#the line isn’t a general ‘oh I’m a woman who will lower myself for revenge’

[alicentwhore]

Okay I don’t wanna sound like a dick cause it’s really not a big deal. But I guess because Medea as a play and character is like really important to me, there is kind of an amusing irony to the way I’ve seen so many edits and webweaves and stuff of Alicent with that “wretchedest of women” line from Medea (A line specifically about Medea choosing to kill her sons to avenge herself on Jason). Then those people being completely aghast and disgusted and pissed by the concept of Alicent sacrificing her sons. It means nothing It’s just kinda funny to me

[bluescluelessly]

Tossing the Script out the Airlock (and Good Riddance to it)

[Rating: Teen] || hurt/comfort, suspected infidelity, polyamorous relationships, made up Stewjoni biology because George Lucas didn’t say Obi-Wan wasn’t a little weird and if he’s gonna give his birth planet a stupid name then I’m gonna give him stupid biology tweaks, and use of Dai Bendu, the language of the Jedi (translations at the bottom of the post)

tw: mentions of grooming (because Palpatine)

Ships: Bail Organa/Obi-Wan, Bail/Breya, Anakin/Padmé

Palpatine tries to convince Anakin that Padmé is cheating on him with Obi-Wan. Anakin confronts his friend about it, finds out a bit more than he bargained for, and not at all what he was expecting to. 

°|●.*•

From the Revenge of the Sith Novelization:

“That’s why I put you on the Council. If the rumors are true, you may be democracy's last hope.”

Anakin let his chin sink once more to his chest and his eyelids scraped shut. It seemed like he was always somebody’s last hope.

Why did everyone always have to make their problems into his problems? Why can’t people just let him be?

How is he supposed to deal with all this one Padmé could die?

He said slowly, eyes still closed, “you still haven’t told me what this has to do with Obi-Wan.”

“Ah, that – well, that is the difficult part. The disturbing part. It seems that Master Kenobi has been in contact with a certain Senator who is known to be among the leaders of this cabal. Apparently, very close contact. The rumor is that he was seen leaving the Senator’s residence this very morning, at an… unseemly hour.”

“Who?” Anakin opened his eyes and sat forward. “Who is this Senator? Let’s go question him.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin. But the Senator in question is, in fact, a *her*. A woman you know quite well, in fact.”

“You–” He wasn’t hearing this. He couldn’t be. “You mean–”

Anakin choked on her name.

Palpatine gave him a look of melancholy sympathy. “I’m afraid so.”

Anakin coughed his voice back to life. “That’s *impossible!* I would *know*– she doesn’t… she couldn’t–”

“Sometimes the closest,” Palpatine said sadly, “are those who cannot see.”

Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover, p. 250

°|●.*•

This is it. Anakin is going to just… ask him. He’s not sure what he’ll do if he finds out Obi-Wan has been sleeping with his wife, but…

Well, he’ll figure that out if it’s true.

He went to Padmé’s apartment, felt for himself the evidence that Obi-Wan had been there.

Now, he needs the truth. He needs to be wrong.

“So… I heard you spent a late night with a senator,” he asks, trying not to sound overly accusing. Obi-Wan always gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Several emotions flicker across Obi-Wan’s face then. He eventually fixes his gaze on Anakin, a modicum of panic in his eyes. Anakin’s heart sinks.

The next words out of his old Master’s mouth, however, catch him by surprise.

“You… know about Bail?”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. No, he didn’t–

– but he can’t help thinking he knew it, it was a male senator –

– “Bail?” He blurts out, confusion showing. “No, Palpatine said–”

“– Palpatine saw me with Bail?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice rising an octave.

“No–” Anakin insists, hands going up in a placating gesture. “Not– I didn’t know about Bail. I uh. Palpatine told me he heard you were seen leaving Padmé Amidala’s Apartment.” He explains, and some of the worry drains from Obi-Wan.

“Oh,” he says, sounding infinitely relieved. “No, I, er. Well, I definitely haven’t been making ‘late visits’ to Senator Amidala.” He gives Anakin a curious sort of look. “I hear she’s spoken for, not that I would pursue her, in any case. It would be… awkward.”

“Awkward?” Anakin asks, feeling as if he’s missing something.

Obi-Wan gives a tired sort of smile. “Besides the fact that my preference is not for the fairer sex; she once made an advance, and I turned her down.” Seeing Anakin’s flaring temper, he is quick to clarify, “long before your knighting, Anakin. But, as I said, awkward.”

