “You’re obviously not having much luck finding whatever you’re looking for. Tell me what it is and I’ll help.”

Janus squinted at what was in his hand. “Is that… an iPhone 5?”

“No!” he said. “It’s super-secret time travel tech disguised as an iPhone 5!”

“We’re in 2027,” Janus said. “Not a great disguise. Those things have been obsolete for a decade.”

“Well I’ll keep in mind to have my tech disguised as phones from the right year next time,” Pat said, sticking out his tongue. “Now what are we looking for?”

“If my timepiece can’t find it, I’m certain yours can’t.”

 Pat rolled his eyes and tapped on the device’s screen a couple of times. “I’m going to guess it’s that,” he said proudly.

Janus leaned over to look at the screen. “Are you using google maps?” he sputtered.

“It integrates time relevant data like traffic conditions and local weather warnings with time travel technology,” Pat explained. “Something seems to be going on in a museum a couple of blocks that way.”

“I…” Janus said. That was actually a really good idea, usually unnecessary with scouts observing that data beforehand, and Janus wasn’t sure how good the accuracy would be considering whatever was taking it into account was automated, but still a good idea. “Well, I guess since we have no other leads, we can check it out.”

 Pat looked far too proud for having only used a piece of tech that hadn’t even been confirmed as accurate. “Then, let’s go,” he said right as a chilly wind started to pick up and a couple of snowflakes began to fall around them. “Before that gets worse…”

Janus let Pat lead with his iPhone. Janus’s timepiece still wasn’t picking up a clear signal for some reason, but it seemed to point in the same general direction as Pat’s. Strangely though, as they got closer to their destination, the signal started to get fuzzier. Pat’s tech seemed unaffected leading them closer to the museum.

 When they got to the Musée Fabre museum, Janus stopped. “What?” Pat asked. He was shivering slightly in the cold and holding his arms around himself.

“My timepiece stopped working completely,” he said.

“I’m assuming that’s weird?” Pat said.

“It is,” Janus confirmed, turning to squint at him suspiciously. “How do I know you’re not the one doing it?”

“If I was doing it, wouldn’t I have just knocked it out from the get go?” Pat questioned.

Janus pursed his lips. “I don’t know,” he said. “Would you have? Maybe it’s a trick.”

Pat’s eyes narrowed a bit on him. “Think what you want, but I’m freezing. Come in with me if you want.”

 He dithered from a few moments before following Pat inside. Pat had already struck up a conversation with the woman charging admission into art museum. She was looking at him, her brow knit as he spoke. Janus nudged him away from her getting a confused glance from him in return. He shot a smile at the woman.

“Two adult passes for the museum and the Hotel Sabatier d’Espevran, please,” he said, placing down 14 euro.

“Ah,” she said, still looking at Pat oddly. “Yes sir.” She gave them the passes and Janus quickly shuffled Pat away.

“What is wrong with your French?” he hissed once they were out of earshot.

 “What?” he asked, bewildered.

“You sound like you’re reading Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. No one talks like that anymore.”

“I’m a little rusty,” Pat defended himself.

“Two centuries?” Janus asked. Pat stuck his tongue out like a child once again. “Is that your only way to respond to legitimate criticism?”

“What does it even matter anyway? No one ever expects time travel, at least not for something so silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Janus said. “It’s a legitimate issue. The wrong person who’s watched too much science fiction notices and you’re putting the timeline at risk. Not to mention if there are other time travelers around that aren’t as nice as me.”

 “Are there a lot of time travelers around?” Pat asked, sounding intrigued.

“There are plenty, both legal and not.”

“Huh,” he said, “but what are the chances we’ll run into another one?”

“Considering the time distortion? There could be many. Opportunists wanting to capitalize off the chaos, people trying to stop it, like me, and not to mention the person who caused it.”

“Wait, someone made it happen?” Pat asked.

“These things don’t just happen naturally.”

“Huh. So, something like this has to be caused by a person?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “…Why?”

Pat smiled. “No reason. I think we should head upstairs. Whatever I’m picking up says it’s around here, but I don’t see anything. Maybe it’s a floor or two above us.”

“Which is why it’s ridiculous to use Google Maps.”

 “Would you rather use yours?” he asked sweetly.

“I’m still not convinced it’s not your doing,” Janus growled. “Why does your tech still work when mine doesn’t?”

“Probably the same reason the ring did,” he muttered.

“What?”

“What?”

“You may be the most aggravating being in the universe.”

Pat glanced at him with a bit of a smirk. “I can’t tell you,” he said. “It would be a much bigger risk to the timeline than me speaking in French from the 1830s. But, I’m pretty sure the reason mine still works is just a software difference.”

“What the hell do you mean a software difference?”

 Pat opened his mouth, doubtlessly to supply him with yet another frustratingly cheeky and unhelpful answer. Yet, Pat did not have a chance to do so as, just as Janus stepped onto the second floor of the museum, the ground started to violently shake. Janus tried to turn to catch Pat as the other man’s foot slipped on the last step, but he couldn’t do so in time. Pat fell onto his hands and knees, sliding back a few steps and smacking his face into the stairs hard once and then a couple of times more after that as he slid.

 Chapter 13

The room stopped shaking after a moment. “Ow,” Pat said. He seemed a bit stunned but was still moving at least. He carefully maneuvered himself into a seating position. “Ouch. Owie.” He reached up to poke his own nose. “Ow!” Janus slapped his hand away when he got there. A bit of blood was already trickling from his nose and there was a small cut over his eye, but it wasn’t bleeding too much.

Janus pushed him so he was leaning slightly forward and produced a pack of time appropriate tissues from his pocket. He pulled one out of the package and offered it to him.

 He took it and pressed it up against his nose to try to stop the bleeding. He seemed mostly alright though Janus imagined he’d have plenty of bruises down the line. The power in the museum flickered and Janus looked up. Now that he was listening, he could hear people panicking in and out of the museum.

“We should probably get off of the stairs,” he suggested.

“Yeah,” Pat agreed. Janus helped him to his feet, and they climbed back up the steps. Janus looked around and found an employees only sign a few feet away. Usually he’d not risk that as it could get him into trouble he didn’t want to be in, but considering the earthquake that had just happened, he could probably play it off as panic.

 He ushered Pat into a small room and found a chair and table. He had Pat sit in the chair and pulled out another one of the tissues to dab at the blood coming from the cut over his eyes. “Here,” he said. “Hold that there. I’m going to go see if there are any bandages about.”

Pat took the tissue with the hand not already holding one to his nose. “Thanks,” he said.

Janus nodded and got to his feet. The lights flickered once again but didn’t stay off for now. He didn’t know how long that would last.

19053

He couldn’t see anything that might hold bandages in this room, but there was a second door. “I’ll be right back,” he told Pat, exiting through it.

The lights flickered once more as the door closed behind him and he cursed. When they came back up Janus’s eyes immediately fell on a man. They both froze.

“Remus!” Janus hissed the second their eyes met. “What are you doing here?”

Remus blinked at him for a moment. “Hi. Janus,” he said. “I… come to France for tea sometimes?”

“There isn’t any tea back here.”

“So, there isn’t…” he said. There was a moment of silence. “Uh, so I actually cannot talk to you right now.”

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

with all appliances and means to boot: ncis/tiva fic

for this challenge, @loudlooks​ requested Tiva + "I didn't know you could do that." thank you for the inspiration!! *hugs*

set summer between S3-4 w/ team dynamics & tiva (a LOT of tiva—they took over the fic, basically, and I’m not sorry about it) 

also, this turned out like eight times longer than I expected & was the most fun and freeing thing I’ve worked on in years, so

enjoy:) 

FFN

“I didn’t know you could do that!” 

McGee’s voice filtered over news-chattering televisions, incessantly ringing phones, and chicken-clacking keyboards to reach Tony at his desk. 

“There was no reason to mention it earlier. It is not exactly a useful skill, my friend.” Ziva’s full-throated chuckles were wind chimes amidst the office drudgery.

Tony shook off the eruption of gooseflesh on his arms. It was way too early for that. And McGee was babbling again.

“I’ve just never met someone in real life who could do it.”

“Really?!”

A boom of shared laughter enveloped them.

Glancing at the digital read-out on his monitor, Tony silently cheered. 9:07. Totally busted. Then he pretended to be busy with paperwork, so his attention was occupied ahead of time. 

The agents’ conversation lowered until it faded completely, coinciding with their entrance into the squadroom.

Tony had that effect on them now. The tables, as the saying went, had turned. They were the class troublemakers to his super-strict teacher. They, the unruly cadets, and he, the veteran drill sergeant. They were Agents; he was Boss. 

“Agent McGee. Officer David. You’re late.” 

McGee froze while swinging around his desk. Ziva froze after dropping her gear. Tony continued to stare yet not see the file in front of him, but he didn’t need visual confirmation to know the teammates were exchanging glances, coordinating their plan of counterattack. 

“Well, technically we were in the building on time.” The opening lob courtesy of McGee. 

“Technically, that’s not good enough, McTardy.”

“It was when you were wearing our shoes.” 

Tony fought an eye roll. “You can’t throw me off the scent with a well-timed idiom blunder, Officer David.” 

“Can’t I, Tony?” Ziva’s voice was louder, closer to him. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he spied her leaning on the divider between their workspaces. So close now, he caught a whiff of her lavender mint shampoo as she flicked at a cascade of curls that had fallen over her shoulder. If this was their strategy, well, it wasn’t the worst angle. 

But Tony DiNozzo was better. 

“No, you can’t,” he reiterated, finally gracing each of them in turn with his steady gaze. Calm, yet intense. Everything rumbling beneath the surface. “And it’s Agent DiNozzo. Or Boss.” 

Ziva stared back, golden-brown eyes matching his intensity, but not the calm. She rattled off a string of heated Hebrew, ending with a sharp snap of her teeth before spinning around on her heel and dropping heavily into her desk chair.  

Crazy chick.

“So, anyway. Just to be clear: If you’re here after me, you’re late. Period.” Tony slapped a case folder closed, causing his desk to tremble; he could emphasize his words, too. “For today, you can make amends by telling me whatever it is McGee didn’t know Ziva could do. I’m thinking it involves lots of stretching, but if there’s a video game reference, leave it out. Go!” 

And like that, authority forfeited for curiosity. 

McGee did roll his eyes and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like waste of time under his breath. Ziva scoffed, typing noisily at her computer and decidedly not looking in Tony’s direction. 

“That’s an order.” Even he didn’t buy the command. 

9:10. The day was shot. 

. . . 

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks as leader of MCRT were going, he’d say, “Good, considering the circumstances,” with a flash of white teeth. He didn’t like to lose face, sure, but he was pretty confident it was the truth, too.

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge of a team that for years affectionately regarded you as The Class Clown, the circumstances weren’t on your side and ‘good’ was the most you could hope for.

. . . 

“What did you do?” 

Passing through the automatic doors, Tony came up short—as much due to the always assaulting antiseptic stench as the accusation. “Why do you assume I did something wrong? Can’t I come see my favorite Autopsy Gremlin with no ulterior motive?” 

“Sure you can,” Palmer called from the freezer section, where he was sliding a corpse home. “But I already talked to Abby, who talked to McGee.” 

Fantastic.

“So before, with the ‘what did you do?’...that was kind of redundant, huh?”

“Guess so.” A dorky chortle escaped the assistant. “I mean, seriously, they were only late by a couple minutes, Tony. Sorry, Agent DiNozzo.” Another hiccup of laughter. 

Great. Just great. 

“Gee, I was hoping I could escape some of the ridicule down here....” Tony pressed his palms against the cold steel of an autopsy table, shoulders hunched, depositing weight into the defeated stance. All his course-correcting tactics, including buying his team lunch, had done little to reverse the morning’s death blow. McGee and Ziva were ignoring him aside for a lone campfire, and then their interactions were clipped—aggressively so where the ex-assassin was concerned. Now the damage was spreading to the sub-basement, it seemed. 

“Look on the bright side, you’re the team leader. It’s what you’ve always wanted, right?” Palmer mirrored Tony on the other end of the table, adjusting his glasses before adding, “This is a bump in the road, but no one ever achieved greatness without first overcoming resistance.” 

“That’s wise, Palmer. For a man who talks to the dead. You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“What McGee didn’t know Ziva could do?” 

Tony blinked. Maybe they’d been underestimating the Autopsy Gremlin all along. “Yeah. Know anything about it?” 

“It’s not a big deal. We were at the bar last night and first the waitress got Abby’s drink order mixed up, but it was super busy, so I suggested that—”

“Sometime today, Palmer.” 

“Well, it turns out Ziva can knot a cherry stem with her tongue, and then...” 

Oh, it was more wondrous than he’d guessed (and that list was long).

Palmer’s rambling dissolved to the background of Tony’s thoughts. He couldn’t get to the audacity of everyone going out for drinks without him because the dexterity of Ziva’s tongue was front and center. As he was recently familiarized with that very tongue and the talented mouth it resided in, it was all too easy to lose himself in a sexy daydream of the alleged feat.

Until he remembered how pissed she was at him. Bubble, burst. 

. . .

If someone asked Tony how his first weeks sleeping with Ziva, his former partner and current subordinate, were going, he’d say, “What? I’m not—we’re not—how dare—what?!” 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, some of his rules haunted you. 

. . . 

“Rough day?”

Tony looked up right away. It was best not to play games with the director, who emerged stealthily in the dim, empty squadroom. He’d dismissed McGee and Ziva at regular quitting time, unable to make eye contact with either of them—for different reasons—but stayed behind to catch up on last week’s case reports. Him, voluntarily completing paperwork. 

Rough was an understatement.  

“I see my shortcomings are making the rounds.” 

Jenny’s smile was beautifitic, the one she wore during news interviews. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t seeking it out. I was speaking to Ducky on a separate matter, and he happened to mention talking with Mr. Palmer, who—”

“Got the scoop from Abby because McGee blabbed to her,” Tony finished, barely restrained. “Yeah, I’m well acquainted with the watercooler daisy chain.” 

It didn’t slip his notice that Ziva was the missing link. The text he’d started writing to her the second she disappeared through the elevator doors was unfinished and unsent on his phone. 

“Did you also hear they went for drinks after work without inviting me?” It came out as a whine.

Jenny didn’t mask her amusement. “Did you always invite Gibbs for drinks? No, because he was your boss and you were probably venting about him.”

Touché.

“I’m trying, ma’am.” This he intoned with every fiber of professionalism and sincerity he could summon in the moment. The problem was that this wasn’t his first mistake since taking over—wouldn’t be the last—but he was trying. He wanted that noted. Also, there was an insane learning curve, and yes, big shoes to fill. Could he be blamed for that?

The redhead stepped forward, switching her smile for an expression of...not quite pity. Understanding? “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Robin Hood: Men in Tights?” 

“Shakespeare.” Jenny chuckled, her fair eyes sparkling in the light of his desk lamp. Tony could see why Gibbs was once head-over-heels for her, back when they were partners. He knew something of those complicated emotions, of which the text draft on his phone contained damning evidence. 

“It’s the nature of being in charge,” she continued. “You’re going to have crappy days and plenty of nights when you can’t sleep. My advice, from experience? When you screw up, apologize and do better next time.”  

“Isn’t that a sign of weakness?” It was a reflex, after so many years. 

Jenny caught his eye and held it. “No. It’s a sign of respect.” 

. . .

He was sober when he showed up on her doorstep. Stopping off for some liquid courage briefly flitted through his brain, but flitted out just as quickly. McGee, he could buy a NutterButter, eat some humble pie himself. All would be cool again. Ziva was a different story. 

Namely, a story with a lot of sex in it, and it’d barely been a month yet. That he spent a large portion of the day envisioning her tongue doing erotic dances with a red cherry stem wasn’t helping. It also further convinced him of a brutal truth: Things were changing. Things had already changed. 

Ziva, outlined by the glow from inside the apartment, crossed her arms over a baggy workout t-shirt. Curls piled in a messy bun. It was Tuesday, kickboxing night. “If you are here for a booty call, you will be sorely disappointed.” Each word was wrapped in her delicious Israeli accent, momentarily distracting him from their sum meaning.

He’d expected as much.

“See, when you want to get them right…” Tony’s attempted humor and roguish smile failed to earn him leniency. 

“Goodnight, Boss.”

The door hurtled toward him, closing on his chance to repent—and more than that, his chance with her. His left hand flew up, catching the wood with a few inches to spare. 

“Hey, whoa. Wait. I’m here to apologize, all right?” Breath whooshed in and out of him; sweat beaded instantly on his forehead.  

Okay, so it wasn’t just about the sex. He was enamored with her, and it hadn’t been a full month yet.

Ziva yanked the door back, though the arrangement of her features maintained dubious feelings. She raised her eyebrows in a way that said, Yes, and?

“I was an idiot, Ziva.”

A corner of her delicate mouth pulsed. “Good start.”

The heaviness in his chest released. He dared another smile, softer-gentler this time, and the door stayed open. “I was too hard on you and McGee.”

“You will apologize to him as well, yes?”

“Yes. McSweetTooth will wet himself with glee, I’m sure of it.” Tony shuffled his feet, bringing him onto her brown doormat, never dropping her gaze. “But seriously, Ziva, I know I messed up, especially, you know...I mean, you should be able to call the guy you’re sleeping with by his first name, even if he’s your boss. That is,” he sheepishly tagged on, “if I’m still the guy you’re sleeping with, after today.”

For a bloated handful of seconds, Ziva froze, as she had that morning in the squadroom. Eyes like lasers, drilling through him. It lasted long enough for doubts to creep in. Then—

“Are you?”

So simple, but coupled with her head tilted to expose honeyed neck, her popped knee, and the slight part of her plumped lips, the challenge was clearly set for him. 

This would be fun. 

Tony launched over the doorway, literally sweeping Ziva off her feet as he plowed into the apartment. An honest-to-goodness squeal filled his ears, then that wind-chime laugh took over and his knees wobbled in their sockets—nevermind her 100-something pounds hanging on his torso. 

It was the first time he’d carried her this way—any way—but her arms and legs wrapped around his body with an ease he would have analyzed if not for the supple give of her breasts against his chest, or her frizzy hair tickling his chin. Her mouth alternated between whispering the dirtiest promises in his ear and nibbling on his neck. Thoughts would have to wait. 

How they shut the front door, how they maneuvered the hallway to her bedroom, how they undressed and (eventually) found the bed was a haze of details that didn’t matter. The shudder that coursed through her at his every touch, mattered. The inverted bridge her back made when his lips and tongue met her center, mattered. His name on a gasp, woven into a sigh, lifted to a shout...

In this area, Tony DiNozzo excelled. He was damn well going to prove it. 

. . . 

It took two rounds to sate her. The first go was part of the apology; the second was because he had a young, hot lover who could run eight miles at the crack of dawn, kickbox for an hour after work, and still have energetic sex with him—twice. Who wouldn’t take advantage of that? 

“Guess I got that booty call after all.” He love-tapped her ass, which was bare to the air. He braced for retaliation. 

None came.

Hair mussed and cheeks flushed, Ziva glanced over, fixing him in her line of sight. A smirk hiked up the side of her mouth not buried in the pillow. “As did I, Agent DiNozzo.”

“Never going to live that down, am I?”

“Give it a few months.” Her smirk widened as her eyelids drooped, each blink taking longer and longer to pull back up. 

. . .

They dozed together in the dark of her bedroom. They weren’t cuddlers, per se. Their connections left them too sensitive, sticky and unspooled. They stayed close, though. Touching random pieces of her to him, him to her. His head resting on her bicep curled closest to the mattress. Her ankle molded to the arch of his foot. Sometimes as conventional as their hands laid one atop the other, fingers loose. 

. . . 

He began talking while they ate cereal in the kitchen at quarter to eleven. He was talking as she cleaned and put away their dishes and led him to the front room, his body going where she steered and nudged. What he voiced was nothing new to either of them. All the same issues that overwhelmed him on a cool May night, that propelled him to Ziva’s door in what would become a habit. He was drowning; she was refuge. 

For that, and so many other reasons, he trusted her without question. 

Ziva allowed him to talk now because that was how he worked out problems. They both knew that, too. 

“I think it comes down to the fact that...I don’t know how to be a team leader that isn’t Gibbs.” The admission floated and settled on the sofa cushion between them. It wasn’t often they said his name anymore. The memory was sore to the touch. 

“We have been over this, yes?” Ziva tossed a leg across his lap, the other tucked beneath her. He immediately claimed the tanned skin of her thigh, rolling it under his hands. “This is a chance to be your type of leader, make your own rules.” 

“Every time I do that, it blows up in my face.”

“Not every time,” she corrected, her eyes darting to his lips and lingering. 

His heart rate ticked up. Very true. They might not have happened if Gibbs hadn’t left. But… “We’re one thing, Ziva. The team is another.”   

She turned his chin with her hand, locking his gaze with her steady and fervent stare. An imposing combination. “Tony, you either keep trying or you quit, just like Gibbs. What will it be?” 

It was Tony’s turn to sneak a not-so-subtle glance at her lips. When she put it like that, the answer was undebatable. What he’d told Jenny wasn’t a lie. And giving up wasn’t an option. 

Didn’t mean he’d hand her the win that easily. 

“How about we make a deal?” While his eyebrows waggled, his hands roamed farther than her thigh. “I persevere with the team leader thing. In exchange, you show off your fancy cherry stem tying prowess for me.” 

Her mouth gaped, eyes narrowing. “Who told you?”

“Palmer. The guy’s actually not a bad sounding board.” He’d have to remember that for future thorny cases. 

Ziva deflected, “I do not have any cherries in the fridge.”

Tony returned, “That wouldn’t stop a true parlor trick magician like yourself.”

Her face reformed in an expression that always intrigued him. A cat devising the perfect trap for her prey. It didn’t surprise him when she stretched her leg out, straddling his lap properly. He circled her low back, drawing her hips over him and generating a spark of friction. There was extra verve in her fingers burrowing the short hairs at his nape, tipping his head upwards. 

“You must really want me to—”

Ziva covered his lips with hers, swallowing his words as they melted to moans. Instead of continuing hot and heavy, everything slowed. Each kiss long and needy, a continuous caress. Her heady spice invaded his senses. The tip of her tongue slipped by his teeth, running the roof of his mouth before pushing in further.

Tony’s spine straightened at the sensation of tongue against tongue, the rough texture, the strokes and flicks. He gripped whatever part of her was in his reach, would likely leave marks. She didn’t flinch. She was all around him, practically tying him in a knot. 