Anakin nods, appeased. Then, he remembers there’s a more important topic to focus on here. “So… Bail?”

The reaction is immediate; Obi-Wan’s face blushing a dark red as he looks away. “Yes, I– if you could keep that to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”

To hell with it, Anakin thinks. “Sure Master, I’ll keep your senator a secret if you keep mine.”

“The fact that you think your relationship with Senator Amidala is a secret is adorable,” Obi-Wan responds, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Half the council is still asking me why they weren’t invited to the wedding; I can’t give them an answer, as I wasn’t invited either.”

Anakin looks shocked by that information, which is truly endearing. “Wait, they aren’t mad?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You proved to me that you could put responsibility over your wife on Geonosis. Relationships aren’t forbidden so long as there’s not an unhealthy attachment involved. Anyways, we’ve always bent the rules a bit for you.”

Anakin feels as if a weight has been removed from his shoulders. A weight that Palpatine put there, he thinks.

The old man has been wrong about the Jedi on two accounts now… why does Anakin hold what he says about the Jedi in such regard?

Perhaps he should fact-check more of the Chancellor’s absurd claims.

“Ah.” Anakin responds intelligently. “… so why does your, um, thing with Bail need to stay a secret?”

Obi-Wan’s red cheeks return once more. “Well. A… few reasons. Not that I think I’d be in trouble for it, but… I’d like to respect Bail’s privacy. He is, after all, Married.”

“Does Breha not know?”

“She knows,” Obi-Wan assures his former Padawan. “I wouldn’t agree otherwise. But that doesn’t mean they want the whole senate knowing about their … arrangement with me; or others.”

Again, Anakin nods to show his understanding. “The less people who know, the better. Right…”

“Exactly.”

“Still,” Anakin starts, bemused, “I didn’t take you for the 'mistress’ type.”

A complicated flurry of emotions cross his friend’s face. “… neither do I,” he responds, a little clipped. “I think of myself more as Bail’s type.”

Anakin realizes how insensitive that came off a bit too late. “I’m sorry–”

Obi-Wan waves him off. “It’s difficult to understand when I haven’t explained. Bail is Bi; he generally prefers men, but his heart belongs fully to Breha. I prefer men as well, and I have… a condition… so we came to a mutually beneficial arrangement, in which Bail and I enjoy one another while on Coruscant, as he and Breha cannot be together as often as they’d like to be.”

Anakin gets all that, he does. But one thing sticks out to him that he feels needs to be clarified. “You have a condition?” Is Obi-Wan sick?

If its possible, Obi-Wan grows more embarrassed. “Well, I’m from Stewjon.”

That clears nothing up.

At Anakin’s clueless expression, Obi-Wan sighs and explains. “Right, quick biology lesson. Somewhere down the evolutionary line, it was decided that Stewjonians need more incentive to reproduce. So, while it isn’t necessary in order to live out a full, average life span, our bodies naturally produce more beneficial hormones during sexual intercouse. This means, the more I…” he pauses, looking displeased by the verbal corner he’s painted himself into. “… get laid, the slower I age, the faster I heal, and the less sleep I need. All beneficial to fighting a war, yes?”

That’s all news to Anakin. Fascinating. “So do you have… other arrangements too?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “As of now, just Bail. I could, of course, visit the lower levels to the same effect, but I find it safer and more preferable to have intercourse with someone I like and trust.” Less likely to catch something that way, too.

Anakin nods, strange mixtures of relief and utter confusion swirling in his mind. At least he knows Obi-Wan has no interest in Padmé… but that doesn’t explain the way he felt his presence in the force, in her apartment.

“Okay. Uh.” He hesitates, knowing there’s no real, good way to word this. “Just… to be 100% clear, you’re not having secret meetings with Padmé in an attempt to overthrow Palpatine and the Senate?”

The look Obi-Wan gives Anakin would make someone think he had just grown a second head.

“… no, wherever did you hear such nonsense?”

Anakin rubs the back of his neck, feeling the last bit of worry ebb away. “Just rumors.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Truly, the Senate gossip gets wildly out of hand. I’ll admit, I do on occasion have tea with Padmé, but there’s nothing treasonous about friends visiting one another and trading stories and doing each other’s makeup from time to time.” He pauses. “And while neither of us have very high opinions on Chancellor Palpatine’s term, there’s no plot against him, as far as I am aware. We are both just eager for this war to end, and for him to release his emergency powers so the Republic can return to democracy.”

“You think his rule is undemocratic?” Anakin asks, looking appalled by the idea.

“He’s been in power long past his elected term,” Obi-Wan points out. “A new Chancellor should have been elected already. Over this time, he has used the war to gain far more emergency powers than any one person should hold.”

Sensing Anakin’s impending argument, he continues. “… Of course, this makes it far simpler to fight a war; I simply worry that when the war has ended… he won’t give up his power so easily. He has resisted peace talks, and every other attempt to bring this war to an end sooner. So I… have concerns.” He gives Anakin a tired sort of smile. “But last I checked, he hasn’t yet made it treasonous for Padmé and I to exercise our right to free speech.”

“Of course not,” Anakin responds, sounding distracted. He’s always thought having one person to make decisions was a good thing… or, does he just think that because Palpatine has told him it’s a better idea so many times?

He has many things to question. But, more importantly right now, Obi-Wan mentioned make-up?

Anakin shakes himself from his thoughts, giving his friend a curious look. “Uh. Rewind a second. Did you say Padmé did your make-up?”

“And I did hers,” Obi-Wan answers easily. “We both had dates.”

That would explain why they were, in some cases, sitting closer than friends would; as far as he could tell in the force.

“Bail takes you on dates?” Anakin asks, curious but trying his best not to be pushy about it. This is something new, which he never anticipated learning about his Master… he wants to know more, but as a Jedi with his own secret significant Senator, he understands the secrecy.

“Not all of them are Bail,” Obi-Wan answers after a moment, as if weighing how much he should admit to. “But yes, he does. He’s quite a gentleman really; I do look for other potential partners, but I fear he’s spoiled me for most.”

Anakin can imagine; having a Senator as a partner is pretty nice. “The tea is that good?”

“And the company,” Obi-Wan agree, a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “I’ll admit… I’m glad you know now. I don’t like keeping secrets from you.”

That warms Anakin’s heart, so much that he doesn’t quite know how to express it, so he deflects. “If you have pictures of yourself in that makeup, you better not keep them secret anymore,” he teases with a grin.

the teasing pulls a laugh from Obi-Wan, who shakes his head. “I don’t; but I’m certain Padmé has plenty. I think she even took a few of us the one time Bail stopped by her apartment to pick me up.”

Oh, he is definitely getting those from his wife later. “So Padmé knows about you two?”

“She introduced us,” Obi-Wan admits fondly. “I don’t share details with her, but she’s a smart woman.”

That she is. “Why am I the last to find out?” He protests, trying his best not to let it come out sounding whiny. 

“Because, my dear padawan,” Obi-Wan starts, gently ribbing him. “You are a dear friend, and an unparalleled partner in combat, but you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

“I can keep a secret!” he argues! “I swear, Master, no one else will ever know. I only talk to you and Padmé, anyways.” He pauses, “Well, and Palpatine.”

“And he mustn’t know,” Obi-Wan insists, more serious now. “Bail is one of the leading senators advocating for clone rights and peace talks, Anakin. He is a good man. And, he disagrees with Palpatine quite often. I shudder to think what the Chancellor would do with this information, should he find out. I wouldn’t put it past him to use it in an attempt to not only discredit Bail, but to berate the Jedi as well.”

“But neither of you are doing anything wrong,” Anakin states, frowning.

Obi-Wan’s eyes close for a moment. “And it’s not wrong for a system to want to remain neutral and out of the war, yes? And yet, Palpatine did everything in his power to try to strongarm Republic forces onto Mandalore, even rushing a vote 3 days ahead of time, without Satine present, based on a doctored holorecording.”

Anakin doesn’t look at it that way… but he’s not going to argue with Obi-Wan where Satine is involved. Though he now questions how romantic their relationship really was, he knows they were, at the very least, close.

“Just please, don’t tell him, Anakin.” Obi-Wan persists, looking up at his friend beseechingly. “If for no other reason than Bail values his privacy.”

“Of course,” Anakin agrees easily. “Like I said, I won’t tell anyone. I just… nobody really talks to me about Palpatine like you are now. I guess most people know he’s my friend and are too afraid to say anything less than flattering… You’re giving me things to think about.”

“I try to be honest with you whenever I can,” Obi-Wan responds cautiously. “You aren’t a child anymore, and though old habits are hard to break, I don’t want to keep sheltering you as if you aren’t a capable adult.”