It was exactly how he imagined it, but also superior.

He was smiling when they broke apart, breath imperative for them both. “Your ingenuity is an inspiration, Ms. David.” 

Ziva winked, leaning forward to kiss him again, a casual closed-lipped peck in the wake of such an intimate encounter. And he knew, no matter what came of leading the team, he wanted this—them—to survive. 

“Now you must honor your part of the deal, Tony.” 

“Whatever you say,” he agreed, flipping her onto the cushion and following her down for round three.

. . .

The next day, Tony waited at his car in the parking lot for his team to arrive. He walked into the building with them, and didn’t check the clock in the mornings ever again. 

He apologized to McGee, which just freaked out the newly-appointed Senior Field Agent. As Tony predicted, the Nutter Butter made all the difference. 

By the end of the week, he brought Special Agent Lee onto the team because there was symmetry in four and they needed a probie to act as a buffer. Plus, she was good at meeting case report deadlines and Tony wasn’t.

He doubled-up on campfires and went to Jenny for advice more often. Palmer, too. 

The team went out for drinks, occasionally inviting him to join. Occasionally not. 

A month later, he and Ziva started keeping their love in each other’s hearts along with spare clothes in one another’s dressers. Soon, there would be no sense hiding them anymore. 

And when someone asked Tony how leading his own team was going, he said, “Our results speak for themselves,” and meant it. 

Because when your boss quit and ran off to Mexico, leaving you in charge, you wore the crown and made it your own. 

fin

[cress-the-fander]

Library Day

Hey! So, I love Intrulogical and or Logan/Remus. Like a lot. It might be my favorite ship in the Sanders Sides right now. So yeah, enjoy! It’s my first one I’ve written for Sanders Sides, and the first one I’ve done here on Tumblr. So definitely let me know if there’s anything I can improve on in the future!

Oh, and don’t worry there aren’t any trigger warnings. Besides Remus being Remus. Because he’s Remus. You know him. But if there are any warnings you all think I should put, please tell me, and I’ll add them!

“Oh, Logaaaaan!” Ah. Right on time. “Do you know what time it is?! It’s Remus time!”

Logan sighed as he put his book down on the hardwood table he was sitting at. See, about this time every other day, Remus came to bother him. He wasn’t sure why, however by making an inference he could deduce that it was because Remus was simply bored. Or perhaps he just wanted to. The darker side of Thomas’s creativity was always difficult to read, even for the smartest of the sides.

“I have noticed Remus. Thank you for announcing yourself.” He said in his usual near monotone fashion. He figured it was enough to mask the small, figurative skip of his heart that occurred when he realized that it was indeed “Remus Time”. It wasn’t really, but he didn’t know that.

Currently in the library of Logan’s room in the mind palace, the logical side himself is sitting in the plush, grey loveseat that he always sat in when he sat down with a larger or more difficult tome. What? He enjoys being comfortable when he does his reading.

And sure enough, Remus came bouncing in. Figuratively bouncing. This time at least.

“Oh there you are! Same spot as ever, Lo?” He questioned as he plopped right down onto Logan’s lap. They’ve been over this multiple times, that the couch was a much more comfortable resting place than his own lap, and as usual the other refused to listen. Logan did however find it slightly uncomfortable. He tried shifting to relieve this discomfort, when Remus simply pushed his legs apart and sat on the couch between them.

Well, it fixed the problem at least.

“What are you reading this time? Ooh, is it something spicy? I hope it is!” Once again, the Duke was going off on a small tangent.

“It is not in fact spicy, literally nor figuratively.” Logan answered, fixing his glasses while he did so. “I’m merely reviewing basic information, quantum physics and chemical decomposition.”

Remus have Logan a look that he wasn’t able to read. Typical Remus.

“Chemical decomposition? Oh, like rigormortis!” Ah, he is doing this again? Let’s see where it goes. “You know, when the body loses it’s energy quickly after dying so it locks up because the muscle fibers are contracting due to a lack of flowing oxygen? You know, my favorite part is a few days after death, the glasses in the body are created by bacteria eating the insides, causing bloating! It’s so disgusting, which makes it fantastic!”

Logan waited for a moment to make sure he was finished. When he was sure, he realized that Remus had used his moment of distraction to wrap his arm’s tightly around Logan’s waist. Oh. He was also facing Logan now, knees on either side of Logan’s hips. When did he do that? Well, Remus does have the odd ability to move without anyone noticing. It seems like he has used that ability once again.

“Why are you facing me now?” It was a reasonable question. He knew it was pointless to ask how, because he would not have gotten an answer. The other would simply say something weird and or disgusting in order to change the subject. Asking “why”, therefore, would be a better question.

“Really?” It was like he didn’t believe that Logan couldn’t know the answer. Which made him burst out into that laughter of his. “Well because you silly-billy, I can’t see your deliciously handsome face the other way!” He pauses for a moment, and then looks at Logan.

And now Remus is biting the other’s face. Logan understood. “You are not biting me hard enough to tear my flesh off of my face. Also I would not advice eating raw meat, it is not the best for your health. Besides, my face is not particularly handsome. Our faces are practically the same aside from the glasses I wear and your makeup and facial hair.”

“Oh Logan, always so concerned for me!” The dark side practically yelled as he backed off slightly. Slightly. So there was only about an inch or so of distance between their faces. Were Remus’s eyes always so bright? It was likely. He always had that energy about him. “We may all look like Thomas, but we all have our special things about us!” He leaned forward, knocking his head gently against Logan’s forehead. “Besides, if it belongs to you, it must be the best! Besides me of course. But you can have the second best anything!

Logan was quiet for a long moment, working his own mind. Finally, he cracked the smallest smile. Little did he know it shone the light that always brightened Remus’s world. “If you say so, Remus.” He finally picked his book up again, not even saying anything when Remus had shifted again. He got closer to Logan, resting his head upon the brain’s shoulder and holding him front to front.

Remus always was a cuddler.

“Read me a story, Lo?” The dark side said into the nape of Logan’s neck.

“That’s exactly what I was planning on doing, Remus.” He reached over and picked up a different book. Hans Christian Anderson’s original story books.

“Ooh, the fun stories!” Remus said from the position he seemed to be refusing to move from his current position. But it looks like he could still see what he had picked up. “Tell me the one where she does and turns to sea foam at the end!”

“Of course.” He smiled just a bit more as he flipped open the book with one hand. He could only use one hand because the other was currently resting upon the center of Remus’s back, and he quite liked it there.

Logan could feel the other settle in yo the embrace more, cuddling closer. He realized that his increasing heart rate was likely heard by the Duke. But that’s okay. Logan knew that Remus was aware of his true feelings for the dark side.

It isn’t too bad if he hears it in just another way.

[joshslater]

Great Meadows

@jd07201990 just dumped a bunch of unfinished scripts. So, with a few tweaks here and there, here is someone else’s content.

Sitting here, staring down at my large palmed, clammy hands, feeling the burning warmth of new hormones rushing through me, I knew I was screwed. “What’s Ma gonna think”, I thought to myself, shuffling my large, sweaty sneakered feet. I kept having flashes from the trippy process popping in and out of my head. They said it’d take a few days for me to settle in. That such a big change is always rough, especially on girls. “I should’a just stayed home…” was my last thought before another skull-splitting migraine had me fall onto the stiff cot, passed out.

I’d been incredibly curious as to why my older brothers got to go to camp every summer, and I had to stay home, or enlist in summer gymnastics classes. They always came back at the end of summer, excited to tell of all the fun they’d had, all the cool activities, new friends. It sounded amazing! I had to sit there at dinner times, listening to them rub it in. Having only small accomplishments to talk about myself when it was my turn. I was tired of it. At the end of the school year, when it was time to sign my brother’s up, I made my move. I waited for mom to fill out their forms, and stealthily made a copy for myself, changing my name from Kari, to Kaeden. I know it is an all-boys camp, but once there, what could they really do?

On departure day I hid in the back of the truck, underneath my brother’s bags and gear, for the entire ride. It was awful, but I knew it’d be worth it when I got to see what the camp was all about. I’d been afraid my treasonous bladder would give me away, but the hot car had me thirsty in the trunk after the first hour. We arrived after a 4 hr drive, and while they got their papers handed in and sorted, I snuck out of the truck and into the grounds, finding a side door open along the main building. Once our parents left, it’d be too late for them to send me home, I figured, so I waited till all the cars left, and the sun started to set, marched up to the offices where the paperwork was handled, and put mine down on the desk. The man sitting behind it looked shocked, muttered a bit, then sighed, picked up my paperwork and read it over.

Name: Kaedan Atherton Age: 16 Height: 6’1” Weight: 154 lbs Hair: Blonde Eyes: Green Known allergies: none Dietary restrictions: none

He read though all of the false information I’d added, interests, past activates.

“Miss, Atherton. I assume you’re Heath and Daniel’s sister. Yes? Are you aware this is a boy’s summer camp?” I began to answer, but he cut me off, clearly not interested in having his rhetorical question answered.

“Aaaaa... This is going to create so much problem whichever way we go about to solve this… Are you really 16, or was that made up too?”

“No, I’m 16.”

He went silent and kept staring at the desk phone, as if he expected it to ring at any moment. He sat still uncomfortably long and then suddenly lurched forward, attacked the phone and dialed a three-digit number.

“Yeah, this is Robert. Are you still looking for a candidate for Moth 3?” Whoever was on the other side spoke quite a lot. ”Yes, I have a girl.” More talking “16” The line went quiet for a bit, then some more talking. “OK, I’ll bring her over if she agrees.”

Turning to me “Alright, there is something we can do. Spend an hour for science and then you are free to spend your summer here like any other boy. Would you do that?” I’m not stupid, so I knew there was a catch. Well, not stupid enough at least, but I made this bed. Time to sleep in it. “Yes.”

“OK, you are old enough to make a decision like this on your own, legally.” He stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet, opened the next to bottom drawer and rifled around a bit. Then pulled out a few papers, walked back and handed them to me. “So. Either sign this and stay, or I’ll call your parents to pick you up tomorrow.” The papers were dense legalize. Lots of cross references to laws and precedent, as if whoever wrote it thought all of this was self-evident, or didn’t want you to understand it. I thought of what the dinner table would look like the next time we all ate together. The stories we would share. How I would be a part of them for once. Damn right I signed the papers. While I did that he brought me a glass of water and a small dropper bottle. Brown glass with a rubber pipette in the cap. He poured some water in the glass, and added two drops from the bottle. “Last chance to go home as you are.” I emptied the glass in one go.

He took my arm and lead me across the camp, using side paths that went through the trees. I had a feeling he didn’t want anyone to see me. We’d barely walked a few buildings away from his office when the world started to sway. I was getting nauseous, having a creeping feeling of dread, and I think I saw a squirrel. When we got to a large, barn style building, we went to the back and he pushed a button on an intercom on the wall. “Code 91. Immediate response required”

He looked down at me and let go of my arm as the door buzzed, and opened. Two large men dressed in white scrubs came out, grabbed me by the shoulders and rushed me through. They looked eerily like Arnold Schwarzenegger, both of them. We went down a staircase as the door above slammed shut, and entered a room full of what looked like Frankenstein’s lab equipment. I panicked, pulling myself away from the men. I tried to run towards the stairs, following the fleeing squirrels. I only made it a few feet before they grabbed me again, pulling me to a chair and sat me down. Holding me down. Another man came out of a side door, dressed in double buttoned lab coat and goggles, pulling on a pair of gloves. He spoke in a hardcore, heavy German accent.

“Ah, Code 91. Haven’t had one of these in years. Wilkommen!” I tried to scream, but the orderly to my left clapped his hand over my mouth. They were both wearing world war two style gas masks now.

“No need to fuzz, it’ll only take a bit. I’ve gotten quite good at this particular physical! Now, Franz, Dözer, please take… Hmm” the German man headed to a computer and pulled up my file. “Please take Kaedan, to ze chamber”.

With my mouth still firmly covered, I fought and yelped as the two men carried me to a table, with what looked like a giant human shaped cake pan. They forced me into the mold, strapping my legs, torso, arms, and head down into the groove, and adjusted things until I was firmly stuck. I couldn’t move a muscle. I started screaming threats, until Dözer stuffed a gag into my mouth, with a hose attached to the ceiling. All the squirrels were lined up and just laughed. I was left in the cold metal mold while the Doctor set things up on a computer panel. I could hear him mumbling.

“Hm, Kaeden Atherton. Ah, yes, the Atherton boys! Good kids those two, talented, handsome. Hm, I think I know what to do here. Kaeden, says 6’1”, so shall it be! 154 lbs, check! Eyes and hair, no problem there. Now, details… details… I guess I’ve got free reign here. That is quite some athletic accomplishments you’ve listed here. Let’s use that as a guide for muscle development. Soccer. Lacrosse. Oh, climbing? Best make sure you’re a match to your strapping brothers, eh?” The doctor started typing things and using a 3D mouse, like one I’d seen in my graphic design class, to move something on the screen. Probably more squirrels. He kept rambling off little details as the top half of the human mold came down from above me, sealing with a harsh hissing sound and a cloud of gasses. I could feel my entire body slowly turning to strawberry jell-o.

“Now, skeletal and muscular systems… tall, thin, strong boned, muscle density upped a bit, rebalance muscle fiber composition. The brothers are quite fit, might as well match… Body fat needs to go down a lot. Oxygenation, cardiac development. There.

Hmmm, just a little more in the shoulders… that’s it, nice proportions, good shape.

Chest, check. Abs, check. Hips, check. Thighs, check. Calves, check. Oh… What about size 9? Yes, that ratio of fitting… no, let’s go 10 to be sure.

Now, for the secondary features. Would’ve been easier had you been younger, but I can fix this. I think, second to highest levels. Ah, definitely. Just like Heath, no, more so! May as well go full out. Dial it up to 10.

Hormone levels, highest. Ooh, right, must match the physical bits. This will be an interesting summer for you in an all male camp. I think Miss Atheron might be the new alpha in the family when this is all settled.

What settings have we left? Hmm... Looks like you’ll be a lucky lad! 8” to be proportional to the height… you know what, let’s go for 10 again… yes, yes, and hmm, a bit thicker and make those a bit larger… there, perfect! A well built young man. On those hormone levels we’ll probably see a lot of development during the summer as well.

Now, I think we’re set! Alright, Alright, here we go! Mr. Atherton, Welcome to Great Meadows Boy’s Camp!”

With that, he pushed one last button on the control panel, and I felt the metal mold heat up and start to vibrate. I tried screaming, tears welling up in my eyes as pain shot through my body. All the squirrels ran away.

When I woke up in the rickety wooden cabin I had a pounding head ache and was completely parched. I had no idea what was real and what had been hallucinations. I was pretty sure my raging hard on was real, and the implications of that wasn’t lost. I would definitively have something to talk about at our next family dinner.

[sweetmoxiety]

Behind This Desperate Heart is A Mask (Part Three)

Hospital AU

AU Summary: A fall. A single fall. It may seem like nothing until it’s all consuming. What happens when the doctors struggle to diagnosis the disease responsible for Virgil’s rapid deterioration?

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan, and Thomas.

Pairings: Moxiety and Logince.

Word Count: 2470

Warnings: Like one swear word. I can’t think of anything else, but let me know if you find something that should be put in the warnings.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |

     “Today isn’t the day to be making jokes about the weather!” Patton chuckled, mouth twitching into a smile as he gazed at the other lounging on the hospital bed, “It’s snow joke.”

     Virgil shook his head, hiding a small grin behind his palm that the other couldn’t see. Patton had wandered into Virgil’s room once again to tote yet another new and awful pun with him, not that Virgil minded the attention or the distraction Patton had provided.

     “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, Patton, but don’t you have other patients to check up on or something?” Virgil sat up slowly, sighing as he crossed his legs under the thin sheets.

    “Nah, I’m on my break,” Patton’s eyes crinkled as he plopped down onto the chair beside Virgil’s bed, making it creak slightly as he shifted.

    “You go on break a lot.”

    “Do not,” Patton giggled, relaxing against the felted chair cover before peering over at Virgil again, “okay, maybe a little bit.”

----

    “Why is it called it ‘insomnia’, and not ‘resisting a rest’?” Patton leaned against the door frame, lifting an eyebrow as he peered at Virgil scrolling lazily through Tumblr on his phone.

     “It’s like three in the morning, shouldn’t you be at home sleeping or something?” Virgil glanced up from his phone to see Patton striding closer to his bed before stopping at the foot of the mattress.

     “Night shift,” Patton paused to lazily sip at his cold coffee, “What about you, shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

    “Couldn’t sleep,” Virgil sighed, scrolling aimlessly.

    “Might be best to put your phone away. The light can make it hard to nap,” Patton frowned faintly with his eyes trained on the device in Virgil’s palm.

    “Yeah…, I guess,” Virgil clicked his phone off, the blue light illuminating his cheeks disappearing as he plunked the device down onto the bedside table with an audible thud.

    “Would you like to me to leave so you can get some rest?” Patton took yet another small sip from his cup as he eyed his patient through the dark.

    “Uh, I guess- I mean, you probably have to help someone or something,” Virgil shrugged, casting a glance off to the side.

     “Let me know if you need anything,” Patton smiled softly, slipping out of Virgil’s room into the bright hallway only after he’d seen the other man nod.

    Taking another swig of his bitter and cold coffee, Patton discarded the cup into the nearest trash can as he sluggishly ambled towards the nurse’s station. He didn’t even know why he bothered drinking coffee -- It never perked him up, and it didn’t even taste good cold and sugarless.

    “It would seem highly probable that we will be unable to go home after our shifts end.”

     Patton turned to see Logan swiftly scribbling something onto a chart atop the nurse’s counter in pen.

    “Hmm?” Patton plopped down into his swivel chair, combing a hand through his curly strands.

    “We’re expected to get several feet of snow,” Logan eyed the page, eyes darting over his writing to check for mistakes before gathering up his clipboard and holding it to his chest.

    “By morning?” Patton leaned against the back of his chair, covering a quiet yawn behind his palm.

    “It would appear that way,” Logan paused, looking over at him before he pivoted to leave, “You should drink some coffee. You look tired, Patton.”

     Gee… Thanks.

----

    “I’m surprised you’re still here,” Logan peered into the on-call room, spotting Roman splayed out carelessly on one of the bunks pressed against the wall. Flicking the light switch on unkindly, Logan strode towards the food counter to brew a fresh, steaming pot of coffee.

    “Huh?” Roman groaned, shifting under the indigo sheets to rest on his elbows, “I need my beauty rest before I’m due to be on call.”

    Shifting further, Roman tiredly swung his legs over the edge of the mattress to watch Logan as he added hot water to the coffee maker.

    “You could join me if you like,” Roman wiggled his brows, grinning slyly over at Logan.

    “I’ve got patients to tend to,” Logan huffed as he added coffee into the filter.

    Roman frowned, stretching his stiff arms as he peered at the clock glued to the wall above Logan’s head. ‘4:27’

    “At four in the morning?” Roman pouted slightly, not that Logan noticed as he pivoted to insert the basket into the machine.

    “We work in a hospital, Roman,” Logan turned, furrowing his brow and pinching at the bridge of his nose, “so, yes, I have things I need to get done.”

    “Fine. Could you toss me that granola bar?” Roman motioned towards the bar resting on the table between them.

    “Fruits better for you,” Logan plucked a fruit from the basket on the counter and tossed him an apple instead.

    “Granola is packed full of sugar. Fruit provides long-lasting energy and fiber to fill you up,” Logan clarified, swiveling as he heard the purr of the coffee machine beside him signaling for him to take the grinds out.

    “Aww, you do care about me, nerd,” Roman cooed, smiling as he turned the glossy apple over in his calloused hands.

    “I care about your health,” Logan corrected as he reached inside one of the cabinets to gather two mugs.

    “Mhm.”

     Logan rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he filled the two mugs up with the freshly brewed coffee. And with extra care, Logan poured a few packets of granulated sugar into one of steaming mugs.

    Now, carefully grasping the ivory cups of warm coffee, Logan sauntered towards the agape door, “Goodbye, Roman.”

    “What-,” Roman pouted, “no coffee for me?”

    “No,” Logan shut the door to the doctors’ mess room with his heel before shuffling in the direction of the nurse’s station, shoes squeaking thunderously along the way.

    Patton looked up at the sound of Logan’s shoes squeaking against the tile floors. Perhaps wearing his brand new shoes on his first day back was truly a mistake.

     “I brought you a coffee,” Logan cautiously set the warm mug on the counter in front of Patton.

    Leaning forward, Patton wrapped his hands around the mug, savoring the heat as he did so, “Thank you, Lo.”

    Taking a tentative sip from the cup, Patton grinned a dopey, lopsided smile, “you remembered!”

    Logan nodded wordlessly, smiling faintly as he carried his own mug with him to peer out the ice-laden windows a few feet away. Patton watched from his chair as Logan observed the crawling frost and the snow falling like white dove feathers.

    “It’s been getting worse,” Patton spoke up, swiveling away from his computer, “like you said it would.”

    Logan shifted to face Patton as he took another sip of his brew, “Unfortunately so.”

    Pausing for a second to nurse his coffee, Logan continued, “Were you aware that this will be the worst blizzard in New York by government records?”

    “That’s snow neat,” Patton chuckled from behind his coffee, fingers wrapped tightly around the mug as if Logan would snatch it away at any moment for making a joke.  

    Logan groaned out loud, shaking his head at the atrocity Patton called a ‘pun’.

    “What? You don’t like my puns? How cold,” Patton’s amusement split his face from ear to ear. It was just too much fun!

    Another huff, “As I was saying, Patton, this blizzard will be worse than the North American Blizzard of 2006 which dumped a full 26.9 inches of snow on New York City.”

    “That’s snow good.”

    “I shouldn’t have gotten you the coffee,” Logan gave a disapproving gesture, nearly flinging his own cup, “you’ve turned into an insatiable pun machine.”

    “Okay- Okay, I’ll stop with the puns… for now,” Patton attempted but failed to suppress his giggles.

    “Why do I put up with any of you?” Logan sighed, speaking mostly to himself.

    “‘Cause you wouldn’t know what to do without us, glasses,” Roman snuck up behind him, grinning widely with his own coffee in hand.

    Shifting to face Roman and opening his mouth to respond, Logan paused, shaking his head instead.

    “You know, you could have poured me a cup too, Logan,” Roman tsk’d when Logan eyed the cup loosely in his grasp.

    “I hope you didn’t dump creamer in that,” Logan rolled his eyes, knowing damn well that Roman had poured an ungodly amount of milk substitute into that tiny mug.