“I sense you have more to say,” Anakin prompts when Obi-Wan doesn’t immediately continue.

His friend nods, looking troubled. “I know he is a close friend of yours, Anakin, and one of the few people you knew and liked here, after leaving your home. Which is why I–mistakenly, I think–didn’t object to his interest in you. Initially, I had hoped another friend would make your transition from Tatooine to Coruscant easier… but… well. I find the way he treats you… inappropriate. In some cases, predatory.”

And with those words, Anakin suddenly feels on the defensive. No, Palpatine is his friend, like a grandfather to him. He isn’t… predatory, or–

Obi-Wan’s hands are up even before Anakin can think of a rebuttal. “I don’t claim to know all the details… but the fact that when you were younger, you didn’t feel comfortable telling me anything of your activities on your outings with him says quite a lot, Anakin. And more than that, when I started to suspect something was amiss, and attempted to join you on visits with him, or simply ensure you weren’t left alone with him, he used his position as the Chancellor to strongarm me into backing down. It was… is, concerning.”

And, that’s news to Anakin. He understands why Obi-Wan hadn’t told him sooner, too. He was a headstrong kid; any attempt to protect him, especially from someone he saw as a friend, Anakin would have just taken as Obi-Wan ‘controlling’ him. He knows better now; after years of being Obi-Wan’s equal. But then, it may have just pushed him away, and further from where Obi-Wan could attempt to protect him.

Still, he feels the need to explain himself. “It’s not– He didn’t do anything… like that…” He starts, floundering a little. “It’s just, I didn’t want to tell you, because he took me places I shouldn’t really be going, and I had fun, so…” might as well come clean now, it’s not like he can get in trouble for it anymore. “He used to take me on trips to the lower levels, like, clubs. And he taught me how to make a chance cube land on the side I wanted, so we would find corrupt senators, and cheat them out of their credits. And, Palpatine said he gave the money to charities, so we were doing good things, you know?”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes, and Anakin is reminded of when he tested his patience early on as a padawan, and his Master would silently count to keep himself calm.

He hasn’t needed to in a long time, not since well before Anakin was knighted.

And despite what the action reminds him of, Anakin knows his Master’s temper isn’t directed at him.

“… Anakin,” he starts, tone gentle but tight. “Please, just. For a moment, put Ahsoka in your place. If she was telling you what you are telling me now… what would you think?”

And Anakin’s gut does a flip, because deep down, he already knows.

He… he knows that Palpatine uses him, says one thing and does another, feeds him constant doubt about his friends, about the Jedi…

He knows this, and yet, no one before has had the nerve to say anything even slightly negative about Palpatine to his face. No one has ever dared do anything but say how great his close friend, the Chancellor, is.

Because like Anakin, people are afraid of him.

He feels a tremble start in his fingers, finally faced to acknowledge how afraid he is. How much it terrifies him to know that Palpatine holds all his secrets, that should Anakin ever be less than his enthusiastic friend, he could be ruined.

He, the hero with no fear… is afraid; a frightened boy in the face of a decrepit old man.

And only now can he show it, in the presence of the only person he’s ever known to have the courage to speak up about someone so untouchable.

As if sensing Anakin’s oncoming panic, Obi-Wan interrupts his thoughts, voice kind and sad. “Anakin, dear one, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He moves closer, and any restraint Anakin had breaks.

He feels 9 years old again, lost and seeking comfort in Obi-Wan’s arms. “I can’t say no,” he whispers brokenly. “Master– Jaieh, I’m terrified of him.”

Hearing Anakin call him Jaieh, like he hasn’t since he was young, since it was too hard for him to call anyone ‘Master’ without dredging up bad memories, Obi-Wan accepts Anakin into his arms, no hesitation or holding back.

Anakin needs support right now, needs to know that he isn’t alone in this, that if he asks, Obi-Wan would walk right into Hell with him. “Enoah foh bika, Anakin.” he promises him, reassures him. “Enoah foh mikeelal.”

“Paienoah kodaih bika,” Anakin says, but it comes out unsure, like he’s asking. Like he doesn’t know if he’s accepted, if he’s really not alone in this.

Obi-Wan’s heart aches, and he holds Anakin closer, pressing a reassuring kiss to his temple. “Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.”