    “Self-care,” Roman spoke with flare, taking a generous swig of his coffee concoction without a care in the world.

    “I didn’t know self-care was increasing your risk of heart disease and stroke,” Logan shrugged, opting not to hide his smirk behind his own mug.

    “You only live once, pocket protector,” Roman wore a pie-eating grin as he waved his free hand dramatically, “live a little!”

    “I’m perfectly content, Roman.”

    “If you say so, resident nerd,” Roman grinned, savoring the huff that tumbled from Logan’s chapped lips.

    “Oh!” Patton interjected, nearly jumping out of his seat as he recalled Logan’s earlier request, “I’ve checked up on Virgil, like you asked, Lo.”

    “Oh?” Logan raised a brow, cocking his head.

    “I have his neurological check up right here - I was just typing it and a few other things into the electronic health record before doing rounds,” Patton explained, digging around for the clipboard with Virgil’s chart, “Ah! Here it is!”

    “Could I see it for a moment, Patton?” Logan inquired, taking a step towards the nurse’s counter.

    “Sure,” Patton beamed, the corners of his mouth quirking up as he passed Logan the charts, “Here ya go!”

    “Thank you,” Logan set his drink down before scanning Patton’s chicken scratch, hoping to find something out of the ordinary hiding in Virgil’s apacely scrawled charts, yet he found nothing of the sort.

    “I don’t see anything amiss,” Logan frowned as Roman peered uncomfortably over his shoulder to catch a glimpse.

    “Let me take a look,” Roman reached for the clipboard but Logan immediately extended his arm to keep Roman’s paws away from the papers.

    “Oh, come on, Lo. I’m just trying to help.”

    Pausing for a moment, Logan sighed before surrendering the clipboard to the attending. And it was quiet for a moment as Roman examined Patton’s notes.

    “No family history?” Roman furrowed his brow as he peered over at the nurse waiting expectantly.

    “Oh-- Ro, it’s so sad-” Patton started, lips curled into a frown, “he went into foster care after his mother left and his father died.”

    “No siblings? No aunts or uncles?” Roman questioned, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Who didn’t have a single relative?

    “Nothing. He’s all alone!” Patton’s down-turned mouth deepened as he continued.

    “That’s quite unfortunate,” Logan added, unsure of what else to say to ease Patton’s woes... Perhaps a change in topic was in order?

    “Yeah..,” Roman raked a hand through his hair as he handed the clipboard back to Logan, “It’s very sad, Pat.”

    “I expect the blood test should provide us insight into his condition,” Logan reckoned, hoping that it would put Patton at ease for the time being.

    “I hope so,” Patton shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

    “Oh- I’ve-” Roman paused, fishing his pager out of his pocket after an urgent buzz, gaze fixed on the words lighting up the screen, “I- I’ve got to go.”

    “Hmm?” Logan tilted his head, watching as Roman pocketed his pager.

    “Code pink,” Roman elucidated after noticing Patton and Logan’s confused gazes directed his way, “you can tag along if you like, Logan. It’d be a good experience.”

    “Sure,” Logan shrugged, not hesitating to give in to Roman’s offer. Experience was experience after all. “Where to?”

    “The ED,” Roman answered, throwing back an expectant glance at Logan as he neared the end of the hallway, “are you coming or not?”

    “Oh, uh, yes,” Logan scurried after Roman, tagging closely behind as Roman yanked open the doors to the Emergency Department to speed in the direction of one of the filled cots. Upon reaching the cot, Logan noticed a small child with lips colored sapphire and skin pale as snow.

    “Who applied direct heat?” Roman made a face, brow furrowing as he eyed the heating blanket, “Lo, can you go find something more appropriate?”

    Nodding his head, Logan quickly stepped away from Roman’s side to find a thermal blanket for the patient instead.

   “Hey, Sanders!” Roman called, eyes narrowing and head tilting slightly as he spotted Dr. Sanders advancing towards the nurse’s station, “You need to be watching your med students more closely.”

    “Huh?” Dr. Sanders turned, caught off guard at Roman’s vexed tone.

    “Your third-year used a heating pad on a patient with hypothermia,” Roman’s voice dripped with disapproval as his eyes darted between the kid and Dr. Sanders, which only served as a means to fan the flames of his irritation.

     “Oh, shit,” Thomas bit his lip as he started towards Roman, “I leave her alone for one minute and she nearly burns a child.”

     Running his fingers over his brows, Thomas sighed, “Thanks for the catch, Wilson.”

    “It’s a good thing you paged me,” Roman’s voice oozed obvious displeasure.

    Holding in an exasperated sigh, Roman eyed the hemodialysis machine - a machine typically used to filter blood in people with poor kidney function, “I see you started warming his blood with a hemodialysis machine. What’d you need to page me for?”

    “The blood wasn’t warming at first,” Thomas frowned, monitoring the display to avoid the scrutiny of Roman’s miffed gaze.

    “So, you’ve gotten the hypothermia under control?” Roman questioned, eyeing the unconscious patient with uncertainty.  

    “Got the blankets,” Logan returned, his voice slicing through the tension as his gaze darted between the two attendings with the blankets in his grasp.

    “Good, wrap the patient up, would you?” Roman shifted, gesturing towards the kid.

    “Sure, Roman,” Logan removed the heating blanket and began bundling the child up in tan blankets from head to toe. After all, direct heat can damage the skin or even cause irregular heartbeats so severe that they can cause the heart to stop completely.

    Ignoring the flamboyant bickering that started up between the two attendings, Logan paused his bundling, peering at the systolic and diastolic pressure on the child’s heart monitor. Looking between the child and the monitor, Logan hesitated - the pressure was nearing 130/90. Perhaps these blankets would help to lower the blood pressure? After all, the cold makes the heart work harder to keep the body warm, and thus has the potential to increase blood pressure. Logically, the blankets and the hemodialysis machine should raise the child’s temperature and reduce the strain on the kid’s heart. Hopefully.

    But it only took a mere second for the child’s heart rate to soar past a hundred, and it took only a fraction of the next second for the monitor to send out a scalding alert.

 Tag list (ask to be added) : @buckydeangirl91 @bunny222

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 47

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 14. Go to previous. Go to next. I think everybody just needs a moment to yell at the top of their lungs at this point.

_______________________

Ick parked the Riverhawk right outside the loading dock of Boott Mills, and idled the engine while Sticks, Angel and ‘Choly separated from him to enter. The chemist didn’t notice his own shivering or hard frown as they inspected the rows of textile equipment in search of stock or freight. The corner of the far wall nearest the waterfront had collapsed, but they paid it little mind.

The three of them happened upon the quadrant of the mill which contained different equipment from the rest. Sticks mentally skimmed the workbenches and looms.

“Property of the S.C.Y.T.H.E. Program,” the ghoul murmured. “Never learned what that stands for.”

“You said the government had mills in Lowell crafting military fabrics? That’s what this is?”

“One of these crates has got to have at least one bolt of ballistics fiber ready to ship out,” the ghoul continued. He set down his flamer to start popping open the steamer-style metal crates one at a time, to rummage through contents.

“This is such a strange departure from our standard fare as of late, Mister Hawthorne. I’m so glad Mister Carey is getting some fresh air. He cooped himself up something awful for the longest. Only went out for business. He’s not handling all this mess so well.”

Sticks threw back down whatever he’d picked up to toss up his hands and halt the train of thought.

“Just... stop. Stop. I can’t handle this nonsense anymore. You’ve got to be fucking with me. You can’t be standing in front of me like this. You and your damn Handy.” Sticks’s head drifted side to side in semblance to denial. “If you hadn’t taken that spill by the river this morning, your coat would be titanium white spotless. You can’t possibly be two hundred fifty years old. Your ghost wouldn’t have come all this way to haunt my ass. Would he? I probably deserve it.” He snarled a scoff. “You’re not really here! So are you leading me to my death like a pelt, or are you trying to show me the way?”

‘Choly could only glare onward to him in fresh hurt. He couldn’t pinpoint what had set Sticks off at a different timing than his own disillusionment. Sticks gawked at him with an incredulous anticipation, nearly as though ‘Choly himself wore a mask he could remove and end the charade now that he’d been called out on it.

The chemist began to sweat at the recognition that dozens of dog-sized crabs had poured in through the opening in the outer wall, following the volume of the ghoul’s voice. An ankle-biter rushed Sticks’s leg and when it chomped down, he kicked it and whirled around to retrieve his weapon. In an instant an arc of flames erupted forward to fend off the crustaceans, who squealed in frustration at the sudden burst of heat. The ghoul yelled, furious, and let out a second spray.

“We shouldn’t use fire in here!” ‘Choly yelled after him, eyeing the various tanks and barrels scattered along the walls of the open space. “Especially since we haven’t retrieved the fabric yet!”

Angel, all circular saws, zoomed ahead of Sticks and set to cutting down the hatchlings. Meanwhile, the ghoul doubled back, desperate to locate their proverbial treasure chest. The scent of the hatchlings’ guts drew the attention of a matron crab, who lingered enraged at the opening in the wall. She couldn’t get more than her claw inside, but that was enough to send broken pieces of textile equipment flying. Angel fired its lasers at the matron, while ‘Choly tried to shoot it full of pencils.

Sticks ran for the loading dock and tossed his flamer on the truck mount, and yelled for Ick to follow him. The Furrier and ghoul doubled back to the military textile equipment to retrieve the crate which took the both of them to carry. The ghoul prodded Ick against their better judgment to load up as many S.C.Y.T.H.E. crates as they possibly could. Despite the chemist and Handy’s best efforts, the matron crab had not budged. But the ghoul could tell she’d gotten herself stuck.

“‘Choly, I think we’ll do best using fire after all,” Sticks bellowed. He pointed for Ick to grab one of the QUARPEL aerosol tanks. “Fling it! Hard as you can!”

The tank hit the cinder block rubble just inside the wall, and not the crab. But Sticks grinned anyway, motioning for the group to retreat to the loaded down truck. He leaped up to aim his flamer, and with a concentrated stream he ignited the textile coating chemical which had splattered all over the crab’s claw. As they sped off, the crab shrieked and battered more of the wall down. The flames spread through the work floor and several more tanks burst immediately. From the bridge, the team could see the crab had taken residence in a delivery van. Another tank of volatile chemicals burst, and the van flew into the river, divorced of its inhabitant.

When they heard a third series of explosions, they all unclenched in the confidence the crab would not be following them. They slowed across the bridge to weave back across it, laughing like crazy.

“So this is where you briefly consider keepin’ whatever it is we’re haulin’ for ourselves,” Ick joked. “Pitch to split it fifty-fifty. What good’s a couple hundred pounds of military fabric gonna do any of us on his own, though?”

“Represents a goddamn chance in hell against the Devils,” Sticks insisted, not even entertaining the nostalgia of pulling a con. His head still ran hot as he watched ‘Choly following behind the Riverhawk.

Much of Voire had gathered up to gawk down the street at the plume of smoke the four of them had caused. The Riverhawk pulled up to the reservoir house. Ick and Sticks tossed off the crates for Bones, who scrambled down the embankment to become a giggling tangle of limbs with the old mummy.

Sticks fell back to check on ‘Choly as the chemist dismounted and observed at a distance. Ick told Bones all about their blowing up the crab matron.

“God,” ‘Choly blurted out to the ghoul, “I can’t even begin to imagine what’s under those masks, though. If it’s even half as beautiful as you--”

“--You’ll get to see everyone’s faces if you really have to. Once they get to their goddamn communal orgy.” Sticks stewed at the comparison abutted to such tactlessness. ‘Choly’s face practically fell off. “You seem to respond better to bluntness. Yeah. They get all naked and pile together in the middle of town. And then once they’ve worn themselves out, they dress themselves in all new clothes. I don’t want to spoil the fun for you, but it gets real messy.”

The chemist sniffed, appreciating that the Furriers crowded around Ick and not either of them at the moment.

“...You said something about an original formula?” He squinted up into the partly cloudy late afternoon sky. “I’m going to assume that one of the things that preoccupied Olivia all these years was refining X-Cell past its prototype stage? Addiction rate was godawful with that stuff, if memory serves.” He trailed off into a raunchy scoff. “An X-Cell enhanced orgy. Now that must be something.”

“I’m not some history textbook,” Sticks snipped. “I can appreciate that you’re here, but I don’t know the first goddamn thing about babysitting. You’re the first messenger she’s sent my way that I’ve given half a shit if they survived the trip to Voire.”

“...Angel, does this make the third or fourth time this week now I’ve nearly died?” ‘Choly didn’t blink, or wait for an answer, as he turned to face the ghoul. “Lexington burned because of me. Concord’s laden with gore. I gave myself acute radiation sickness getting frisky with a feral ghoul in Sanctuary. Bloodbugs stabbed me in the chest in Billerica. I got chased by flaming Assaultrons on my way on base. I could have gotten eaten by Merrilurks in Pawtucketville. And now I was nearly in an explosion in Lowell trying to escape a crab as big as a delivery truck. All in what I can only strongly believe was a week. Time’s trying to catch up to me. It’s all happening at once...” He crinkled his nose to adjust his glasses. “...I thought you said the Furriers were good folk.”

Sticks didn’t know what to say, wearing a mental flinch on his face.

“They thought you were a tribute because the confused and unfamiliar face is almost always expendable. I was negligent. The fact I can’t just offer you up for them to rip up for parts is the reason we had to run this extra errand for them, to be honest with you.”

“--Wait, you give half a shit that I’m still in one piece?”

“Half a-- Tch, yes. Yes, I do. If it’s really you,” Sticks warmed, “it’s the bee’s knees. Don’t know anybody who stands a better chance than you at setting the General straight. She’s gotten too twisted up in her own head. Lost track of reality. I’m surprised she could even accurately assess the Rust Devils are this much of a threat. ...Though, her paranoia has caused a false alarm before. And Angel’s the first robot I’ve noticed cross the Merrimack since I got here in 2090. Maybe we won’t have that big a problem.”

“You’re expecting me to get her out of her head when I can’t even get out of mine?” ‘Choly ugly laughed at him, slapping himself in the chest for emphasis. “I don’t know if I’m me. I don’t know what I am anymore!”

“You’re a dumb fuck who’s been through nine circles of hell. Kind of fitting, I guess, that they turned a war criminal into a popsicle. Told you before, I’m not the same guy I was before the bomb. Something tells me it’s unfair to imagine that despite everything, you’re that much more yourself for it.”

‘Choly looked around as the Furriers dispersed back to their houses. The sun was starting to set, splashing chartreuse and orange across the sky. Ick and Bones still lingered.

“We’re staying the night in Voire, aren’t we?” he frowned.

“We head out at daybreak. Too dangerous to travel the waterways at night. That’s when the Merrilurks come out to hunt.” Sticks’s face scrunched up in displeasure. “Damn waste of crab meat to have to blow up the mill.”

“Still got those MREs...” ‘Choly deadpanned.

“Sooner eat my good hand.” Sticks started off toward the reservoir house. “Besides, we’re guests of honor for the night. Abiding Bones’s wishes is all the proof the Furriers need to know we’re good for the other half of the promise.”

“Promise of...” The chemist trailed off in a prurient lyric and a broken, sloppy grin.

“Haven’t changed one bit.”

Sticks stepped inside with Bones to speak in private, leaving ‘Choly, Angel, and Ick alone a spell. The mummy Furrier looked on expectantly at the chemist, and eventually took a hand in both his own.

“He’s not acting it, but I promise you Sticks is over the moon to have you back. Give him time to cool down. He’s having as much trouble accepting it as seems you are.” Ick leaned in. “Where you been all this time, anyway?”

“...On ice.” He sniffed, withdrawing his hand. “You really think you’re too old to participate in the Unfolding?”

“Depends. You think you’re too old to participate?”

‘Choly doubled his face into both hands to sputter and cough at what he could only take as flirtation, all things considered. Sticks came out right after, and pulled down his welding goggles to look between them in confusion.

“So what can I do to help prepare dinner?” the ghoul insisted, nudging the four of them along back to Ick’s place.

“Oh!” Angel cried. “Do let me help you, Mister Ick!”

“A robot in the kitchen? ...Why the hell not.”

After a meal of roasted pelt and tatoes, the two slept in Ick’s garage in the back of the Riverhawk, on bedding of layers of leather and fur the Furrier had supplied them. Despite the chaos of the day, ‘Choly passed out immediately.

He shot awake in the middle of the night, the only lingering residue of the nightmare the memory of the sentiment that he’d become one of Deenwood’s enlisted. He panicked in the momentary disconnect of not recognizing where he’d fallen asleep, only to realize Sticks slept soundly feet away from him. His breathing evened out, but his mind went wild questioning the morality of supplying the Furriers with the same chems their ancestors had been subjected to through grueling human experimentation. He appeased himself only with the reassurance that he really didn’t have the full story just yet, and he wished the flamer mount didn’t separate him from curling up beside the man he thought he’d lost two hundred years ago.

Go to Next »»»

[simply-shakera]

Holiday Gift Guide [+Giveaway]

YA’LL!!!!! WE MADE IT TO DECEMBER!!!!!

2020 has been rocking all of our worlds since January and does not seem to be letting up chile.

But we are here. Still Standing! Adjusting - Growing - Healing - Learning - DOING OUR BEST!

Normally in December I take a few weeks “off” to unplug from social media and my regular routine. My birthday is also on New Years Eve so the holiday season is often a great time for me to reflect on the past year and recharge.

"When You Support A Small Businesses You Are Supporting Someone's Dream"  -- Unknown

Introducing the “Pink Box” by simplyshakera.com

Another end of year tradition is my annual Holiday Giveaway in collaboration with one of my brand partners. This year will be a little different! Introducing the “Pink Box” by simplyshakera.com. The color pink represents compassion, nurturing and love. In 2021, I will be releasing a goodie box filled with items that are meant to cultivate joy and practice self love. Stay tuned for when the “Pink Box” is officially released. HOWEVER, just in time for the holidays I will be gifting one lucky winner with a special edition Pink Box filled this time around with items from some of my favourite Black owned businesses. I have each company listed below in my Holiday Gift Guide. Know them - Support them - Amplify them!

The Simply Shakera Holiday Gift Guide

I am so excited to share with you a few of my favourite small businesses offering products and services that you can support today. Grab something for yourself, book an appointment/session, or purchase a gift for someone else. Christmas is exactly two weeks away - happy shopping!

Orijin is a Toronto based brand creating small batch, quality investment pieces that are real gold and guaranteed to become heirlooms. The first piece, designed by founder Candice, was the iconic OM bead bracelet, symbolizing the meeting of a deep connection to self with a nod to a nostalgic trend. Ten percent of the proceeds from the OM collection goes towards supporting the work of BIPOC artists and wellness entrepreneurs. Other notable collections are the essentials collection and the paperclip collection.

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[snowdice]

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 20]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. Chapters 3-8 and what I have of Chapter 9 are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

I have nothing really due this week, but a lot of big looming deadlines. Not sure how long I’ll be working today, but I want to do some planning and get some stuff done. :D

Chapter 5

Janus stepped back into the reception area and booted up his time piece. Instinct said to go back to the office despite the fact that it was late enough that most people had gone home, but he hesitated. Surely Emile had given up by now, but considering he’d sent someone to ambush him in his office, Janus wasn’t sure if he should trust that. He could just go home, but he already knew his mind was racing too much to sleep tonight so he’d probably just end up staring at the lake for the next 6 hours. So, he decided on the only other legitimate option he had. He pulled up Remus’s home coordinates and selected.

 The home that Remus had chosen (after his long line of rejected requests) managed to somehow make no and absolute sense simultaneously to anyone who knew him. It was a small farm in the United States just west of the Mississippi in 1842 in what would be ratified as the state of Iowa in a few years. When asked why he would choose that time and place, Remus always responded with “I thought it was funny,” whatever that meant.

Unlike most time agents who simply used the identities assigned to them by the AMO as a cover, Remus actually lived his part time.

 Janus was… fairly certain he was cheating a bit to get everything done, but he maintained his small farm all on his own, growing most of his own food. The neighbors he had lived very far away, but he still spoke with them far more than Janus did his own.

Janus appeared inside the small home, his eyes already shut. “Are you hear and dressed?” Janus called. Something bumped lightly into his legs.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Janus peaked his eyes open and squatted to pet the cat at his feet. “That doesn’t answer my question!” he called back to Remus.

 “It’s a surprise!” Remus said.

“Remus.” Diesel Fuel the cat flopped to her side on the ground as Janus continued to pet her ears. He heard Remus’s footsteps, and saw cloth covering his legs, so risked looking up. He was currently not only dressed, but wearing an apron that Janus was fairly sure was not time appropriate judging by the fabric and cat pawprint design. He had a bit of flour on his hands, and it may have been a bit too white for the time and place, but Janus couldn’t be completely sure.

“What’re you doing here?” Remus asked.

 “My day has been an endless series of frustrations,” Janus said. “So, I have come to see the only tolerable being in the history of the universe.”

Remus snorted. “Since I know that isn’t me, I’ll assume you’re talking about the cat.”

“I still don’t understand why you tolerate this creature,” Janus addressed Diesel Fuel. She blinked slowly up at him. “To be fair, he was assigned as my partner. I didn’t have much of a choice in it. You could go always run away and become feral in the woods if you’d like.”

“So could you, technically,” Remus pointed out.

“I’m thinking about it after today.”

 “Would you like some bread?” Remus asked. “That’s all I’ve been making this afternoon. Some fresh should be coming out of the oven in a few minutes.”

“Do you have anything stronger made out of wheat?”

“Ew, no, but I do have vodka.”

“Vodka works.”

“Want me to mix it with something?”

“No.”

“One of those night then,” Remus said, easily. “Let me finish up the bread, so I don’t burn the kitchen down. You can go get the alcohol from the cellar while you wait if you want, or you can just flop down on the couch.”

He was going to just flop down on the couch.

 He did just that as Remus disappeared back into his kitchen. The cat hopped onto his stomach, proceeding to purr loudly and kneed at chest. Janus petted the cat and listened to the noise of Remus moving around in the other room, letting his mind drift. His mind drifted to Virgil for a bit and he steadfastly did not allow it to drift to his brother. Yet, the thing that most was on his mind was the strange man who had flirted and charmed Janus all night before mercilessly screwing him over. ‘Pat’ he’d said his name was, but surely that was not his real name.

 Janus sighed and scratched the cat’s ear. “He certainly wasn’t an amateur,” Janus mused to the cat. “With that amount of precision to get in before we did, he must have someone not on the ground feeding him information. Perhaps more than one.” He was part of a group of time traveling thieves perhaps or something worse. “I didn’t get a good look at his face since he was wearing a mask,” Janus said, “but I spent a lot of time with him, and I’m sure Remy swiped the mask from the police since it had been on me when I was arrested. It’s a good lead.”

 He continued to pet Diesel Fuel. Eventually, Remus came back in, noticed Janus hadn’t bothered to get the alcohol and went outside to the cellar. “I’m going to find him,” Janus told Diesel Fuel. “I’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing, and I’ll bring him in.” Diesel Fuel mewed her support, and Janus patted her on top of the head.

Remus came back in with the bottle of vodka and handed it to him without a word. He sat down on the couch near Janus’s feet and patted his lap so Diesel Fuel would come over to him and allow Janus to sit up.

 The bastard waited until he was approximately 3 shots in (he didn’t have a shot glass and was just taking drinks from the bottle) to ask the questions Janus really didn’t want to answer. “Are you mad at Emile?” Remus asked.

Janus groaned, trying to wash out the bitter taste of shame and grief with the sharp sting of vodka. It didn’t work. “No,” he said to Remus.

“Then why have you been avoiding him?”

“Shit, I’m here because I didn’t want to think about it. Can’t we just not.”

“Don’t want to think about what?

“It’s none of your business, Remus.”

 He could feel Remus frowning at him, but Janus stared resolutely ahead. At least, he did until a foot poked his face. He slapped it away, but it did the job of getting Janus to look at Remus.

“It is my business,” Remus said, foot still in the air. “I’m your partner and your friend.”

“If I’m your friend, you’ll drop it.”

“So, you’re not mad at Emile,” Remus continued, contemplatively. “Did you do something to him, then?” Janus bit his lip and looked away. “What?” Remus asked. Janus didn’t respond. “Look, I’m sure he’ll forgive you for whatever it is. He’s a good guy. Just talk to him about it.”

 “I can’t,” Janus said.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably been long enough that he forgives you. You literally just have to have a conversation, say you’re sorry, and everything will be A-OK.”

“I can’t,” Janus repeated.

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about it.”

Remus paused. “So, as far as he knows, you just cut contact with him all of a sudden for no reason and have been avoiding him ever since?”

Janus looked at his shoes. “Yeah.”

“That…” Remus said, “is not fucking fair Janus.”

“I know.”

“Then why the hell are you doing that to him? He’s like… soft and feeling-y. He’s probably really upset.”

 “I know, Remus.”

“Tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can’t.”

“Look,” Remus said. “You tell him and he either forgives you or he doesn’t. If he does, everything’s fine. If he doesn’t… well, it’s not like it would be any different from you two never being in the same room the last few years. Either way, you can’t just do this to him. He’ll probably forgive you. He’s your brother. Brothers don’t… brothers would forgive each other.”

Janus laughed softly and met Remus’s eyes. “That’s the problem,” he said. “He’d definitely forgive me.” He turned away and opened the vodka bottle again. “Now, if you’ll shut up for a few minutes, I’m going to drink until I black out.”

 Chapter 6

“Really, Khalid,” Janus said, storming into his boss’s office. “A yellow?” It had been about a week since the 1920s incident, and his incident report had finally been cleared. Sure, it wasn’t a red or a black and he wasn’t facing any reprimand, but it should have been a green.

She looked up at him, clearly unconcerned. “There was an incident,” she said. “You handled it well, but there was one. Therefore, yellow.”

“It wasn’t a time travel incident! It was a rouge time traveler.”

“Janus, you helped me make these rules,” she said impatiently.

“Which is why I know this is bullshit,” he snapped.

 She rolled her eyes. “If it was anyone else, you would agree with me. While you didn’t go against protocol and had no time related incidents, the fact of the matter is, you were still distracted by this ‘rouge time traveler,’ didn’t complete your mission, and were arrested.”

“He was good,” Janus said. “You can’t fault me for that. He also could be dangerous and you’re busy handing out yellows instead of working to track him down.”

She raised an eyebrow. “We are working on tracking him down,” she said. “We have done an analysis on the mask and found fibers dating to the 2010s and some DNA. Though it isn’t exactly a high priority.”

 “We have no idea who he is or what he’s planning to do. Why is that not a high priority thing?”

“At the moment?” she asked. “Because we have reports of a time bomb being activated.”

“What?” Janus asked sitting up. “When?”

“New Years Eve going into the year 3,000 in Brazil,” she said. “Which you’d know about if you’d bothered to check your integration port this morning before storming into my office.”

“It’s my mission?” Janus asked.

“The incident investigation is over and your active again despite the dreaded yellow,” she said, clearly making fun of him a bit. “So, yes, and it’s a high priority mission, so I’ll be running it.”

 “Who all is going?” he asked.

“Other than the two of us, Remus, Lena, and Fred,” she told him. “We leave in three hours, so, you might want to run off to Rhi before Fred gets to her and ties her up for an hour on details.”

Janus nodded and got to his feet. He turned back at the door. “I still don’t deserve the yellow,” he hissed.

She waved him off. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Picani.”

He ground his teeth a bit about the dismissal of his worries, but his resentment was slightly soothed by the fact that she’d assigned him to go on such a high priority mission and with only senior agents.

 He took the advice and grabbed Remus from the office, noting Lena hadn’t been able to wrangle Fred yet as she was still at her desk, and they both headed off to see Rhi.

A few hours later, they were all in decontamination together, decked out in truly god-awful costumes. The turn of the third millennia had been a wild event, and the best way to fit in was to look like you’d grabbed something from every century in recorded human history, dyed it in neon paint, and rolled around in a vat of glitter.

Remus had opted to stick his head in a vat of thick glow in the dark green paint that costuming had offered them, and it wasn’t even going to be slightly disruptive to their covertness. It was so caked on that Janus couldn’t even recognize him.

 In fact, costuming had frowned when Janus had insisted he not get his hair dyed and instead wore a bowler hat. They had required him to have flowers made out of glitter on it.

There were five people waiting for them when they landed 6 hours before the turn of the millennia. Three were touchdown agents, including Remy, and two were on location tech support. Usually it would be overkill to have that many people there just for support even with five agents in the field, but today the TPI needed to be cautious because they were planning on instituting a time lock.

Time bombs were dangerous things that would ripple through time if not contained. Even if it did end up going off (killing everyone in its reach), the time lock would serve to prevent most damage outside of the city and, more importantly, the year it was planted.

 Janus had only been in two time locks before, and he was one of the most senior agents in the TPI, outranked only by the founder: Lia Khalid. Time locks were designed to keep all time linear in a certain fixed time and geographical area as well as prevent any time travel in and out. Once it was engaged, all forms of time travel would not work for the duration, bar the pin device. Khalid was already switching out her regular timepiece with the slightly bigger one that was designed to support the time lock.

There was a failsafe back at the TPI that could be engaged in an emergency, which was why tech support was here, but other than that, the only thing that could break the time lock was that timepiece, and it would break the moment the time lock ended.

 As soon as it was on Khalid’s wrist, she looked up at them all. “Our information says the time bomb was planted in the costume of one of the ‘Millennium Birds’ who are the organizers of the different events,” she said. Janus had seen a photo of the identical costumes in the mission details. They were all robe like garments with giant fans of feathers coming from the neck that coalesced in a peak a foot above their head to hold a fake bird egg. At least they’d be easy to find. “There are 25 of them throughout the city. We need to find each of them. So, we don’t double count, you’ll need to subtly,” her eyes touched on Remus, “scan each one you find for the bomb and tag them with a tracker if it’s not on them. You can view the already tagged ones, as well as the rest of us on your timepiece even once the time lock is engaged. When you find the bomb, call it in.”

 They all nodded, and Khalid looked over at one of the techies. She nodded at her and then the techie flipped a couple of switches. “Three, two, one,” the techie said. There was a slight shift in the air that most people would disregard, but Janus as a seasoned time traveler could feel the change even before his wrist buzzed. He glanced at his timepiece to see it had a big red ‘X’ across its display. He tapped it and was still able to bring up the map of the city with 10 green dots on it all clustered together in their current location.

 After that, he tested the scanner on his timepiece that he would use to search for the bomb, just to make sure the time lock hadn’t messed anything up with his equipment. He glanced up to see everyone else was doing the same.

“Keep in contact,” Khalid said before everyone split up. Janus and Remus started by going North while Fredrick and Darlene were to go South. Khalid was a floater who would tag any Birds she saw but was mostly there for backup and orders.

Janus and Remus stepped into the chaos of New Years Eve before the turn of the third millennia. The streets were already swamped with people and it would only be getting worse the later it go.

“Where should we start?” Remus asked.

 “Let’s go all the way North to the games area,” Janus said. “We can work our way back here.”

“Okay!” Remus said. “I wonder if they have those fun little genetically modified goldfish as prizes. I’ve always wanted to eat one and see if I end up getting whatever design was on the fish on my body.”

Janus gave him a disgusted look.

“What?! People eat fish all the time!”

Janus shook his head. “We’re not playing the games anyway. We have work to do. Important work.”

“Boo,” Remus replied. Janus chose to ignore him as he spotted one of the Millenia Birds letting people into the gaming area.

 They walked over towards the entrance. Janus got in range first and moved to subtly scan the Millenia Bird, Remus doing the same the next moment. After a second, Janus’s timepiece buzzed and lit up red, meaning the bomb was within range. “Well, that was easy,” he said. “It was on the first one we found.”

“Uh…” Remus said. “Jan.” When Janus looked, he was holding up his wrist to show his green lit time piece.

“What?” Janus asked. He quickly moved to rescan the Millenia Bird, and his timepiece came up green as well. Which, meant the bomb was not in range, even though the Millenia Bird had not moved. “But…” He and Remus’s eyes met, and they quickly both started turning in a circle to look at the crowd around him. No one looked like they’d just stolen a time bomb off the Millennial Bird, but then Janus’s eyes caught on a man. He blended in perfectly to his surroundings. He was wearing the disgusting garb of the times, a large light blue piece that bubbled near his hips, and had most of his skin covered in rainbow neon paints. Yet, something about him, the curl of his hair or the way he moved, drew Janus’s eyes to him. He recognized the man immediately even in a completely different dressing style. Yet, what cinched it was the moment Janus’s eyes met his and they seemed to sparkle slightly in the afternoon sun. The next moment, the person Janus knew as Pat, turned to disappear into the crowd.

 Chapter 7

“Him,” was the only thing Janus said before taking off after the figure who had just disappeared into the game area.

“What?” Remus’s voice followed after him. “Janus! What?!”

Janus did not pause, just continuing to run after Pat, hopping over two barricades as a shortcut. Janus cursed when he lost sight of the man for just a moment near the prize table filled with colorful goldfish, but he was able to spot him once again walking into one of the tents. Janus blasted into the tent. It was a game where they raced rats, and when Janus entered, Pat was cooing at one of them.

 “Who’s a tiny little squishy precious baby?” he was asking one of them, wiggling his pointer finger at it.

“You,” Janus growled stepping up to him.

He turned and tilted his head at Janus with a frown. “Um, me?” he asked, pointing to his chest, all sorts of innocent, but Janus could see a spot of hidden amusement in his eyes.

“Where is it?”

His eyebrows drew together, but it was an act. It was clearly an act! “Where is what?”

“The…” he glanced around them at the people surrounding them. “Thing you just took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Pat said with a frown.

 “Oh, no,” Janus said. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fooling me twice is not an option.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Pat said. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull. Shit.”

Just then, Remus jogged into the tent. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s him,” Janus said pointing. “He took it. He has it.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” Patton said. He looked over to Remus with a confused frown.

Remus looked at Janus. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Janus said. “It’s him. It has to be him. He’s the mask guy.”

Remus squinted at Pat. “He is?”

“Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I haven’t worn a mask all night. I just did the face paint,” he pointed to his cheeks.

 Remus raised his wrist and his timepiece lit up green. He looked at Janus.

“I lost sight of him for five seconds. He must have stashed it somewhere,” Janus said. He turned on Pat. “Where did you put it?”

“…Are you,” Pat asked, his eyes going back and forth between Janus and Remus, “… the police?”

“We are, actually,” Khalid said as she stepped into the tent. Remus must have called her. She inserted herself between Janus and Pat. “Agent Khalid,” she said, offering a hand with a smile. Pat looked at it in surprise and then smiled back hesitantly as he took it. “Apologizes, one of the big game prizes was stolen by someone matching your description. Would you mind coming down to security for questioning? Just to clear it up.”

 “Oh,” Patton said, hesitant. Janus expected him to refuse outright, but then he said. “Uh, sure.”

“Thank you very much, Mr…”

“Jonas,” Pat told her earnestly. “Do I need to be handcuffed?”

“No,” Khalid said. Janus frowned at her, but she ignored him. “It’s just a talk for now.” She gestured to the tent entrance. “Come with us.”

He did without argument, and Remus and Janus followed behind the both of them. Khalid did not lead them back to the base, but to a little spot that said “security” near the center of the event. Remy was already there waiting for them at a desk.

 “Remy, would you please take Mr. Jonas to go sit down?” she asked.

“Sure, boss,” Remy said, standing up. He led Pat away.

Khalid turned to Janus and Remus once they were out of earshot. “What is going on?”

“It’s the mask man,” Janus said, “the one from 1923, and my scanner said the time bomb was on the Millenia Bird outside the games entrance, but then it was gone the next second, and I saw him, and then he ran away.”

“So, does he have it on him?”

“No. I lost sight of him, and he must have stored it somewhere, but I know he took it.”

10264

“He’s the man from 1923?” she asked.

“Yes! Remus, that’s him, right? You recognize him.”

“Well,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He was in a mask, and it was dark in the room with the necklace. Other than that, I only really saw his back, and he was wearing pants. Mr. Jonas is wearing a dress, so I can’t really tell if their asses match.”

“Okay, but I was with him for hours. I swear it’s him, and I swear he took it,” Janus just about shouted.

“We’ll question him,” Khalid placated, “and Fred and Lena will keep looking in the meantime.”

 “He knows where it is,” Janus insisted. “I swear.”

“Okay,” Khalid said, before leaving to follow where Remy and Pat had gone. She stopped Janus with a hand on his shoulder. “I think Remus and I will do the interrogation.” He opened his mouth to argue. “You know the most about him, so observe from the sidelines and see if he makes any mistakes that indicate you’re right.”

“That’s just to placate me and you know it.”

“Observation’s over there,” she said pointing.

He got a thumbs up from Remus as he walked by, and Janus glared at his back before walking off to the indicated location.

 He watched as Remus and Khalid entered the room, and Remy left it. Remy joined him in the observation room after leaving and leaned against the wall.

Pat was sitting at a table and watched Remus and Khalid with that same rubbish placid confusion that he had before. “So,” Khalid said, “Mr. Jonas.”

“You can call me Nick,” Pat interrupted.

“Lia,” Khalid replied. He smiled at her happily. “So, are you enjoying your day?” she asked.

“I am!” he replied. “It’s a big day. You only get to see the turn of a millennia once in your life.”

“Ah, yes,” Khalid said. “Doing anything special for it?”

 “Um, not really,” he said. “Other than the party. I’m going to meet up with my roommates after dinner. Kevin doesn’t like this sort of thing, and Joe couldn’t come.”

“Your roommates,” Khalid said, considering him. “Do you live around here?”

“Uh huh,” Pat replied.

“Do you have any ID?”

“I do, want me to get it?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Pat unzipped one of the bubbles on his waist and handed her a chip. “Remus, would you mind going out and getting the ID scanner?” she asked, even though her timepiece would be able to read it.

“Ah, shit,” Remy said. “Props. What do those things even look like?”

 As Remy scrambled to find something that would pass for an ID reader so “Nick” didn’t get suspicious of Khalid using her timepiece, Janus watched the two alone in the room like a hawk.

“I see you’re wearing a dress inspired by the 2770s,” Khalid noted, as Remus came to stand next to him.

“Yeah!” Pat replied. “Joe made it for me. He’s really good at fashion design!”

“Can I see?” she asked.

With a happy smile, he reached over the table to let her get a look of the sleeves. Janus saw her subtly scan the fabric, probably to make sure it was from the 2990s and not actually from the 2770s. Considering she didn’t mention it, Janus assumed it checked out.

 Remy came back with some sort of device then and handed it to Remus who saluted and wandered back into the interrogation room. Khalid pretended to scan the ID in her hand. She handed it back to him without comment. “So, you said you live with your roommates: Joe and Kevin?” she asked.

“Yep!” he replied. “We’re practically like brothers.”

“Would you mind calling them?”

“Erm,” he titled his head like he was confused by the question. “Well, like I said, Joe is a bit busy, but I could definitely call Kevin.

“Here,” Khalid said, “use my phone.”

“I have my own,” he said with a frown.

“Humor me,” she requested.

“Uh, okay,” Pat agreed. He took the offered 2999 phone and dialed a number on it. Khalid reached over to put it on speaker.

“Hello?” a voice asked after a few seconds.

“Um, hey Kevin, it’s Nick.”

There was a sigh on the other end. “Hello Nick, is something wrong? Why are you calling me from someone else’s phone?”

“I’m fine, I think.” He looked up at Khalid. “Why am I calling him exactly?”

“Hello, I’m Officer Khalid,” Khalid said. “I just wanted to confirm that you are Nick Jonas’s roommate, and he does live in Manaus.”

“Yes, we live together with our other roommate,” the man replied flippantly. “Officer? Is something wrong?”

“I believe there was just a case of mistaken identity,” Khalid said.

“Bullshit there was!” Janus hissed, though she could not hear him.

“No need to worry,” Khalid continued.

“I’m good Kevin,” Pat said.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t be Paranoid, Kevin. I’ll see you Tonight for the New Years Celebration. You know I Live to Party.”

“I am hanging up now,” Kevin said.

“No! Comeback.” The line went dead. Pat handed the device back to Khalid.

She took it and smiled at him. “Give us just a couple of minutes,” she requested. He nodded easily, and she and Remus exited the interrogation room. “I… think we’re done here,” Khalid said.

“No, he’s lying,” Janus insisted, and got a dubious look in return. “I know he is! Remus!”

“The alibi is pretty solid…” Remus said, “and he doesn’t have the bomb on him.”

“Oh, come on,” Janus said. “You can’t say there is nothing fishy going on here.”

Khalid and Remus shared a look. “Janus,” Khalid said. “I respect your intuition. It is usually very good, but you have been a bit intense about the man from the 1920s, and I think that may be blinding you a bit...”

“I am not imagining this!” Janus said. “That’s him and he took it.”

“You only met him once while he was wearing a mask,” Khalid pointed out with a frown, “and you didn’t see him take the bomb, did you?”

“No, but he looked at me and I knew,” Janus argued. They both gave him a skeptical look. “Oh, come on!”

“You know that’s a little weak, Jan,” Remus said.

“Let me talk to him,” Janus requested. “Just give me five minutes to talk with him.”

Khalid raised one eyebrow. “Fine,” she agreed. “You have five minutes, but after that, you have to let it go. We can’t waste any more time.”

 Chapter 8

Pat looked up as Janus stepped into the interrogation room. “Hi,” he said with an innocent smile that could cut steal.

Janus didn’t say a word as he took a seat; he just watched him intently. He leaned slightly over the table and steepled his fingers in front of his chin. “So, your name is Nick this time?” Janus asked.

“Nicholas Jonas,” he said. “Always has been.”

“Stop it,” Janus said.

“Stop what?”

“Cut the crap. I know.”

Pat leaned forward, mirroring Janus as he leaned closer, interlocking his fingers and laying his chin on top of his knuckles. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked, pleasantly.

 “Janus,” Janus replied.

“No, I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to his chest.

“Not Jonas,” Janus spat. “Janus.”

“Um,” Pat said, eyes alight with amusement. The bastard. “Those are the same words.”

“No, they’re not. It’s Janus. J-A-N-U.-S.”

“Well, that’s confusing,” Pat said with a frown, but his nose was crinkling. “It’s close to my name. You should go by a nickname instead.”

“What?” Janus said. “No.”

Pat hummed. “How about Love Bug?”

“What! No!” Janus sputtered, almost flipping the table, as Pat winked at him.

“BB Good?”

“What does that even mean?!”

“Mandy.”

“No!”

“Okay, okay, how about Macy Misa.”

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Janus stared at him for a moment. “Fine. Whatever. What was I even talking about?”

“Hmm. I Believe we were talking about my name and how you think it’s not my name.”

“Right,” Janus said. “So, Nick. That was your roommate, Kevin on the phone, right? He seemed a bit unhappy with you. Any reason?”

“Nah, we’re Cool” said Pat. “That’s Just the Way We Roll.”

“Not because you’re messing up a mission right now?”

Pat’s eyes crinkled together. “A mission?” he parroted. “I’m not messing up a mission.”

“Oh, really?” Janus growled. “Because you’ve been captured by the TPI, and I know who you are and what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what the TPI is,” he claimed.

“Yes, you do!” Janus said, standing up. “You obviously do! Or you wouldn’t be playing this game!”

 “Game?” Pat asked. “Macy I ask you what you’re talking about.”

“This is all just a game to you isn’t it!” Janus said, slamming his hands down on the table in front of them.

“Whoa,” Pat said, putting his hands up. “Calm down. Your face is getting all red. You must be Burnin’ Up.”

“I’m not sure what, but something about what you just said pisses me off.”

“And that is five minutes,” Khalid said, bursting into the room. He felt a tug on the back of his shirt and glared back at Remus who was putting his own body between Janus and Pat.

 “There was no way that was five minutes,” Janus growled.

“It was five minutes,” Khalid gritted out. “Remus, get him out of here.”

“Come on Jay,” Remus said, dragging him back towards the door.

“Remus, I swear to god.”

“Just chill, Janus,” Remus said, slamming the door closed behind them.

Janus shrugged him off. “You chill!” he snapped. “He’s playing you all for the fool.”

“Wow, Macy,” Remy drawled like an asshole. “I’ve never seen you so fired up.”

“Oh, my gosh. No one is going to believe me, and he’s going to get away with this.”

“You’re not really helping your case, babe,” Remy said.

 Remus grabbed him by the shoulders again. “Here, let’s go get some water.”

“I don’t want water,” he said even as he let Remus lead him to another room to get a glass of water.

“Look,” Remus said. “I know the Mask Guy thing really sucked, but you have to look at the facts.

“I am looking at the facts,” Janus insisted, “and the facts are, he’s fucking with me.”