Anakin shatters then– or it feels like he does. So many doubts, so many fears, and Obi-Wan bats them all aside with a few words. Words said so easily, words Anakin feared shouldn’t apply to him.

He cries, his earlier suspicions and anger forgotten, absolved now, as he is faced with the truth that Obi-Wan cares for him; that his best friend is his truest ally, that Obi-Wan accepts him and will always accept him.

As he allows himself to acknowledge that Palpatine is a liar and a manipulator, and he is (and always has been) coming up with vile falsities in his attempts to drive a wedge between Anakin and Obi-Wan; the one person he can rely on absolutely.

And through it all, through his tears and his shattered sense of self, Obi-Wan holds onto him; not judgement or disgust, nothing but kindness and acceptance as he carefully picks up the pieces and helps Anakin piece himself back together.

How he could ever doubt Obi-Wan’s character… he would say he doesn’t know, but he remembers. He knows all the little things Palpatine said, all the betrayals he implied, the way he twisted Anakin’s thoughts to see himself pitted against Obi-Wan instead of regarded with him, as he should. They are a team, The Team.

He should have recognized long ago that their accomplishments aren’t a competition, they are an accumulation of the good they can both do, together and apart.

Anakin may be late, but late is better than never, and he recognizes it now, at his lowest and most vulnerable moment. A competitor wouldn’t hold him and build him back up, stronger than before. A friend does that, a friend and mentor and good person.

When he can speak, albeit in a watery way, Anakin wipes his eyes, face still hidden in his Master’s shoulder. “What am I going to do?”

The answer doesn’t come immediately, and that in itself is a reassurance. Anakin doesn’t want unthought-out platitudes, he wants honesty, and preferably, a plan.

“I don’t know what we can do right this moment, Anakin.” Obi-Wan admits. “He is still the Chancellor… and that won’t change until we end this war. But I can promise you this, my dear padawan, you will never have to go see him alone. You need only ask, and I will be by your side. And as soon as circumstances change, I will do all there is in my power to make sure he never comes near you again, Anakin.”

He sniffles, more reassured by the realistic response than he could ever be by promises that can’t be fulfilled.

“Then we’ll just have to try harder to end this war, huh?” Anakin goes for an optimistic tone, hugging Obi-Wan more snugly.

Another comforting kiss goes to his temple. Obi-Wan is frugal with his shows of affection, so it means all the more now that he is giving them so openly. “We will, Anakin.” He promises, and his voice is so steady, so sure, the rock that Anakin can always lean against. “Together, I doubt there’s anything you and I can’t do.”

“Together,” Anakin agrees, a knot in his very soul coming loose. 

Obi-Wan is right. They are The Team, and that isn’t just a title. Together, they can do anything they set their minds to.

They can defeat Sith Lords, they can end a war, and maybe, just maybe, they can even save Anakin Skywalker’s soul from the Devil.

°|●.*•

Dai Bendu Translations

“Jaieh” || ● Simplified Meaning: Master

Literal Meaning

roots: ‘je’- mystic, ‘ai’- mastery, non ownership. so ‘one who is a Master in the ways of the Force’, implying more like a teacher than an owner.

“Enoah foh bika, Anakin. Enoah foh mikeelal” || ● Simplified Meaning: I am here, Anakin. I am with you.

Literal Meaning

Enoah fo - I am (in a permanent state, not transitive) 

bika- here

[Anakin]

Enoah foh- I am (in a permanent state) 

mikeelal - comitative ‘you’/with you.

“Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future)

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here. 

so essentially, “We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

“Haj Dai, Anakin. Paienoah kodaih bika.” || ● Simplified Meaning: Yes, Anakin. We are here together, now and forever.

Literal Meaning

Haj Dai - literally ‘Force Wills’, a reassuring ‘yes’.

[Anakin]

Paienoah - We are (in a permanent state, and this has implications for the future) [italics stress is on ‘are’]

kodaih - Exclusionary ‘We’ - all of us jedi (exclusionary, implying the inclusion of Anakin in the Jedi and alluding to the exclusion of Palpatine as not a Jedi)

bika - here. 

so essentially, “Of course, Anakin. We are jedi, and we are together, and Palpatine is not, and this matters for the future.”

Thanks to @jasontoddiefor @ghostwriterofthemachine for the translations to Dai Bendu, their fancrafted Jedi Language!

[one-leaf-grimoire]

"illusion"

Chapter 18

Synopsis: The source of the corruption within the Grey Deer is finally revealed. MC accidentally reveals a secret.