“You don’t know what mask guy looks like,” Remus said. “You didn’t see Nick take the time bomb, he has an ID from this time period and a roommate in this time he called on the phone, and he legitimately seems to not know what any of us are talking about.”

 “Did you even listen to our conversation?” Janus asked. “He was screwing with me the entire time!”

“Janus…” Remus said.

“What?” Janus said, narrowing his eyes at Remus’s tone.

“I know you recently had a bad experience, but not everyone who flirts with you is doing it out of evil.”

Janus’s mouth hung open for a few seconds. “That’s what you got out of our conversation?”

“He called you Love Bug.”

Janus felt his face heat a bit at the reminder. “That’s not… I. I’m stealing your cat and then never speaking to you again.”

Remus laughed. “Ah,” he said. “Young lust.”

Janus elbowed him roughly in the side. “No!”

“Yes!” he crooned, pleased.

 “You are the worst partner,” Janus hissed. “When I’m right you owe me 10 loafs of your fresh bread.”

“Branching out from poptarts?” Remus asked.

Janus shook his head. He still wasn’t happy about the state of things, but he could feel himself cooling down a bit.

Khalid came out of the integration room after a few minutes, leaving Pat with Remy. “What was that?” she asked him.

“He got under my skin,” Janus said.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “For now, we’re letting him go and then going back to looking for the bomb like we’re meant to be.”

 “Fine,” Janus relented. “Just do me the favor of tagging him before he leaves. Just that. I beg of you.”

“Sure,” she agreed. “If it will calm you down.”

He nodded.

“Then, let’s go,” she said. When they met back up with Remy and Pat, he saw Khalid make the subtle gesture that would tag Pat like they would have for the Millennium Birds. Pat sent him what could pass as a sweet smile if Janus didn’t know better. Then, they walked him outside, leaving Remy on clean-up duty for the make-shift security office.

“So, I’m free to go?” Pat asked. His bemused expression edged far too much on the side of amused verses confused for Janus’s taste.

 “You are,” Khalid said. “Have fun at the festivities.”

His hands went flapping about. “Oh, you too!” he said. “Well, I guess you’re working, but you can have fun anyway, I’m sure.”

“We’ll do our best,” she said.

He gave her a blinding smile and reached forward to shake her hand enthusiastically. Janus rolled his eyes and looked up at the heavens. “It was nice to meet you!” he said, “and you too, Remus!” He turned to meet Janus’s eyes. “Macy Misa.”

Janus pressed his lips together.

Then, Pat turned and walked away.

“Well, now that we’re done with that,” Khalid said, turning to them. “We have only a few more hours before midnight and we really need to find the time bomb.

 “Oh,” Pat called. He’d paused a few yards away and turned back to them. “Thanks for letting me go so easily by the way,” he said, “and just in the Nick,” he winked, “of time too.” Janus narrowed his eyes at him. He smiled back. “Wrist check,” he said holding up his arm to show off the timepiece there. Khalid immediately looked down at her own wrist just to see that the one timepiece that could move through the time lock was no longer there. Pat made a gesture and disappeared.

All three of them stared at the spot he’d been for a long moment.

Janus was the one to speak first. “I want. The yellow. To be erased. From my record.”

 Chapter 9

Khalid immediately called everyone back to base.

“What happened?” asked Fred when he and Lena arrived. The tech people were already scrambling to get through to the TPI and get the time lock broken from the outside.

“Remus, Remy, and Khalid got played by Pat or whatever his name is. It certainly isn’t Nick. He was just setting up a joke,” Janus told him.

“Stop being smug,” Remy said. “It’s not a good look for you.”

“Pat is…?” Lena asked.

“They guy who fucked me over in 1923,” Janus said, “and is currently in the middle of fucking us all over because he stole the pin timepiece, and by extrapolation, probably the time bomb too.”

 “It will be fine,” said Khalid, “because what he doesn’t know is that timepiece has a tracker on it. Wherever and whenever he went, we’ll have his coordinates.”

“Speaking of,” one of the techies said. “It’s about to break. You might want to hold onto something.” Janus grabbed for a support beam next to him as the techie put a device on the ground in the center of the base. It blinked once, twice, and on the third blink the ground rumbled. There were sounds of panicked yelps outside. The fail safe for the time lock was not nearly as gentle as ending it correctly.

 Everything settled after a few moments, and they all straightened themselves out. Janus’s timepiece buzzed to indicate it was now functioning normally. Khalid had returned her usual timepiece to her wrist and now used it to open a display they could all see. “The pin timepiece’s closest time/space coordinates are…” she trailed off. “Right outside?” She frowned. “That’s strange. Why would he still be here?” She turned to march outside, following the coordinates to a trash can. She pulled the pin timepiece out and stared at it. “Fuck,” she said.

“What just happened?” Remy asked.

“He ticked us,” Janus said. “Again.”

 “He was stuck in the time lock,” Khalid said. “That’s why he got our attention. He couldn’t leave with the time bomb unless he had the pin timepiece or we broke the time lock. Apparently, he’s smart enough to know that if he took the pin timepiece away from here, we’d probably be able to find him, but he knew we’d break the lock as soon as the pin went missing. So, he must have stashed his own timepiece and went back in time within the time lock to grab it while we were distracted with the past version of him. As soon as the time lock went down, I imagine he left.”

 “Probably with the time bomb,” Janus said.

“Probably with the time bomb,” she confirmed.

And everyone knew the only thing worse than a time bomb was a time bomb you didn’t know the location of.

They evacuated after that, of course, and time locked the location once they were out just in case they were wrong, but midnight 3000 struck without thousands of people dying in Brazil, so the time bomb had defiantly been removed from then.

The, they initiated a time travel lockdown for all nonessentials, not willing to let random history students get caught up in an explosion if Pat decided to set the thing off somewhere.

 Then, it was a matter of figuring out everything they could about ‘Pat.’ First, they checked the tracker data as Khalid had tagged him with one of the Millennium Bird trackers. It wouldn’t work outside of the zone they’d set up that day, but the record would show his behavior during the time lock after he’d escaped with the pin timepiece.

There had been many little green dots on the map that day as Fred and Lena had actually been doing the job they’d set out to do, but most of those were running around in the south. There had been one green dot, however, that appeared suddenly in the game area about 10 minutes before the time bomb had been stolen.

 They could see Janus’s yellow dot almost brush his when he’d been chasing the earlier Pat down, around when he’d lost him briefly. The earlier Pat must have all but handed it off to his future self.

“He doubled back,” Remus commented when they watched the recorded data. It was a ballsy move and one that most people balked at, because there were inherent dangers any time you interacted with yourself from a different point in the timestream. It was ripe for paradoxes. It made everyone at the agency even more worried, because if he was willing to risk that, then what else was he willing to do?

 Because of the lockdown of all nonessential time travel, people working for the TPI were not allowed to go home for the night. They were allowed to pick up anyone or anything dependent on them for care like kids and pets if there wasn’t someone in their home time to care for them, but other than that, they were unfortunately all sleeping in their offices for the foreseeable future.

“You are the only tolerable one,” Janus told the cat who upon being let loose in the office by Remus, immediately jumped on Janus’s lap.

“I have literally done nothing to you,” Lena said, but then added. “Yet.”

 “You exist. In my space.”

“Can’t we just all get along?” asked Fred. “It’s only been an hour past when we’d usually go home. I went and grabbed milk and I have my giant thing of different flavored hot chocolate under my desk. We can try them all and vote on which is better.”

“Fuck your hot chocolate, Fred,” Janus growled, having been one of the three who had chipped in to buy it for him on his last birthday.

“Don’t go after Fred, jackass,” Lena spat.

“He’s just testy because his boyfriend escaped,” Remus contributed.

Janus’s lips turned down into a frown and he cupped Diesel Fuel’s face. “We agree we’re eating him first, right?” he asked her.

 She purred her agreement.

“I’d have it no other way,” Remus replied.

“There is plenty of food,” Fred said, sounding stressed. “In fact, I was thinking we should all chip in on ordering take-out soon. “What does everyone like on pizza?”

“This is not a slumber party, Fred,” Janus pointed out.

“Shut it,” Lena snapped and turned to Fred. “I’m fine with almost everything, except…”

“Bananas and tuna salad!” Remus interrupted.

“…whatever Remus is about to say.”

Janus rolled his eyes as that started a debate about whether or not fruit and/or fish belonged on pizza. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, which was when there was a knock on the door.

 He froze when he heard the familiar voice. “Hello, hello,” said Emile, cheerfully. Janus looked up to see Emile standing at the open office door. Shit. Apparently, the man had decided to give up on sending lackeys to come fetch him and had decided to track him down himself when Janus couldn’t even escape without breaking a time lockdown. They met eyes briefly and Janus could see irritation if not anger in his eyes despite his otherwise cheerful expression and tone.

“Janus,” he said when he’d gotten their attention. “I’d like to have dinner with you.” The word choice told Janus everything he needed to know. Usually Emile was careful with how he said things to make sure people knew they had a choice. Typically he’d say something like, “I was wondering if you’d have time to have dinner with me tonight,” or “I’m about to go get food, would you like to come?” Today, there was no choice in the statement.

 Janus still dried to dodge anyway. “Uh,” he said. “We were actually about to order pizza.”

“Go ahead,” said Fred kindly. Janus wanted to strangle him. “We can order pizza with olives if you’re not here.”

“I…” said Janus. “Guess, I’ll be going with you.”

“Great!” Emile said. “Let’s go.”

“Oh,” Janus said. “Uh, now?”

“Now,” Emile said a bit of uncharacteristic steel to his tone.

 Well, Janus was screwed. He swallowed his nervousness and got to his feet, taking Diesel Fuel with him. He turned to hand her off to Remus with a plea in his eye, but he just got an eyebrow raise in return. Traitor.

Then, he followed Emile out of the office door. “What would you like to eat?” asked Emile.

“Uh,” Janus said. “I don’t know. You asked me to eat, don’t you have any ideas?”

“I don’t actually,” Emile replied. Right.

“…Noddle Bar?” Janus threw out the nearest restaurant he knew.

“The one noodle restaurant? Sure,” Emile answered simply. They walked side by side out of the front doors of the TPI building. Janus actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken these stairs. He usually used his timepiece to get in and out.

 The noodle bar was only moderately busy at this time. They were quickly able to find a table near the back and Emile pulled his menu up in front of him. Emile hummed as he flipped through the different displays. “What are you having?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Janus said, only then pulling up the menu himself, but still not quite looking at it.

“What about the fortune noodles,” Emile suggested.

Janus shook his head. “I don’t like those,” he said.

Emile glanced at him through the menu displays. “You used to.” Fortune noodles were a bit cheekily named. They didn’t actually indicate anything about your future. They were just supposed to taste like what you wanted from your future. A grad student might experience a feeling like they’d just aced a paper. A child that they got to stay up an hour later that night. Janus had liked the experience when he was younger, but in recent years, he’d begun to taste the underlying chemicals in the dish until that’s all he could.

 “Well,” Emile said lightly, eyes on his menu. “That makes me even more worried for your mental health than I already was because of the almost three years of you avoiding talking to me.”

“No small talk, huh?” Janus asked.

“Forgive me,” Emile said, eyes now focused on Janus, and tone much darker. “How has your life been since I last saw your face 5 months ago during a business meeting and you refused to look me in the eye? Anything interesting happen? Shave your head and let it all regrow? Develop an allergy to peanuts? Join a convent and take an oath of silence that you only just broke today?”

“No,” said Janus quietly into the table.

 “Great,” Emile said clipped. “Small talk over. Order your food.” Janus reached up blindly to select the first thing that came up on the food and drink menu as Emile punched something into his own and both menu displays disappeared, meaning there was nothing between their faces anymore. “You know, I was willing to give you a year,” Emile said. “I was willing to let you deal with it on your own because I thought eventually, you’d come talk to me about it, but apparently I was mistaken. The next year, I thought maybe you thought I didn’t want to talk to you, so I subtly made myself available, and you never took me up on the offer. I thought maybe I was just not being clear, and I should make my desire to talk to you more explicit, but as you have been routinely, clearly avoiding me at every single turn, I’ve decided I’ve had enough. So, let’s lay it all on the table. Is it me or do you need help?”

 Janus closed his eyes. “It’s not you.”

“Then you need help,” Emile concluded.

Janus shook his head.

“Yes,” Emile snapped. “Whatever this is has gone on far too long.”

Janus stood up and slammed his hand down on the table. “And it’s going to keep going on!” he said. The food popped up at that moment. It appeared Janus had ordered lasagna and bubble tea, and Emile had ordered something with spaghetti and a fizzy drink.

“So, you’re just planning to go on being miserable then?” Emile asked, and Janus wasn’t sure if it was worse or better that he didn’t sound angry anymore.

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Janus slapped his hand down on the “To Go” button and his dinner was insta-wrapped by the table. “Yes,” he said.

“What exactly do you think you’re paying penance for, Janus?” Emile asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Janus said, paying for both of their meals with his fingerprint.

“That’s a cop out and you know it,” Emile said. “All you’d have to do is talk to me. Or even just talk to someone else. Please.”

“Just…” Janus said, grabbing his bag of food to avoid looking at him. “Just, leave me be.” He walked out of the noodle shop without another word.

 Chapter 10

“And I thought Remus was going to be the most disgusting roommate in this equation,” Lena grumbled. Janus and Lena were apparently the earlier risers in the group as Fred was still curled up around a pillow and Remus was sprawled out under his desk.

Janus flipped her off.

“Protein infused Poptarts and caffeinated orange juice for breakfast?” she asked. “Just eat an energy bar and have a cup of coffee like a normal person.”

He took another pointed bite of his Poptart.

“You’re a horrible roommate. This is why they gave us different partners.”

“Yeah, well you snore, asshole,” Janus said after finishing off his meal.

 “I’d tell you to go eat shit, but you already did that once this morning.”

A pillow flew across the room and somehow managed to hit the both of them. “S’op fighting,” Fred mumbled. “It’s sleep time.”

“It’s morning Fred,” Lena said.

“No,” Fred mumbled.

Janus ignored them, turning back to his integration port to continue to keep plugging in phrases of interest, but he kept getting nothing.

“What are you doing?” Lena asked after a few moments of him huffing at his screen reader.

“Trying to do anything that may change our current living arrangements.”

She puffed out an amused breath. “Can I help?”

 “Can you see any connection between these words and phrases?” he asked, pulling away his screen reader and tapping at the words he’d typed out.

“Paranoid, tonight, I live to party, comeback, love Bug, BB good, Mandy, Macy Misa, I believe, cool, that’s just the way we roll, burnin’ up,” she said. “What are these?”

“They’re things Pat said when we interrogated that struck me funny,” Janus explained. “I feel like he was saying something more than what he said.”

“Hmm,” she said. “PTI for the first three?”

“Maybe,” Janus agreed, “but what about the rest of it? I feel like I’m missing something.”

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“Millennia,” Remus mumbled from under his desk. Janus hadn’t been aware he was awake. “He said something something about it being the only time he could see the change of the millennia.” He turned his head to look at Janus. “Considering he’s a time traveler, that’s definitely a weird thing to say.”

“Millennia,” Janus contemplated. “A different turn of the millennia. Oh no.”

“What?” Lena asked.

Janus sighed, and rubbed his temple. “I know someone who studied the 1700-2200s.”

“Isn’t that good?”

“No,” Janus groaned, “because now I have to go talk to him.” He stood with a sigh and then paused. “How do I even get to Silver Mountains University without my timepiece?”

 Luckily Sliver Mountains ended up only being about an hour away from the TPI by time adherent travel, but considering Janus was used to his travel being instantaneous, it was an aggravating trip. He had to show ID and be buzzed up to the fourth floor since it was usually locked to everyone not traveling by timepiece or who worked in the office.

The receptionist was the same man as before. “I’m here to speak to Professor Eran,” Janus said.

The receptionist nodded. “He mentioned you asked to meet him but didn’t know when you’d arrive. He’ll be done teaching his class in about 5 minutes. You can wait over there.”

 Janus nodded and sat, waiting for time to slowly tick by. Virgil arrived after a few minutes, lugging a giant bag with him. He caught sight of Janus and wordlessly jerked his head towards the hallway. Janus followed him.

“What’s in the bag?” Janus asked.

“Early 21st century cell phones,” Virgil said, dropping it on his desk. “I let my students mess around with them for their lab.”

“I see,” Janus said.

“What did you need?” Virgil asked. “You said it was official business.”

“You’ve heard about the lockdown, I presume,” Janus said.

“Yeah, it really screws up my research schedule for the summer,” Virgil said.

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“Do you know why the lockdown was instituted?” Janus asked. Virgil shook his head, so Janus explained briefly that they had been trying to find a timebomb on the eve of the year 3000, but it had been swiped by a free agent time traveler. “Some of the things seemed to be references to things that I couldn’t place, and I was wondering if you would recognize any.”

“Shoot,” Virgil requested, seeming intrigued by the prospect.

“Okay,” Janus said. “First, the alias he was using was Nick Jonas.” A weird expression crossed Virgil’s face immediately and Janus paused.

“You said the year 3000?” Virgil asked.

 “Er. Yes.”

“Nick Jonas. Year 3000,” Virgil repeated with a snort. “Were Joe and Kevin a part of this too?”

Janus blinked. “Yes, how did you know that?”

“Yo-you’re going to have,” his sentence was broken by a giggle, and actual full-fledged giggle, “have to give me a minute.” With that, he sort of listed to the side and seemed to purposefully fall off his chair onto the floor under his desk.

Janus blinked and when he didn’t surface after a moment, he stood up to lean over the desk and look down at him. Virgil had his arm thrown over his beat red face, as he shook from what Janus thought was suppressed laughter.

 “What?” Janus asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Just…” Virgil said, sobbing through his laughter. “Just tell me the things he said.”

“Er, mostly he just had weird inflections on words and phrases. There was ‘paranoid, tonight, I live to party, comeback…’”

“Wait, stop,” Virgil said. “Let me guess a few. That’s Just the Way We Roll, Burnin’ Up, Sucker.”

“The first two were, but not the last one.”

Virgil laughed. “Maybe the last one was just implied.”

Janus frowned down. “What are you talking about? What does this all mean?”

Virgil pulled himself out from under his desk and grabbed his bag of phones. He dug through it for a few seconds before pulling one out and handing it to Janus. “I have a lab for my students where they get preloaded phones from the early 21st century and are supposed to guess the demographics of the person who owns it. This one is an iPhone 3 meant to belong to a pre-teen to teenage girl from the year 2009. Look under music artists starting with the letter ‘J.’”

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Confused, Janus scrolled through the old style phone, finding the music app and opening it easily. Upon getting to the ‘J’s, he immediately paused on an artist called the ‘Jonas Brothers.’ He clicked on it and read a few of the song titles. They weren’t all there, but…

“That rat bastard,” Janus said.

“Scroll to the bottom,” Virgil said. Janus did and found a song titled ‘Year 3000.’

“You’re kidding me.”

“Click on it,” Virgil requested.

Janus did, listening to the fairly standard pop like intro from the time period. It wasn’t until he got to the lyrics saying, ‘He told me he built a time machine’ that he cursed, understanding exactly what Pat had been doing. When the singer a few lines latter proclaimed that his neighbor said ‘I’ve been to the year 3000’ he almost smashed the artifact to pieces right then and there.

“I have no idea who this guy is,” Virgil said, “but he’s a comedic genius.”

 Chapter 11

Khalid caught him on his way back into the TPI building. “I heard you went to Silver Mountains to follow up on a lead,” she said.

“Yeah, but it was garbage,” he seethed. “All I learned was ‘Pat’ knows early 2000s popular culture and likes to fuck with us.”

She hummed. “I’d still like a report about whatever you found. Who knows what we might end up getting from seemingly inconsequential data.”

“Sure,” he said.

“Anyway,” she continued. “I have a mission for you.”

“We’re on lockdown,” Janus pointed out with a frown.

“For nonessentials,” she said. “This is essential.”

 “What happened?” Janus asked.

“We picked up a small time distortion in France 2027. At the moment, it is small enough not to cause any disruptions, but it is slowly growing, and we don’t know what caused it. Usually we’d just send surveillance agents at this stage, but considering what’s going on, I think it would be best to send a field agent. And it would just be you, because we don’t want to send too many people out at once.”

“Is this related to the time bomb?” Janus asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “At the very least, it’s not it being set off as it was in 2999, but if it’s been altered for some other purpose…”

 “I’ll go,” Janus said.

“I’ll send over the mission directive to everyone who needs it. You’ll go in around 3 hours.”

He nodded. “I’ll be ready,” he agreed.

In less then 3 hours, he was dressed for 2027 France and in decontamination. “Well,” he said out loud when he was given the all clear sign, “I hope I don’t explode.” He selected the coordinates on the timepiece and the next moment he was in a small alleyway in the city of Montpellier, France in 2027.

It was a little bit warm, but not stifling even in the mid-afternoon and he could faintly smell the sea on the breeze.

 After a moment to get his bearings, Janus made his way out of the alleyway and onto a small street. The street was lined with restaurants and shops as people went about their daily lives. He carefully integrated himself into the crowd and began weaving his way through them. He needed to find the source of the distortion but doing a quick scan with his timepiece told him there wasn’t any sign of it yet. He’d have to wait for it to act up.

For now, he decided to get slightly away from people by heading towards the river. He found a park that had benches along water.

 As he walked towards the river, he noticed a man on the bench, angled slightly away from Janus and looking out at the water. He immediately recognized the man. “You!” he exclaimed.

Pat’s head shot around to look at him, and he gave a slight head tilt. Then, he smiled, amused. “You are not the person I’m here for,” he said.

“Well, I am now,” Janus snapped. “Where’s the time bomb?”

“Time bomb?” Pat asked, eyebrows drawing together, but amusement on his lips. “Oh sweetie, the time bomb happened a long time ago for me.”

“What?” Janus asked.

“Oh, you’re just a baby,” Pat laughed. “Don’t you get it yet? The two of us are out of sync timeline wise. You’ve been apparently running around with a much younger version of me, but all of that happened quite a while ago for me. Don’t worry though, it gets better.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The time bomb has been long deactivated. Here,” he reached into his pocket and tossed him something. Janus caught it on instinct. “Proof. Don’t worry, we took all of the dangerous bits out years ago from my perspective.” It was the core of a time bomb, the time bomb Pat had stolen if he was to be believed. “You can tell your people it’s safe to remove the lockdown.”

Janus curled his fingers around it. “I don’t get it.”

Something on Pat’s wrist beeped and he looked at it curiously before he stood from the bench, “and I don’t have time to explain it.”

Janus jerked forward to grab his wrist. “Don’t you dare.”

Pat reached up to pat his face. “Don’t worry honey, you’ll be seeing me later.” He twisted his wrist and a small electric current sparked between them. Janus jerked his hand away, and Patton smiled at him. “Or… earlier.” He winked, and then he was gone.

Janus cursed, but he didn’t have more than a moment to be angry because in the next second there was a yelp, and something landed on top of him. He was bowled over into a tangle of limbs and pained noises.

“Oh my god, we need to figure out the height thing,” a familiar voice groaned, just as Janus managed to pull himself away. Pat blinked up at him and his eyes narrowed. “You,” he hissed.

“…What?”

 Pat jumped to his feet, leaving Janus on the ground in front of him. “What are you doing here?” he spat, his tone much different then the one he’d been using a moment earlier. His hair was longer than it had been before, and if Janus looked closely, he did seem like he was a couple of years younger suddenly. Out of sync timelines. I’ll see you earlier. Holy shit.

He was suddenly very glad he’d been forced to let the other Pat (the older Pat?) go, else they’d have a whole thing on their hands.

“What are you doing here?” was Janus’s retort as he stood up and dusted himself off.

 “It’s none of your business,” Pat told him.

“It is my business,” Janus said, “because for all I know, you are the cause of the time distortions I’m after. Considering that I doubt you have a license for that,” he waved at the odd looking timepiece of Pat’s wrist, “it’s very possible.”

“What are you?” Pat asked, “the time police.”

“Yes.”

Pat dared to roll his eyes, but then he tilted his head slightly. “Time distortions?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.”

He still had a confused frown on his face. Did… did he not know what a time distortion was?

 Just then there was a sudden flash of lightening through the sky despite the absolutely lack of clouds. He and Pat both looked up.

“Is that the time distortion?” Pat asked.

“It’s probably the beginning of it,” Janus said.

“That doesn’t look good,” Pat said as he squinted at the sky.

“Just wait,” Janus answered grimly. He looked at Pat. “Usually I’d arrest you on the spot,” he said, “but I’m alone for this one, and that is far more important at the moment. So, have a nice day doing whatever bullshit you are doing.” He glanced at his timepiece.

17126

Janus turned to walk away from him.

“Wait!” Pat exclaimed, and Janus turned back to him to see that his eyes were wide. Janus raised an eyebrow. “So, this time distortion thing is dangerous, right?”

“Depending on the severity, it could cause time to fracture around this place and time, basically erasing it from existence and killing everyone in it.”

“Well, in that case, I should go with you. To help.”

Janus looked him up and down. “You… have no idea what’s happening, do you? You’re an amateur.”

“I’m not,” he claimed. “I just. Pooling resources. You know?”

Janus sighed. “Well, you going around mucking about this time period without knowing what you’re doing could just exasperate the situation, so fine, you can tag along.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he grumbled even as he rushed to Janus’s side at the permission.

“Sure,” Janus said with an eyeroll. He guessed he was a babysitter now. “I believe you.”

[metal-diy-projects]

Metal DIY Projects #7: Thrash-as-fuck shoes

White high tops and skinny jeans. If that doesn’t scream 80s fashion to you, I don’t know what else does. Thrashers have been wearing these since the early 80s, thank Lemmy that they are back in fashion and we can find them everywhere for decent prices.  But, what if you don’t have a pair of high tops? Maybe they don’t fit your style, maybe you have amazing friends that will step on them just for giggles. 

I’m here to show you a great alternative to flashy white high tops, that you could make with things that you could have laying around the house!

The materials that you are going to need are:

1. First, find thes shoe that you are going to use for the DIY. For me, personally, it was this pair of Converse that I had for so many years now, that from dark blue, they turned grey, and they pink-ish brown. I was going to throw them away, but then I had this great idea..! The only thing that you have to watch out for, is the fact that not all fabrics change colour with bleach. Synthetic fabrics will not change colour at all, while those made out of cotton will turn completely white after a few hours. To test this out, drop a drop of bleach on the fabric of the shoe and let it do its work for an hour. If the fabric has changed to white (or at least cream white), your pair of shoes will do just fine for this DIY!

2. Prepare the shoes for bleaching. Remove the laces and put them aside. Wipe any mud and dirt from the shoes and put them in a bucket. Take them outside, in a well ventilated space, like a balcony.  Make sure that you are wearing old clothes that you don’t mind staining. Wear your mask, or at least tie a cloth over your nose and mouth. You don’t want to breath in the bleach as you work. It will make your eyes itch, and your throat will feel dry and sore. Wear plastic gloves and secure them around your wrists with hair-ties. Finally, if you have sensitive eyes, wear sunglasses.

In a container, mix 3 parts of bleach and 1 part water. With a brush, start applying the mixture on your shoes. Make sure to cover the entire shoe as you work, and that it is absorbing the mixture well. Personally, it took me five coats to reach the colour that I wanted. You can see how mine looked like after the first application of bleach and... yeah they suck. They look worse than they did before I started. Continue applying bleach until you are satisfied with their colour.

Also, make your life easier by letting them in the sun between coats. The sun will speed up the process so much more! I did this twice, once on my own on a sunny day and once with a friend on a rainy day. It took me two hours with breaks to bleach them out, but when I did it in an enclosed space with no light, it took an entire evening. Good luck to people living in countries where sun is scarce. xD

3. Time to wash all the bleach away! Start by letting them dry once they are white enough for your taste. Take them inside and start rinsing all the bleach off under running water. It is very important that no bleach stays on the fabric of shoe, because if it does, it will start leaking into your socks once you start sweating. This might cause skin iriitations, so watch out! Once your shoes stop giving off that weird smell that bleach has, put them in your bucket and apply detergent all over them. With a hard brush (or with your hands if you can) start cleaning the shoes, until no dirt and dust is left.  Let them dry in the sun for about two days. You want them to be completely dry before you move to the next step.

4. As you wait for the shoes to dry, wash your shoe laces with some more detergent. Applying bleach won’t make them any whiter, as they are made from synthetic fibers, so try your best to clean them. Let them dry too. Lace up your shoes and walk them around for a bit, to break them in. Converse have a tendency to tighten up after washing, so take a walk around the house to loosen up the fabric.

Now, your pair is white as a fucking canvas! You can either leave them like that, or you can follow the steps below to add a design of your choice. And of all the things I could have choosen, I decided to write EET FUK on them. Yeah. So unique, I know.

5. Time to test out which inks will work the best. I turned the tongue of my shoe inside out and and drew four lines with four different pens/markers: 

Ballpoint pen

Archival Ink

Permanent maker

Colouring marker

Then, I soaked the fabric with water and started rubbing them with a cotton swab. I went with the ballpoint pen and the permanent marker, as they were the onces that even after 10 minutes of rubbing, faded/bled very little.

6. Using a picture of the guitar as a guide, I sketched out the EET FUK sticker on a piece of paper. With an exacto knife I carved the basic outline of the letters to use it as a stencil then taped it on the shoe.  With a pencil I marked the outline on the shoe and removed the stencil. I did the same thing for both shoes.

7. I went over the outline with the pen, and then did the same thing with the permanent marker. Using my picture as a guide, I smudged the ink to make it look more like the sticker and added more details with my pen. I did the same thing for the other shoe, and erased any remaining pencil outline with a white eraser.

Aaaaaand you’re done!

Thank you for following through this tutorial and I hope I have helped you out somehow! Send in any questions that you might have, submit your own DIYs, or even send picture of what you have made for me to feature on my blog!

Fun Story: I always wanted to get my hands on that legendary guitar. I saw once a replica at a local guitar shop and I was drooling in front of the glass display, long enough that one of the employees came out of the shop and asked me if I wanted to come inside and play it.

[floridageekscene]

Leo nocedo :How did you discover cosplaying?

Daniel Matarazzo :In the 1980s Marvel had a series called secret wars where spider man, my favorite super hero got a black costume, that was the first time I had the urge to play dress up!Lol

Leo nocedo : What was your first cosplay?

Daniel Matarazzo :Black spider man was the first cosplay I made no fancy materials back then.

Leo nocedo : What are your next 3 cosplay plans?

Daniel Matarazzo : Because of the new escaperoom business weekends are always busy, but I have a traditional Richard Rider Nova planned, and maybe a vintage Iron man.

Leo nocedo : Daniel Have you ever been in a cosplay contest?

Daniel Matarazzo : Yes, but I enjoy the crow on the floor wanting to take my picture more.

Leo nocedo : Do you prefer sewing, armor making, or wig working?

Daniel Matarazzo :Done everything except wig, which I might start as im losing my hair,

but building armor is my favorite

Leo nocedo : Do you prefer to do photoshoots at cons or at specific locations?

Daniel Matarazzo : I preferred fans to take pictures there’s nothing like a kid wanting a pic of you

Leo nocedo : Is there a type of character you cosplay frequently?

Daniel Matarazzo : Nova was how I got back into cosplay to introduce my daughters to the cosplay world, as long as the people welcome him, I’ll keep doing him, and if course old man Logan is always a blast.

Leo nocedo : Do you have any favorite cosplayers?

Daniel Matarazzo : Professionally, YaYa Han she always makes time to talk, locally? I have one too many that I gladly call friends.

Leo nocedo : What’s the most detailed cosplay you’ve ever done?

Daniel Matarazzo : Probably Hanso from Over watch

Leo nocedo : What are your top 3 craftsmanship tips?

Daniel Matarazzo : Always use a heat gun on foam, you can get away with cheap paint but never cheap primer. If you’re going to use hot glue make sure you get a professional gun.

Leo nocedo : What is your favorite cosplay you’ve done?

Daniel Matarazzo : That’s a tough one as I’ve done a lot for my girls, but old man Logan is a lot of fun to do

Leo nocedo : What is your worst cosplay “horror” story?

Daniel Matarazzo : I’ve double check everything I build, so, no horror stories.

Leo nocedo : What’s your funniest cosplay story?

Daniel Matarazzo : Someone once thought I was Iron man… come to think of it, that’s wasn’t funny

Leo nocedo : What’s the best in-character interaction you’ve ever had?

Daniel Matarazzo : I once did old Han Solo, I saw a cosplayer doing Ren, I yelled “son”! He turned around and started saying the lines from the movie, that was cool!

Leo nocedo : Have you ever cosplayed with a family member?

Daniel Matarazzo : I made a BB8 dress for the wife and I did Han Solo

Leo nocedo : What is your favorite cosplay photo of yourself?

Daniel Matarazzo : Love my Santa Claws, that was my holiday version of old man Logan

Leo nocedo : What are your go-to stores for cosplay materials/full cosplays?

Daniel Matarazzo : Walmart, Harbor freight, Home depot I do not like to buy cosplays, that’s just me.

Leo nocedo : Do you prefer to buy pre-styled wigs or style your own?

Daniel Matarazzo : No wigs, but I’m thinking of doing something for Logan, growing the facial hairs takes a lot.

Leo nocedo :Have you ever had someone mistake you for a differentcharacter?

Daniel Matarazzo : Yes by those who are not marvel fans

Leo nocedo : List all the cosplays you’ve done.

Daniel Matarazzo : Black Spiderman, Pinhead from Hellraiser, Judge Dred, Beatle juice, Beatle juice, B, oops sorry, Jack Sparrow, Nova Prime, Old man Logan, Han Solo, and a few character from Overwatch

Leo nocedo : What’s the biggest con you’ve cosplayed at ?

Daniel Matarazzo : Megacon.

Leo nocedo : Do you prefer cosplaying characters with props, or characters that you don’t need to carry a prop around all day ?

Daniel Matarazzo :You have to have props, it will set you apart every time.

Leo nocedo : Have you ever lost a cosplay piece at a con?

Daniel Matarazzo : Never.

Leo nocedo : Have you ever bought a cosplay piece at a con?

Daniel Matarazzo : Never, I pride on making my own stuff

Leo nocedo : Do you prefer to cosplay solo or in a group?

Daniel Matarazzo : Most of the time I’m solo, but I do cons to see my friends so technically I’m never solo.

Leo nocedo : If you had a chance to meet your all-time favorite cosplayer, what would you say to them?

Daniel Matarazzo : I have, but my conversations are always casual.

Leo nocedo : Have you ever done a cosplay panel?

Daniel Matarazzo : Nope, never cared to.

Leo nocedo : Do you prefer to buy or make cosplays?

Daniel Matarazzo : If I can’t make it, I don’t wear it, I did buy Han solo’s jacket.

Leo nocedo : If you could tell your past self anything about cosplay, what would you say?

Daniel Matarazzo : Ignore the politics, and never tell anyone, myself included to enter a contest

Leo nocedo : What is your ultimate dream cosplay?

Daniel Matarazzo : Unlike younger cosplayers, I do not think about dream cosplay, to me is about fun.

Leo nocedo : What’s the most difficult cosplay you’ve ever done? (Craftsmanship, wearing of, ect)

Daniel Matarazzo : Nova’s armor, it’s actually fiber glass with eva on top, all individual pieces

Leo nocedo : What’s the most difficult character makeup you’ve done?

Daniel Matarazzo : Pinhead, the cube took me 3 days to make, the make up 6hrs to put on, didn’t wear a mask. All the nails were attached to silicon strips once at a time then glued to the face.

Leo nocedo : What, in your opinion, makes a cosplayer a “pro” cosplayer?

Daniel Matarazzo : This one goes against most people’s ideas of cosplay, but if you do not make what you wear, then you’re not a professional, you’re just a model

Leo nocedo : What is your favorite part of cosplaying?

Daniel Matarazzo : Kids wanting to take pictures with me

Leo nocedo : Make up your own question!

Daniel Matarazzo : Why tell people about cosplay, if you’re introverted this will help

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Cosplayer of the week: Daniel Matarazzo Leo nocedo :How did you discover cosplaying? Daniel Matarazzo :In the 1980s Marvel had a series called secret wars where spider man, my favorite super hero got a black costume, that was the first time I had the urge to play dress up!Lol…

[darkhymns-fic]

To Share a Secret

The sickness was spreading all over her body. There was nothing Colette could do to stop it... But it was all her fault to begin with.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel Rating: T+ Mirror Links: AO3, FF.net Notes: An experimental fic (sorry), featuring themes of guilt, angst, and hurt/comfort. Because sometimes you just want to write that.

Colette first notices it when she is dressing one morning.

The patch of green blossoms over her left shoulder. It is barely the width of her finger and, at first, she thinks it to be a bruise. She brushes a nail against it, feeling the toughness of it, the miniscule cracks that cut through it disturbingly. It is not something she likes looking at.

If I just wash it, maybe it'll go away. So she takes a sponge, dips it in water and soap, and scrubs as hard as she can. The patch remains there, like a lone oasis in a desert. But it doesn't make her feel any better to think of it that way, because it still itches and makes her skin stiff.

"Colette?" someone calls from outside the inn door. "We'll be leaving soon. Are you ready?"

She quickly dons her overcoat, and brushes her long hair over her shoulders. Nothing could be seen, nothing could even be suspected. She keeps her eyes on the crystal bound with her neck, and the necklace that hangs over it - the necklace that Lloyd had given her.

"I'll be right out, Professor!" she responds. She takes a deep breath, and puts on her smile. Her friends have already gone through so much to save her. She doesn't need to worry them anymore.

She had many bruises from her falls back then, especially so in first grade. The young are always the clumsiest, and Colette was the poster child for it. Tripping over the last step of the stairway, or the tip of her shoe finding the one stone upturned in the grass – and so she would have a scrape on her knee, or a blue-black mark on her shoulder.

"Be more careful!" Lloyd would say, once stopping her from face-planting into the ground. His own steps were unsure, but with awkward arms he caught her from the side. Still, he grinned, as wide and bright as when they played tag among the trees.

Even back then, he worried about her.

"What a useless girl!" Rodyle turns away from her in disgust, leaving her in her prison of glass. Colette grabs her shoulder, hoping to cover it up even more than her clothes could do.

But Rodyle didn't even need to be near to know what she hid. Could he see through her so easily? The thought of it sends waves of revulsion through her stomach.

"To be left with a sinful Chosen!" he shouts again, his voice pressing upon her mind like needles. "At the very least, you will be good bait."

It's the word that sinks into her chest, leaving her body like a husk, unmoved by the cries of dragons and the sharp wind that cut through the clouds all around her. Sinful? she thinks with growing horror. Her eyes gazes down towards her sleeve, feeling a coarseness rub against her clothes, the fibers catching onto something stiff, something painful, something wrong.

Is that… what I am?

This is not something she can continue to ignore.

"When we err, we must pray."

Her first pastor was a kind, gentle man, his eyes hidden within a sea of wrinkles. For her 7 th  birthday, he had given her a book – her first prayer book, etched with gold filigree on the cover, the pages scrawled in angelic writings by some dedicated scribe. She was still in the middle of her training, so she could only read a few fragments of the sentences here and there.

"When you err, keep these words in mind." He tapped at the book cover. "And confess to the Goddess for your mistakes. Only then will you be pure once more."

She promised him this. Yet whenever she prayed, Lloyd's face would light up her mind, even then. So she would forget to pray for her own redemption.

"Colette, is something wrong?"

Her smile is ready, lifting her face into place. The sky is bright, the others with them walking and talking amongst themselves as they headed towards the Earth temple's entrance. Lloyd walks near to catch up to her.

"Oh, nothing. I think I'm just tired from before."

The shape of his eyes, the way they pierce through her, is both a welcome intrusion as it is a frightening one. There are some things that he shouldn't be burdened with, not after all that he has already done for her. "You don't have to keep things hidden from us, you know."

"I know," she says, careful to not giggle or anything of the sort. "I have all my friends with me."

"That's right." Lloyd reaches for her hand. The heat from his glove presses against her skin, but she can't help the skipped beat in her chest. She is lucky that he hadn't reached for her other hand… the one that would soon be…

"So remember, you can tell us anything that's bothering you." He smiles, wide and bright. "Okay?"

Lloyd is so kind, too kind. And kind people always got hurt so very easily.

"Okay," she agrees with him, gripping his hand back. The strength is something she can feel. It is tangible, pure reality. "I promise I'll let you know."

The lies are natural. Just another thing for Lloyd to be disappointed in later. More and more, the failures of her own person would be so much, that not even Lloyd would be able to ignore them. She knows she is making things worse, but she can't let herself tell him.

I can't tell anyone about this… she thinks, her face a perfect mask of optimism. She does all she can to not grip Lloyd's hand too tight. I can't tell anyone about this body!

"Are you unable to sleep, Chosen?"

Kratos' voice had a timbre to it that was instantly recognizable – even before she would grow to know him. Yet she was sure that they had never met before this journey. Perhaps that was why she hadn't flinched when he appeared beside her, overlooking the barren dunes from this lone oasis.

"Ah.. no, I'm fine," she lied.

His face upturned to the night sky. If she didn't look at him directly, he seemed even more familiar this way. Was it the shape of his hair? The way the light caught it to make it darker?

"If you cannot sleep, you should count the stars." He paused. "Although, a human life is far too short to count them all..."

She clasped her hands, age-old recitations flitting away from her mind. Prayer had helped her at first, but without sleep, those soft promises held less weight than before.

"…That's a good idea. I'll try that."

Late at night, she can barely stop herself from coughing.

Sheena is with her, jumping from her own bed to rub a hand against Colette's back. "Hey! Do you need some water? Did you catch something?"

Her chest feels like it is on fire. It is difficult to breathe. The vivid image of her lungs crystallizing like her skin suddenly bring forth a terrible fear. This… this is what he meant. Even with Sheena's soothing voice, all she can hear is Rodyle's mocking tone. Because I didn't go through with it. To escape one death only to go through another. A punishment.

Sylvarant is still dying. She has every right to be punished.

"Colette?"

After a moment, her throat finally clears. She takes shuddering breaths, then turns to Sheena with a smile. "S-sorry about that. Maybe some water might help?"

"How cute! Is she a little puppy?"

The girl in strange clothes stared at Colette, her hands protectively holding the furry creature. She had only joined the group for a short time, keeping to herself. "Not exactly."

"I'm a boy!" A bell tinkled when the creature shook all over in distaste, its – no, his curly tails fanning out behind him. "And I'm much smarter than a puppy!"

Colette had held out her hand to him. "What's your name?"

Corrine told her straight away, much to Sheena's ire.

When she was rescued later on, she had seen those same bells hanging off of Sheena's wrist. She could never seem to find the right time to apologize.

Sometimes, she would even see Sheena whispering to them, holding the bells close when she thought no one was looking.

The guilt was overwhelming.

The strange mark is spreading, running from her shoulder to the length of the upper part of her arm. It is an ocean engulfing the land that is her body, slowly overtaking flesh to become hard crystal. It now hurt just to raise up her arm a certain way, making it difficult to throw her chakrams and affecting her aim.

Her clothes are modest, and her sleeves are long. She looks normal enough. But if her overcoat happened to slip down by more than a few inches…

She can barely look at herself in the mirror when she changes. And she only does so when it is pitch dark.

The greatest sins are those we hide. Her third pastor had told her this, when she was just reaching adolescence. Not just from the world, but from ourselves. They are treacherous secrets that the Goddess frowns upon. But when you give yourself to the Goddess, sins and all, one may be forgiven.

Yet she had rejected the Goddess, too cowardly to die. And now her sin was engulfing her.

It is to be expected, isn't it?

"Will you not be going to the baths, Colette?" Presea asks her, seeing Colette sitting on her bed in their chosen inn for the night.

She shakes her head. "I'm very tired. Go have fun without me!"

Lloyd had never been the praying type, but that was okay. More than okay.

As school children, he would sometimes stand outside the chapel, waiting for her to finish her lessons so that they could play with Genis later, or rush along the shore before worrisome adults chased them back to the safety of town.

"Who do you talk to when you pray?" he once asked, wearing bright red. It had been a gift from his father, the big man with the hearty voice, loud enough to send Colette's ears thrumming with pleasantness.

"To the Goddess," she said matter-of-factly. Then, after a brief thought, she added, "And to myself sometimes."

He had looked over to her. "That sounds useful!"

Knowing that he waited for her, she would sometimes rush through the prayers so she could see him quicker. When she was feeling daring, she would skip them altogether.

From there, it only grew and grew.

The earth shakes, and the towers fall. But all she can do is clutch at her ruined shoulder, eyes biting through her.