Warnings: None! This is the SFW version! However, you can find the NSFW version of the chapter at this link. It has a few changed lines and an added spicy moment...

LINK TO FULL WORK

"The spell that attacked Alice didn't come from the General. It came from Captain Hervey."

...

...

There's literally no way that any of this is real. I didn't just hear those words come out of Julius's mouth, I can't have.

Captain Hervey..?

...

...

"All those wishing to recruit this examinee, raise your hands!"

Before any of the other captains can raise their hands, the one in the middle has already done so. My eyes widened a bit when I realized who it was: A big, scary man with a scar through one of his icy eyes. Yet, the smile on his face is warm, almost fatherly. It's none other than Captain Hervey, the Captain of the Grey Deer, the current number one Magic Knights squad. Despite all the odds against me, my plans worked, and my magic was enough to impress even him. Several of the other captains raise their hands as well, but I've already made my choice.

"I...I choose the Grey Deer!!!"

My heart swells with pride as I say those words. The other captains clap politely as Hervey lowers his hand, his grin widening. He gives me a thumbs up, and I know I've made the right choice.

Or did I?

"Good work today, Kiddo!"

The way Hervey ruffles my hair reminds me of my father.

No. My father would have never done the things Hervey did.

"You and Alice need to stop getting into trouble. I'm putting you in different rooms this time!!"

"Nooo, please Captain! We promise we won't fool around any more!"

"I've made my decision."

Yes... like a father, he could be harsh sometimes, too. But there was nothing malicious about it.

You killed Alice... you killed her...

"I'm not going to sit here and let a hysterical woman convince me to start tearing it all down because you got drugged at a bar! Take her away and talk some sense into her, please-"

All this time... did he have a hand in this?

Did he kill Alice to scare me out of his squad?

Why...

The air around me is freezing cold. Frost bites at the branches above us. But hot tears start rolling down my cheeks, burning into my skin.

Why would you choose me, Captain... if you were just going to try and push me out?!

"So... Is Hervey the culprit? Is he the one behind all these attacks?"

Elger is the first to speak. He only glances at me, swallowing awkwardly before leveling the question at Julius.

"...It looks like it." Julius's face softens a bit as he looks down at me, his arm pulling me closer into his side in an attempt to comfort me. I still can't speak or move, staring straight ahead as my mind desperately tries to process the meaning of all this. "He definitely isn't alone, either... you said there were two people involved in the first attack, correct?"

Finally, I react, nodding my head. "Why... why would he-"

"I don't know. But it doesn't matter. We have some proof now," Julius reminds me, rubbing my shoulder. He has a pained look on his face. "That being said... we need to figure out who the others are as well, before it's too late."

Elger's eyes widen. "Julius, you're not suggesting that we-"

"We wait? Yes, I am." Julius shakes his head a little. "It's frustrating, I know... and dangerous as well. Hervey has essentially already killed someone on the squad, and he might be making a more drastic move soon. But he's not doing it all himself, and we have no way of knowing if he is actually the epicenter of all this. All the uncertainty around his accomplices needs to be put to rest as soon as possible... then we can report all of them at once and completely purge the squad of them."

...purge...

The longer Julius talks, the angrier his voice gets. His brow furrows, and his grip on me tightens until it is almost painful. I bite my tongue and stay silent, but my heart is pounding uncontrollably.

Julius... he's seen this type of thing before, hasn't he?

"A squad captain harming his own knights... turning other members against you... I don't care what the reason is. It's unforgivable."

For a moment, his rage flares up, despite the low, level tone of his voice. I can see it in his eyes, in his face, in every part of him.

Someone special was taken from him before... he won't let it happen to me.

"Julius..."

He snaps out of it and looks down at me as I gently pry at his grip with pleading eyes. "Oh! Sorry, sorry-" He quickly becomes gentle again, smiling down at me warmly. "I didn't mean to scare you... but you shouldn't be frightened. Both of us are going to be scouring the squad, I'm sure we'll figure it out soon enough." Elger nods, smiling at me for the first time today as his friend keeps speaking. "I won't let anyone hurt you again, okay?"

Slowly, I nod, drawing in a shaky breath. "Yeah... okay. Thank you. Thank you both."

There's not much to say after that. The three of us head back to the base. Elger branches off to go through a different entrance while Julius and I go through the back door by the kitchen. His hand stays in mine all the way until we step across the threshold. The entire world is still fuzzy, the shock of this new evidence slow to drain from my mind. I don't want to believe it, but at the same time, I know I have to move forward.