She can't even feel the sting from Forcystus' weapon, only the wind that hits her exposed skin.

"It's… it's disgusting, isn't it?" Her voice squeaks out, barely able to leave her tightened throat. "It's… it's…"

"It's not at all."

Unlike her, Lloyd has never needed to lie.

"It's a bit gross looking, isn't it?" she said, gazing at the side of the bridge.

Zelos shrugged. "It certainly is grotesque. Although, knowing where Exspheres come from, I'm not sure it's appropriate to describe them that way.."

She rubbed at her arm in guilt. "You're right."

They have taken her back home.

Colette can barely sleep, even when she is back in her own soft bed that she had slept on for sixteen years. The windows let in the afternoon sun, and the bookcases are to her side, their shelves still filled with her prayer books and their angelic writings.

Her shoulder feels heavier.

She can hear the others downstairs. There is the faint warble of her grandmother's voice, and the strong tenor of Kratos' own. Then there would be someone else interrupting him, slightly higher-pitched, their throat pressed to the point of tension.

"…Can I see her?…"

Colette sinks beneath her covers, shutting her eyes, waiting and hoping for the day to end, for her friends to forget her and leave her to this mess that she has gotten herself into. She doesn't want to disappoint them anymore. She doesn't want to hurt Lloyd any more than she already has.

All I do is mess things up.

"You should let her rest," someone says. Kratos. She hears the shift of his belt, the shield strapped to his side that clinks against his sword. "Do you understand why she is like this?"

He knows Lloyd shouldn't get near me. Because of what I…

Sinful, reckless, useless, and a failure. She couldn't die when she needed to. And now, it seems she won't even live when others wanted her to. She knows she is not worth this much.

She must have fallen asleep just then, because her palm upon waking starts to ache, marking the necklace's imprints deep into her skin, holding it when she dreams. Her shoulder is numb, and her limbs feel all wrong and askew. Still, she is afraid to lift her head. She didn't want to think how much time must have passed.

Someone is sitting beside her bed.

"Colette? Are you awake?"

By the grace of the Church, and by her grandmother's kindness, Colette was allowed to visit Lloyd's house sometimes, even though it was never quite often. It was far, after all, skirting by the Desians to where the only other living beings known were a young boy, a dwarf, and some strange dog-creature. She recalled those moments seated on his balcony, watching the stars billow out from the dark, accompanied by Lloyd's loud voice that chased away the stillness.

Even so, Lloyd was never allowed into her own room ever since he was very young. "You have many precious things, Colette," her grandmother told her. "He might not mean to, but he could by some chance ruin them." Her father supported this decision. "Your room is only for you," he said, and nothing much more.

That's why she visited Lloyd's home as often as she could. It always felt less empty there.

She is not supposed to be in this room, and neither is Lloyd. But routine has now been thrown out the window many times, and though she huddles in her blankets, Lloyd talks to her back. This is mean and cruel (everything she has ever done has been cruel for him), but she lacks the courage to face him.

He has been talking to her for a while.

"Is it still so hard for you to trust me?"

It is sudden, what he says. Filled with disappointment, but lacking any anger. That cut through her chest viciously.

"I can't trust myself."

She can't remember when she turns to him, but then she notices his eyes and the way both his hands holds one of her own so tightly.

"That's why we have everyone else, right?" Lloyd tries to joke, though his smile doesn't last. It still gets her to grip back his hands, to forget the infection that was slowly crawling down her arm. "I just… don't want you to keep dealing with things alone."

But what if it is what I deserve?

Colette doesn't say the thought out loud, for she has some sense about that at the very least. She instead grips the necklace again with her free hand, giving him a weak smile, but a smile all the same.

"I know I'm not alone when I wear this." The gentle weight of it on her neck, the symmetry carved into its design, is enough for comfort, even when she first saw the mark of green on her chest.

That only serves to make Lloyd look away, confusing her immensely.

"Kratos told me that it's not enough to stop this from happening. Probably even triggered it…" His thumb brushes against the creases in her palm. Something hollow leaves his throat, a sound that she can't identify. "It's… some birthday present I made. I can't even make a good necklace for you."

There was a reason she was meant to die before. Her continued existence only brings him more pain. I've been sick since the beginning…

She must have been crying, because Lloyd leaves his seat then to hug her close.

"You can't-"she starts, but hiccups. Her tears choke her, and her lungs hurt even more, for whatever terrible thing her body is housing. She feels his arms encircle her back, one hand much too near her shoulder, where a crystallized monstrosity is hiding beneath her clothes. "You can't think that about yourself. Please, Lloyd…" I can't take it.

His breath is shaking along with her. It is so rare to hear him make such a sound. "Then you need to do the same."

But doesn't he realize how terrible she is at promises?

His embraces have always been tight, always enough to make her lose her breath, if only for a short time. She had not been able to weep back then, underneath the Sylvarant sky, asking him to keep a secret. It had been too much to ask. No friend would do that to someone so kind and hurting as much as he had been.

Colette tries to hide her face within his jacket, bright red so that she will never miss him in the darkness. He is a beacon that she could always follow – but even a guide gets tired, even a guide needs time away from pain. Maybe her death will be a blessing. He won't have to worry about anything more again.

Yet he is warm and his heartbeat is a steady cadence that is able to slow the track of her tears. His hands rub against her back in soft circles, sending her thrills that filled the well of her guilt. She thinks she can feel his mouth press into her hair, too light to be a kiss. Or maybe she is just tired.

Then his fingers brush against her side, making her flinch. His touch was intense, plying through the fabric of her dress, pressing against that coating of crystal, hard and cracked and grotesque.

Seeing the movement, Lloyd pulls his hand away.

"Does it hurt when I…?"

She shakes her head. "No." I just don't want you to feel it. I don't want you to know anymore of how disgusting I am.

She hears someone coming up the stairs.

"Lloyd, that's enough for now."

Kratos' voice is always level, betraying little, even to her attuned hearing. Lloyd jumps to his feet, though his hands still clench, with his eyes always drifting back to her.

"There's a situation happening at the schoolhouse," Kratos continues. "I think it's prudent that you have a look."

Lloyd still looks unconvinced.

"I'll be okay," Colette tells him, rubbing her eyes. "I'm… feeling better. I'll see you real soon."

She smiles for him, weak and guilt-filled. Lloyd returns it in kind.

"Okay. Promise, right?"

She could try to not lie to him, for once.

"I promise."

"Is it that hard for you to trust me?"

I just didn't want anyone to worry.

"What's happening to you?"

I don't know.

"Why didn't you say anything?!"

This is just what it means to be an angel, isn't it?

In her effort to keep her secrets, she piled more and more responsibilities onto his shoulders. She had felt that weight on him when he embraced her, his legs trembling, his breath shaking.

It was the equivalent of trying to repair a glass vase, gathering the shards in her hands, and only cutting them on her fingers until there was blood staining the pieces. And by no choice, another pair of hands must take the pieces from her, only to get cut themselves.

Sin is always overwhelming. It reaches out from her and takes everyone with her until there is nothing left.

There is a way to save her, even now.

"Kratos told us to research some ancient records. About the Kharlan War, I think?"

Anyone can see Raine's eyes racing at Lloyd's words, at the way she crosses her arms, her mind trekking across vast plains of knowledge. "Regal, I recall you saying there being archives back in Syback regarding Mithos and his history."

It is amazing to see everyone already discussing, collaborating, and confirming their decision to find the path for Colette's salvation. It makes her heart wrench and her eyes nearly tear up again. It also overwhelms her, chilling her skin. They have to go through so much trouble for me.

In her selfishness, she asks Lloyd if she would be able to stay by his side. He promises her that she would.

Lloyd always kept his promises.

But doesn't it get tiring?

In the inn at Sybak, after they found the book for what they needed, she wanted some time to herself. The city is not as bustling as Meltokio, and there aren't many shops around, but the streetlamps are pretty, and the sky still shows her the stars. Even though they were not the same stars that Lloyd and her would gaze at, with its separate patterns, and its foreign expanse.

"Can't sleep?"

She had heard Lloyd leave the inn not long after she did. It still doesn't make her stop from reaching the part of the University Town, where the river clashes with the sea. She seats herself on its edge, feet meters away from the water. Lloyd then sits with her, close by, his presence a comfort.

She doesn't answer him right away, keeping her gaze on the stars. "This is a nice place, isn't it?" Her hands stay clasped together over her knees. "I think Professor Sage likes it here. There's so many books for her to read."

"Colette."

The note in his voice make her turn, but he is already so close to her. His hand reaches out, but she shrinks back, her body tense, her mind guilt-filled once more.

There is a hurt in Lloyd's eyes, and then a shyness she can't really recognize. "Do you… not want me to touch you?"

It would be easier if she just says yes. Quick and direct, then the hurt for him won't last. But she can't bring herself to say that, so instead, "I'm afraid you'll hate me."

It takes Lloyd a moment more to try again, to place his hand over her curled ones, to unlink her fingers so he can intertwine them with his own. "I already told you I wouldn't. Not ever."

"I've been nothing but trouble for you."

"No, you haven't."

"I've made you go through so much."

"Colette. That's enough."

She doesn't want to cry again, but her shoulder is getting worse. She has seen the disease eat up her arm, almost reaching her wrist. Soon she will need to wear gloves just to be passed as normal. Lloyd is holding onto that hand now. If he even so much as lifts that sleeve, he will see it again.

She shakes. "I'm not worth this-"

His kiss is bruising and rough, his hands reaching out to grip her sides. She doesn't have the will nor the want to move away. She sinks into him, closing her eyes, her mind painting an array of stars for her.

They remain close, unable to say much else. His lips brush against her cheek, her neck, and just over her collar bone. She doesn't want him to discover much else, and when she shakes again, he stops, though he keeps his arms around her. The water sloshes against the walls, the lights above them hum, attracting moths that swish around the glow.

"I'm afraid," she whispers, still unable to look at him.

He kisses her forehead, and his shaky breath tells her that he is close to weeping himself. "Not of me. Please."

She can try to make this promise, too.

"Colette," Raine had asked her before they left Iselia. "Are you afraid?"

She had already packed her things, her room looking even emptier than before. Her letter was safely within the possession of her father, and her grandmother's advice was tucked away in her heart. Her hand reached up to her neck, saddened that she would have to make Lloyd break his promise.

"It's what I'm born to do. So…" She turned to her teacher, smile at the ready, her giggle light and airy. "Let's try not to worry!"

Even Raine looked less than convinced, but that was fine. She promised to take her to the Tower. That was all that mattered.

The items they need for her cure are not easy to acquire. But no one speaks about giving up. No one speaks about leaving her body to fester in the mess she had made. No one would ever think that of her.

The disease has spread to her right hand finally, but only to the side of it, just underscoring her palm. If she clenches her fist, it will stay hidden. It is hard to though. Even a soft flex of her hand sends her slivers of pain.

In their travels, Lloyd rarely leaves her side. His hands always reach for her own, speaking of something desperate. She would try to let him hold her left hand, keeping her right far away. But once back at Altessa's, before they would attempt to go to Heimdall, he takes her outside of the house while the group converses with the dwarf.

"Let me see your hand."

The familiarity of that is almost too much, this echo of concern and fear. She lets him lift up her palm. Nothing changes in his eyes when he upturns her hand, watching the sunlight play off her now crystallized skin.

But he can see what little time they had left.

"It's… really gross, isn't it?" she says, trying to make light of it. But the words hurt too much when they leave her. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "You don't need to keep hiding. It's too much." He raises his eyes to her, bright, and on the verge of tears. "You don't need to."

She can't imagine doing anything else though.

Seeing how she can't answer, how locked in her voice was, he leans forward to kiss her again, softer this time, deep but quick because the voices of their friends were gathering. He doesn't say anything else to her after that, but he keeps hold of her hand when they go back to the others, ignoring a stray stare here or there.

Lloyd never seems to care about that. His need for her is anxious and clinging. He will never be able to let go of her.

There's nothing she can do to save him from more pain.

Once, she had tried teaching Lloyd her prayers. She had taken the book with the gold filigree cover, setting it on her lap as they sat together in his room. It was in second-grade, and one of the first times she had ever visited his large house, with his large father, and his large dog. "This is Psalm 5!" she had declared cheerily. "It's about asking the Goddess to help forgive yourself."

Lloyd's eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the pages. "Hm, if you say so!" He shrugged. "Seems like a lot of work though just to say sorry."

"Well, it gets easier when you keep repeating it a lot. I have it memorized now!"

"Cool, like my Dwarven Vows!" Lloyd said, now fully understanding the importance. "But, um, does it mean you keep doing bad things then?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said that's about forgiveness," he pointed at the page, though not exactly at the right section. "So you're asking the Goddess to keep forgiving you. Do you get in trouble a lot or something?"

She looked at the page, then back to him, blinking owlishly. She thought back to her pastors. "It's because we're human. So we keep making mistakes."

He scratched at his head. "Even if you don't mean to make them?"

"Yeah. You have to, umm… always be better."

"Oh, okay." Still, he looked at her. "But what mistakes did you ever make?"

To this day, she can't remember what she said to him.

Once they retrieve the Mana Leaf Herb, they all leave Heimdall in higher spirits. Colette can no longer deny the hope on the horizon. It is enough to quell the guilt inside her for just a little bit longer. And perhaps there is something addicting in the way Lloyd refuses to ever be too far from her. The chances for kisses are few, but every night he would hug her before they leave for bed. Her side may ache more and more, but she no longer flinches when he reaches for her.

In Meltokio, everyone decides to recuperate before their journey to the Tower. And while Zelos' mansion may have been large, there were only a few bedrooms available, leaving plenty to having to crash on the couch, however opulent it was.

It was unspoken that Colette would have one of the rooms of her own. "Whatever's comfortable for you," Raine tells her, pulling Colette's sleeve back down. No one else saw to the extent of her disease than her professor had. It was thanks to her healing arts that any progression had finally slowed, no longer eating up an inch of Colette's flesh each day.

Still, she sees the way Raine's brows furrow when she looks over the marks, the wrinkle in her frown, the brief half-second of hesitance when she reaches for Colette's arms to mutter another salving spell for her.

Colette doesn't blame her.

But late that night, sleep keeps avoiding her. She thinks about counting the stars to help pass the time, like she used to. There is a window to the side – even a balcony. She makes to rise but her chest grips her. Sharp claws that go through her lungs, a burning brand that sears her heart over and over. With a muffled cry, she leans over herself, bringing her knees up to her chest to minimize the pain that keeps pounding within her. Maybe it's over.

She can't even react when someone knocks on her door, and even less when they open said door. She remembers Sheena, her face pale as Colette heaved out her breath. Every time she had rubbed her back, the small bell would ring, soft and lonely. Did she-

Lloyd walks into her room quickly. Has he been waiting? Sitting outside her door, in case she needed anything?

"Colette? Hey!" He reaches out for her, as he always does, bringing her body near. It stills her shaking, the pain receding. "Let me get the Professor. Maybe she can-"

"No, she's seen enough of me." Let her sleep without seeing something disgusting. She takes a deep breath, afraid of how she sounds. "And… I'm feeling better anyway. I don't want to bother her."

She doesn't lie about that. She can feel the warmth of Lloyd's hands against her, ungloved now. Their touch wards off the burn pulsing with her heart.

But Lloyd's face visibly struggles. Sometimes, she wonders if he can still hear her thoughts, like back at the final seal, before Remiel would take her away. "Colette, she's not tired of you. None of us are."

"I…" Colette directs her eyes to the pillow. The silence is thick, but her mind continually shouts her down, reminding her of this pain, this pain of hurting everyone around you. "I just don't want her to have to see… this again." She can barely gesture to herself.

Lloyd, standing by her bed, keeps his hands on her. One angles down to brush her arm, to press against the material of her clothes.

"Is that why you won't let me see you?"

The weight of his words settles on her mind, but gently so, not enough to make her knees buckle. "You see me," she protests.

She feels him sit down next to her on the bed, refusing to release her hand. "Please, Colette."

Maybe she is scared her life will end before they can get the Mana Fragment. Maybe she is scared that the cure won't work, that she will soon become this crystal statue that can no longer breathe.

"Why… do you want to see any of it?" She can't name it, as if to deny it will make it stop existing.

"Because I love you."

He says it like it is something so obvious, a fact that she should know. And she does, she does know. Why else did she write that letter for him, to urge him to stay away and live freely without her? But Lloyd is stubborn, and that is another thing that she loves about him in return.

"But I'm disgusting," she whispers as a final defense.

His fingers interlock with hers. "I already told you that you're not."

A pastor told her this. She forgot which.

"A Chosen must be pure in heart, mind, and body. You give yourself for the world and only the world. Free of want, free of sin, free of corruption. And the greatest sins are those we hide. The Goddess abhors such deception." He had smiled at her then, wrinkles creasing his cheek. They all had these wrinkles. They were always old, gentle men with voices soft and hands spotted and shaking. "Do you understand, child?"

Colette had only been twelve, but she had nodded all the same.

Because she had not been fully willing to give herself, the crystal was rejecting her. Because she had accepted Lloyd's gift, her body retaliated, determined to end in self-destruction. Because she had denied it from herself, she was dying. "If you wish to live, Chosen One," Kratos had said to her as he left Sybak, back in their first days in Tethe'alla. "You must remove that worthless necklace."

She had denied to do so, no matter that it was a 'foolish sentiment.' Nothing for Lloyd was foolish.

But hiding. That was a habit hard to break.

Even when Lloyd helps her out of her clothes, she can't help but cover up her chest, huddling in on herself. No, here is where the worst of the disease is, engulfing her left breast and shoulder, where spots of it speckle down her stomach. Suddenly, she can't do this. She wants to cover up the markings, the discolorations, the sheer ugliness of it. "Please don't look…"

Lloyd says nothing, but she feels his eyes take in the patterns that take her flesh. Ugly like warped glass, just as sharp and uncomfortable. And yet, she also feels him unearth her hands from her skin. His touch is so warm, and she melts before him. His fingertips brush against its hardness, sometimes caught against the miniscule cracks.

"I'm not…" she starts to say before a sob takes her voice. Lips press against her chin, and his hands continue to slide up her torso, to caress her side, to move past her navel to feel the duality that her skin offered.

"You're still you," he whispers, then kisses her fully on her mouth. She gasps and clings back to him.

At first, her skin still feels inflamed, and sometimes it is hard to breathe, but Lloyd's hands work better than Raine's spells. Her shivers become symptoms of both pleasure and thrill instead of fear. His mouth travels over her, and he always brings her near his own bare chest, never shying away from her body. No pause, no second left to be spared. The moon outside is so bright, lighting up the room so that nothing can be left as the imagining of a shadow. And still he keeps her close.

Still, he keeps her close.

She craved the times when Lloyd would catch her in a lie.

"Hey," he said after school, turning in his seat to face her. "Tell me what's wrong."

Colette had frozen in her seat. The backdrop of the other children leaving the classroom were too soft, too unreal compared to his voice.

"Oh? Nothing's wrong," then finished with a soft laugh.

"No, see, you keep doing that." He placed his chin atop crossed arms, practically laying on her desk. "You always do that weird giggle when you're trying to hide something."

She didn't even know she did that.

"Just… um…" She fiddled with her hands, watching their paleness play against the dark oak of her desk. "I'm fine, just… I don't feel like going to the Chapel today…"

She never expected the grin to form on his face, ecstatic and hopeful and so surreal. "So you wanna skip out on them?"

"O-oh?"

"Yeah, we should sneak out together somewhere." He nodded, already deciding. "There's this fair happening outside of town. Let's go there!"

"Ah, but…" she fidgeted, but she already knew she was fronting. Her lessons taught her that appearances were always so important, always so vital. "I think they're expecting me."

"Just say you're helping me with homework for, uh… charity! Yeah!"

She was already forming plans as to what treats they would buy at the fair. "I have to keep it a secret from them."

Lloyd tilted his head at her, still smiling. "It's not really a secret if I know about it too, remember?"

She may not have told him all her secrets, but it was a start. And every time she told him something, she felt like she dodged another mistake.

"Yeah," she whispered, breathless in her excitement. "I remember."

Zelos' balcony is not like the one at Dirk's home, this one seemingly carved from marble instead of carefully arranged with wooden floorboards. But still, it is a place for her and Lloyd to sit with each other afterwards, watching the stars of another world billow out from the dark. They are wrapped in blankets, keeping the warmth of each other enclosed.

She still can't bring herself to look down at her body. It is an affliction she wants to be rid of as soon as possible. But time is paused now, or it felt like it was, as Lloyd's hands stay on her, traveling over her different landscapes.

It was more purifying than a prayer, more freeing than a sermon. She no longer feels so tainted, and could swear she feels the waves of her sickness receding. A jolt here or there still happens, but it did not send her to despair.

"I still get to stay by your side?" she asks him once again, needing a voice to fill the air.

His embraces will always be tight, and those are the only times that she is okay with losing her breath. "I've never wanted you to leave it in the first place."

His love is redemption itself, and to deny that would be the greatest sin, she reasons.

So she doesn't.

.

.

.

"I keep secrets," she said to him, hiding her face in her book, suddenly shy and embarrassed. "And… I shouldn't keep secrets. That's what they say."

Lloyd poked her cheek teasingly. "What secrets?" he said with a grin. "Come on, you gotta tell me now!"

"They're dumb secrets," she whispered. Lloyd had to lean close to hear her.

"If it's wrong to keep a secret to yourself, then sharing it should be a good thing, right?"

She blinked. Was that how it worked?

Lloyd nodded, already knowing what she thought. "Yeah, just tell me! …And I promise I won't tell anyone else. Cross my heart and hope to die!"

She shook her head. She didn't like that promise. "Not that. How about, uh, cross your heart and… hope to eat tomatoes!"

Lloyd made a face, one that sent her giggling. "Ahh, fine! Just tell me!"

"Okay," she said, then took a moment to herself, closing her eyes, speaking words within her chest. "Okay… okay."

So she told him.

[mattgoaklandart]

Interactive Art Conceptual Response #1

1. I’m particularly fascinated with the head and facial area, but more specifically eyes. Eyes have long been held as one of if not the most significant sensory organ on the human body from a symbolic standpoint. Spiritually they were considered to act as a window to the soul and were representative of one’s morality and intelligence. The eye of God, for example, is an all-seeing omnipotent force that no one can escape. From a more scientific standpoint humans do indeed express emotions with their eyes and surrounding features, and pet owners can even tell how their furry friends feel thanks to this nonverbal communication. These are often very subtle motions, and it is a skill we have been developing over a long time (and still are!).

Hair is also a physical attribute I find interesting, and unlike eyes it is considerably unique to human beings. Well not so much body and pubic hair, but rather the hair you’ll find on one’s head. Hair is extremely versatile in how it shapes one’s face and has become an expansive art form throughout history. This is in part thanks to the numerous differences in traits, be it color, length, weight or texture, that you’ll find across our genetics. Albert Plehov, a Russian artist and photographer, teamed up with hairdresser Marina Roy for a series titled “The Art of Hair” in 2016. The project is still ongoing and strips the figures of all qualities and atmosphere apart from their follicles, including clothing (although underwear is provided as needed). The photos range from quaint to striking, at times used to obscure the figure while exaggerating it in others. I’m especially enamored with shots where the hair has been stretched and pulled from the scalp to ridiculous lengths, appearing ethereal like clouds scraping the tips of mountains.

2. In a world of limitless potential I’d likely be working on masks and helmets, and while they wouldn’t serve the higher utilitarian purposes of robotic limbs or performance-enhancing robot powered exoskeletons I would aim to give them helpful functionality. Many of our senses, or at least the 5 roots senses we’re taught in school, are based in our heads and could be directly influenced by digitally enhanced headwear. Eyes could be given night-vision visors that allow for visibility in the darkness or have adjustable optics as a digital replacement for glasses. Ears could be outfitted with sound enhancing apparatus to help the audibly impaired, or equipped with an adjustable barrier to block sound in areas where loud noise is a consistent threat. Voice-modifiers could be installed near the mouth to hide one’s identity or to make the user sound more/less imposing. Not all these changes would be super useful, but they’d at least be fun or experimental.

Enhancing the eyes sounds most fun to me, not only for functional reasons but cosmetic as well. Some enhancements are more direct, like colored contacts to change the iris, but indirect means such as glasses and visors come with fun possibilities. In my previous post I discussed the iconic nature of the Daft Punk helmets and how they came to be as beloved as their accompanying music. The sleek exterior of polished metal is enhanced by an assortment of dazzling lights that blink and flash during performances. The visors obscure the eyes but still allow the wearer to see, which is achieved with darkened plastic that creates a kind of one-way mirror. This gives the user a mystifying shroud not unlike the stoic nature of real robots, yet the lights can substitute as a means of expression if employed properly.

3. Plastics and polyesters are synonymous with the style I’m attracted to for a few reasons, but largely because they evoke a futuristic vibe with their sleek and reflective properties. Holographic fiber is particularly pleasing with its metallic appearance, yet it has the malleability of fabrics that allow it to bend and fold in unique ways.

I’ve notice over time my angle for démodé futuristic concepts: the flying hover cars of the 1950’s, bulky space suits with gratuitous rings and antennae, exaggerated robots with simple geometric features and bright flashing lights. It’s entertaining to go back and analyze how the people of yesterday envisioned today, and startling at times to learn what they nearly predicted. It can invoke an odd sense of surrealism, like cracking the spine of a book printed 50 years ago or hooking up your old game system only to seamlessly pick up an adventure you started that summer before 7th grade. The past and present are complementary sensations when properly balanced, like salty and sweet flavors rolled into one. I yearn to strike this balance and exhibit how cool futuristic design can be, or at least showcase it’s worth in modern design.

I’ve never been particularly savvy with fashion, so I figured I’d need to do a little research before I could possibly confess my affection for any particular style. After careful consideration it seems that cyberpunk fashion impresses me the most, even if doom and gloom isn’t an emotion I typically wear outward. The abundance of sleek, black leather and concealing accessories like gloves, scarves, and hoods are fun components (albeit gauche in excess, to the point one might consider the look “edgy”), and appearances range vastly from bulky androgynous cloaks to tight revealing jumpsuits that crank sex appeal up to a 10. I’m drawn towards the middle of these two extremes, revealing the form of the body but in a subtle manner that shows minimal skin. Cyberpunk is especially cool to me because it often mirrors the hypothetical not-to-distant future of the post-singularity, and sometimes the dark realities of the present. Blade Runner and Akira are fantastic interpretations of the present from the past, looking at trends and habits of the past to cut a path 30 years forward.

4. The EL Wire, NeoPixel Strips, and LED Matrix grids are super awesome uses of light, and I’m excited to implement them into my work in some fashion. Although the matrix grids seem a bit complicated, I watched a video explaining their implementation when I was researching the Daft Punk Helmets. With some patience and assistance from the internet I should be able to work my way into them one step at a time. The video on costume lighting tips also mentioned the use of voice activated sensors with light technology, which I think could add an extra layer of panache to my futuristic visor/mask should it come to fruition. I’m wondering how difficult it can get to hide or even install boards and wires while making these projects, it seems like a lot to fit into spaces that at times don’t fit much more than the designated body part. Perhaps this is when extensions and/or modifications are needed on pre-existing parts? Seems like a lot, but I’m excited to get into it.

[artificialqueens]

The Dark Side of Beauty {Witney} Fic Challenge -C*NT

A/N: Hi! i’m trying to show more versatility so I decided to write something for the fic challenge! The words I chose were: Tragic, Glass, Silver and I quadruple checked to make sure I used each and every one of them! This is an angsty Witney one shot, I’m really sorry about it but this goes over some pretty heavy topics. I wanted to show that what you see isn’t always the truth when it comes to Courtney Act. Also thank you so much for all of the feedback on AHAHAM and The Lost Princess, hopefully I will be updating those soon ♥️

Huge TW: Mentions and graphic descriptions of self harm, eating disorders, depression, and obbsessive behavior. Please read at your own risk, it can be very very triggering if you are suffering from an eating disorder or are currently self harming.

Courtney had always been a fairly confident person all throughout her life. Growing up in Oz had given her an overly positive attitude, where the people said what they meant and meant what they say. They didn’t lay sugar coated back handed compliments on you one by one until you shattered. Even if they did, they would never direct any hate or criticism towards Courtney. The thin blonde had always been placed on an untouchable pretty pedestal. In Oz she felt invincible, yes she had made mistakes many times over throughout her Australian Idol experience and in the drag community down under, but her mistakes had never been looked at with a magnifying glass.

So you can only imagine how much of a culture shock it was when she came to America, where her fame really took off.

It had all begun with Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

In one way or another, she was always slept on throughout the competition despite winning two challenges.

Courtney had come up with a variety of expensive and unique looks for each of her runway outfits, but was famously accused of ‘resting on pretty’ While her sisters got away with infamously not cinching their waists and wearing the same silhouette 15 times, she was ridiculed and told by bitter drag race fans that she had skated through to the top 3 in a bra and underwear.

She remembered one moment on the show in particular where she had been excited to wear her runway outfit with the large purple blanket. It was almost like a two in one look. She had blindfolded herself with a sleeping mask as she walked slowly down the catwalk. A pillow was placed behind her head, and her body was surrounded by the royal purple comforter. When she hit the center of the runway, she ripped off the blanket to reveal a matching purple bra and underwear set. She had spent the majority of her time in the work room styling her wig so that it reached to the high heavens.

Her look was a concept, showing her ability to the judges that she could think outside of the box.

Alas, that’s when the infamous “resting on pretty” comment came out of Ru’s lips, and instead of taking it to heart she incorporated it into her merch.

Of course she hated the saying with every fiber of her being - what was so wrong with being pretty? But she decided she’d rather make money off of it then freak out about it. She had decided she would just work twice as hard as most Ru girls to prove to people she was more than a pretty face, or a gender bent drag queen from Oz.

She focused her attention back on the video of Bianca that a fan had sent her. They had captioned it “BDR jokes about Diet’s.”

There was a point in time when a few months after drag race had ended, Bianca had put on around 10 pounds of weight. Courtney, trying to be a supportive friend, had suggested she try out the vegan diet. She had been vegan for a long time now, and had successful results ever since. She hardly ever gained weight, and always kept a lean figure which was perfect for being a female impersonator.

“That girl is a vegan! Did you know that? I don’t know about you, but I don’t hate myself that much, I’ll just stick to being a vegetarian!” Bianca roared to the crowd.

There was scattered laughter in the video before it died down. She frowned, unsure of her emotions about the subject.

She listened to Bianca go on and on about how Courtney’s version of dessert was a square of dark chocolate after a show, how she’d rarely have mixed drinks, and how everything she ate just had to be vegan, gluten free and organic.

Courtney had no idea that she seened so intense with her diet, so to show versatility she decided she would eat more carbs. She would continue to watch her weight carefully of course, but made a mental note to be sure to eat more sweets in front of people

Courtney clicked away from the video and sighed. She knew Bianca was just trying to poke a little fun, but she really didn’t even know the reality of what she was saying.

Her downward spiral and obsession with food started with that video. Of course, Bianca wouldn’t think twice about her jokes because Courtney was supposed to take it lightly and roll her eyes like she always did. She was an insult comic, Bianca would say, and that it really didn’t mean anything. Courtney would nod and reassure that she understood because that’s how she was raised. She was always a good sport.

It was all great, until one day when it wasn’t.

——–

4 months later

Courtney was pulling her long sheer purple dress over head before one of her shows, when she noticed that there was a clean tear in it, right under her breast plate.

“Gained some weight huh?” Willam eyed the tanned blonde as she tugged at the unforgiving fabric. “You’re still not fat at least.”

But she was. Courtney had never stretched, ripped, or tore a garment before in her life. The fact that one of her very favorite expensive dresses was now ripped was devastating to her.

She didn’t think she had gained too much weight. She had allowed herself 10 pounds, which was what she had put on after lightening up on her diet. But now she was seeing things she couldn’t unsee.

As she stared at herself in the mirror, she noticed her thighs touched now. Before she had a flawless thigh gap, the envy of many other queens and women all around the world. Her stomach was slightly sticking out, likely bloated from the sugary cocktail she had consumed at the bar with Willam.

Lastly, her arms had more meat on them slightly wider than they used to be. The sleeves of her dress fit snugly. She probably couldn’t even move the microphone in front of her chest without destroying the garment further.

“Willam, I can’t get this to look good - what am I going to do?” Courtney panicked, shuffling through her suitcase.

Willam shrugged, noting how frantic Courtney had become but taking it with a grain of salt. Court was the kind of person to cry over her favorite chips being discontinued, it really wasn’t anything new.

“I don’t know, pull an Adore and wear a tank top and shorts?” Willam suggested.

“Please, at least TRY to be helpful.” Courtney groaned exasperated. She eventually found her long geometric cut out dress that hugged her snugly, but still fit despite the weight gain. She said a silent prayer in her head and thanked the universe for stretchy fabric.

“I guess this will just have to do.” Courtney sighed, taking the purple dress off delicately, trying not to rip it further. Maybe Bianca could fix it for her.

“You look hot no matter what, big or small.” Willam sighed, eyeing his girlfriend jealously. Courtney looked seriously sexy with curves, almost like a real woman when she was dressed in drag. Willam was fixated on her ass as Courtney smoothed the fabric over her stomach self consciously.

You look hot no matter what, big or small.

The words kept ringing in her head. All night, throughout her performance that’s all her mind could fixate on.

She had grown large.

She had gained weight.

She had done the unthinkable.

No, gaining 10 pounds wasn’t a big deal for a lot of people, especially someone who had started out at a healthy weight. But Courtney was obsessed with control, what had she allowed herself to do? Her body had transformed into something she wasn’t used to, and now she had to get it back to what it was before.

She decided she wouldn’t eat or drink for the rest of the night.

————

After she left the club that night, she ran into Bob in the streets of New York. Smiling, she ran up and embraced him in a large hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” Courtney gushed, feeling relieved to be out of the limelight and away from fans. Willam had gone home early to rest up for a show, which was why she had left the venue rather quickly instead of getting drunk with fans like they usually did together.

“You too, gorgeous-”

“Hey, I know you!” A heavy set man ran up to them, huffing and puffing as if he had been chasing after them for blocks.

“You do?” Courtney asked bewildered, smiling politely but not sure where the man was going with this.

“Yeah, you’re that impersonator-from Las Vegas!” The fan slurred

“I am?” Courtney grinned, eyeing Bob holding his iphone out in front of them. “Who do I impersonate?”

Humor me, she thought.

“You-uh, oh god I can’t put my finger on it right now, uh. Oh! Britney Spears!”

Bob was cackling, much like Bianca at the remark. Courtney wasn’t laughing though.

Not even a random fan knew who she was anymore.

“Yes!” Courtney chimed, not missing a beat. Not letting her true emotions of not being recognized show.

“You’re beautiful!” A random woman called as she walked by.

Was she really though?

She nodded to the woman smiling, muttering thank you as she looked back at the drunk fan. She crossed her arms in front of her stomach, trying to hide her bloated belly and disguise her expanded waist line.

“And I don’t care about you because you stay here in New York City, and I can see you for free!” The fan exclaimed to Bob, continuing to stumble over his words.

“Yep. Who cares about me right?” Bob deadpanned, shrugging.

“I should get going Bob.” Courtney muttered. “It was good to see you.”

Bob smiled and embraced her in a side hug before she walked away.

“Good to see ya, Derrick.” Bob called playfully.

After tonight, Courtney vowed to go back to her vigorous strict vegan diet. She would not be mistaken for Derrick, or anyone other then herself ever again.

——————

It wasn’t just one comment that got Courtney to lose 30 pounds after that night, and continue to engage in obsessive behavior. It had been multiple. Over time, everything had piled up inside and the only way Courtney had known how to handle it was to control her eating habits.

So she stopped eating. She would allow herself one meal a day, a handful of almonds and a couple of glasses of water. The weight practically shredded off of her, her collar bones prominent and her jawline sharper than ever before.

To make sure no one got suspicious, she would wear pads almost 24/7. This was her way of controlling her environment. No one had read her in months, and some of her sisters had even said she looked different, glowing even.

“Court, are you okay? You seem so distant.” Willam asked concerned, showing some emotion other than arrogance for once.

“I’m fine.” Courtney nodded, not meeting Willam’s eyes. She was dressed in her long australian flag gown, paired with cherry red lips and sleek blonde curls.

Willam didn’t know that Courtney had restricted herself to only eating once a day. When someone was considered beautiful like Courtney, they didn’t pay attention to what she ate all day. They either accepted that she starved herself to get her body the way that it was, or didn’t care enough to be concerned.

They hadn’t had sex since the weight loss. Courtney knew that if Willam saw her body underneath all of her clothes that he would be mortified. Her ribs were prominent, hip bones jutted out significantly. She had even lost her six pack, due to the lack of muscle that she had left from her not eating.

“Okay. So I’ll see you after your show right?” Willam asked hopefully.

“Yeah, definitley.” Courtney answered unenthusiastically as she sprayed her blonde wig one last time with a layer of hairspray.

Willam was exhausting, always asking questions and had become incredibly needy lately. Courtney had learned to shut him out and just give him blow jobs to keep him satisfied. She knew it wouldn’t stay like this forever. He was beginning to get more and more suspicious of her behavior.

“Okay. I’ll see you later.” Willam said defeated, leaving the room swiftly.

God, she didn’t deserve him she thought as she watched him leave the room.

She wanted to have sex with him so badly. She wanted to tell him so badly how much she had been struggling lately. She just wanted him to ask.

If anyone could just ask how she was doing, she would tell them. She would burst at the seams and tell them everything.

But no one ever asked a pretty girl questions like that.

She sighed as she fluffed her hair one last time, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She moved closely to it to double check for any imperfections.

Something felt different about tonight, and Courtney didn’t know what.

———–

Courtney appeared on the stage, smiling as the bright lights fixated on her in front of her microphone. She felt nervous, anxious even, which was unusual for a seasoned performer like herself.

“Hey guys!” Courtney exclaimed. The crowd roared, clapping enthusiastically for her as she curtseyed in front of them.

Play up the positivity.

Force the smile.

She smiled cheekily and looked down towards the crowd, spotting a couple near the front whispering. She felt her heart stop as she wondered if her outfit had ripped or something. She smoothed down her dress self consciously and pushed a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear hoping that she had fixed whatever she had messed up this time.

She decided to take a sip of her white wine before she began her first song. Tonight, she was going to start with her cover of Stayin’ Alive, as a mantra to herself. She had needed to hear that song more and more lately. Maybe the more she sang it, the more she’d actually want to stay alive.

Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk I’m a woman’s man: no time to talk Music loud and women warm, I’ve been kicked around Since I was born And now it’s all right, it’s okay And you may look the other way We can try to understand The New York Times’ effect on man

The song blasted through her vocal chords and out of the speakers, tears streaming down her face as she let the reality of the lyrics sink in.

Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother You’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive Feel the city breakin’ and everybody shakin’ And we’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive

She breathed deeply, partially letting herself rest and partially trying to pull herself together.

She had to finish the song. She had to show that she wasn’t just pretty. She had raw talent too.

Well now, I get low and I get high And if I can’t get either, I really try Got the wings of heaven on my shoes I’m a dancin’ man and I just can’t lose You know it’s all right, it’s okay I’ll live to see another day We can try to understand The New York Times’ effect on man

She was feeling herself getting more choked up. This was her song, even if it was written and performed many years ago, she was relating to this song so much.

She tries so hard, harder than anyone else in the business to stay relevant.

No one understood the pressure she put on herself to be more then what people said about her.

Shakily, she finished the song; proud that she was able to still do it justice even in the middle of an epiphany. The crowd applauded and cheered, but then she started listening to what the crowd had thought were sweet comments.

“You’re so beautiful!”

“I wanna rest on pretty!”

Courtney’s head was spinning, the smoke from the machines fogging up her vision and giving her a headache.

Why didn’t her fans understand her? Why didn’t they see how hard she worked every single day to become more than just a beautiful drag queen?

Courtney had worked so hard over the last couple of years, from involving herself in an American Apparel Ad campaign, to being in a music video with Little Mix and in countless performances in between. She had shared the stage with big names and not so big names, and had been courteous and professional at all of her shows.

Her head was throbbing, a scream wanting to come out of her as she began to breathe heavily in a panic.

She was too strict on her diet, so she eased up. Then she was too fat, so she became strict again.

Now her she was, back at square one: she was just pretty. Or beautiful. It didn’t matter to anyone if she ate 1 potato chip or 2 bags worth. It didn’t matter to anyone if she wore an expensive gown or a potato sack. It didn’t matter if she performed with Miley Cyrus or her boyfriend Willam.

It didn’t matter.

Her talent didn’t matter.

She didn’t matter.

All that mattered to her fans was her vanity, her image.

She didn’t want to be known for her image anymore. She wanted to be known for her talent and hard work, just like her season 6 sisters were.

Just like Willam.

And Alaska.

Even Miss Fame.

“Damnit, I am more than just a pretty face! I have talent! I have charisma. Why don’t you all see it?” Courtney shrieked, throwing her glass towards the crowd. After an audible gasp, she turned her back away from them and fled the stage.

Courtney ran down the steps backstage and to her dressing room, locking herself in it. She heard a heavy knock on the door shortly after but ignored it. Whoever it was knocked a few more times before they gave up, leaving her to her own devices.

No one cares, everyone just gives up.

It was just her and her dressing room mirror now.

“What is wrong with you Courtney?” Court asked herself, staring into the mirror. Her blue green eyes looked manic, bloodshot even. Her mascara was smeared in neat black lines down her cheeks, she even cried neatly. She licked her palm and flattened it across her face, dragging it down her neck, removing her foundation and contour in one smooth motion.

“I’m not pretty anymore!” Courtney exclaimed, proceeding to do the same on the other side of her face. Her lipstick had been smeared down her chin to her sharp jaw line.

“What will people think? What will people say to this?” Courtney laughed maniacally, snapping a photo and immediately uploading it to instagram.

courtneyact: not pretty!

The notifications began almost instantly but she didn’t care. She stared at herself in the mirror, the edges of Shane’s face and Courtney’s blurred by the ruined makeup.

She kept her wig on and decided to look down at her phone.

adoredelano: you’re right, you’re beautiful courm! no matter what!

“No!” Courtney yelled, slamming her fist into the silver mirror. A loud shatter broke the otherwise silent room, and shortly after Courtney felt her right hand stinging.

You’re nothing more than a pretty face.

“Lies!” Courtney sobbed, grabbing a piece of broken mirror off of the floor. “I am more then my beauty.”

She stared down at the sharp edge of the piece of broken mirror in her hand, placing it against her chest.

“This isn’t beauty.” Courtney murmured, watching herself drag the sharp edge across her pectoral muscle. A ribbon of blood followed the blade and gushed quickly out of her. She repeated it again and again, in different spots. Some on her leg, others on her arm, some even on her stomach.

She felt dizzy, and finally succumbed to her hand injury and cuts collapsing onto the floor of her dressing room.

————–

After Willam had called Courtney 5 times, she rushed over to the club where she had performed at. Running inside, she sprinted towards the backstage to the last door on the right. A large gold star hung on the door with Courtney’s name on it.

Willam knocked on the door loudly.

No response.

“We’ve been trying to get her to come out for 30 minutes now. Here’s a key. She’d probably want to see you more than us anyway.” A backstage attendant said, handing her the small gold key.

That was odd, Willam thought. Usually Courtney was out in 15 minutes tops. Even then, she usually left the dressing room door open for anyone who had any questions.

Willam sighed, pushing the key into the hole and twisting it.

When she opened it, she was not expecting what she saw.

“Courtney? Courtney!” Willam exclaimed, rushing to the broken girls side. She shook her wildly, not even caring that she was getting blood all over her brand new Versace dress.

No response. Courtney looked pale and unlike herself, her makeup was all but a couple of messy streaks all over her face. A single piece of broken mirror was stuck in her right hand, that had smaller shards stuck inside of it.

“Courtney please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything, please I can’t lose you!” Willam sobbed, holding her close to her.

One of the managers of the club came rushing in, distraught written all over her face as she observed the sad scene before her.

“U-um, would you like me to call an ambulance?” She stuttered.

“I needed you to call one 10 minutes ago! Call now!” Willam barked, still watching Courtney. concerned. He checked her pulse and realized she was still breathing, even if it was faintly.

“Thank god she’s still breathing. I would’ve sued you motherfuckers. I’ll pay for all of the damage so don’t worry about that. Just get the fuck out of here and get her some fucking medical attention!” Willam exclaimed frantically. She felt like she was going to be sick. She couldn’t lose her Courtney, not right now. Not so soon after Warner.

The manager rushed out and Willam hummed to herself as she rocked Courtney in her arms.

Being pretty wasn’t always pretty. Sometimes, being pretty was an awful, tragic mess.