Julius is right... we'll purge the squad all at once. I'll get my revenge... and finally end this horror.

Someone calls my name as we walk through the dining room, and I turn to see Nigel, Wren, Malota, and Margery sitting there with drinks.

"I never got to congratulate you!" Nigel calls out, already red in the face from his beer. "Senior Magic Knight, huh? I was hoping to surpass you!"

"Oh... well..." I give him a strained smile. "You still have time. I'm not really that good."

"Nonsense!!!" Margery smirks. "You defeated a SHINING GENERAL!!! And all his men!! that's impressive, even I will admit!"

I feel my heart clench in my chest.

"Yeah... you kicked ass alright. How did you do it, though?"

Glassy, dead eyes-

"I never thought you were that strong... so how did you defeat them-"

"I didn't just defeat them."

My words are quiet when I finally speak again, but something in my tone makes Margery shut up immediately. She blinks, her eyesight coming into focus, and she sees the blank expression on my face.

"I... I killed them. I killed all of them at once."

Nigel gulps nervous. Malota watches silently. Wren stares at his drink, apparently in a drunken daze already.

"They tried to hurt me... and I killed them. People with lives... with families-"

"DADDY-"

The look of fear in the General's eyes as I made him hear his daughter scream. I have no doubt that he saw her die in my Fear Landscape.

"But that doesn't matter. They tried to hurt me, so I killed them. And I'll do it again."

My hands are shaking by my sides, the others watching in horror as tears streak down my cheeks.

Wren finally looks up, his eyes glassy. Yet, they rise to meet mine, devoid of all feeling as my passion reaches a fever pitch.

"I don't care who it is. I'll kill anyone who tries to hurt me."

...

Silence.

Margery stares at me, while Nigel glances at the others. Malota blinks slowly, swallowing once to give her only reaction. Wren groans and lets his forehead hit the table as he finally slips off to sleep.

Julius touches my shoulder.

"Come on."

His voice is soft and gentle. I sniff once, then nod before turning to be lead away.

Any of them... any of them could have known-

My eyes are stinging as more tears form, and I finally choke out a dry sob as I ascend the stairs to my room, Julius right behind me. Any of them could have known about what was going to happen to me and Alice... my comrades that I loved and trusted did NOTHING. Why... why would they betray me like this? After all these years...

None of it makes sense. Julius opens my door for me, and I grab his sleeve to pull him inside as well as I walk by. The door clicks shut behind us. Julius stands there, a little awkwardly, as I reach up and undo my robe and cape, kicking them both under the bed. With a tired sigh, I flop forward onto the mattress, feeling it creak below me. I hold my breath for a moment, my face buried in the blankets, and let my mind go blank for just one blissful moment.

God... why does everything have to be so complicated?

Just as I thought everything was going to be okay... just as I freed myself from one danger, another one rears its head.

At least I don't have to worry about Lawrence any more...

I feel the bed dip beside me, and an arm wrap around my middle. I let Julius turn me over and pull me into his embrace, and I finally inhale as my nose nestles against his neck.

He smells so good... like lavender... and vanilla...

His hand cards through the strands of my hair, as gently as he always does.

Gentle...

No one has ever been this gentle with me.

"It'll be okay... I promise."

Julius's soft voice murmurs against my head, his lips pressed into my scalp.

"I'll end this for good. I promise."

...

"Julius..." I finally speak, keeping my voice low. It hasn't escaped me that Elia and Cecelia's room is right next door. "You said that this has happened before... this same thing happened to someone special to you." I feel Julius tense up a little at the subject. "...what happened?"

"... His name was Zara Ideale. He was the very first commoner to join the Magic Knights. he wasn't just amazing..." Julius lets out a deep sigh. "...he was an inspiration. The entire world was out to get him, and he still smiled and did his best. I could never hope to be like him... he was special."

... ooh... I see... so he wasn't just a "friend." I can't help but think back to that cold, snowy new years eve, and Julius stared out into the darkness, pain and guilt tumbling in his gaze.

He was devastated.

"He was special. And they killed him for it."

I open my eyes, face-to-chest with Julius, and listen as his tone becomes icy again.

"His own squad killed him. The captain looked the other way. No remorse, no guilt..."

His hand suddenly tightens in my hair; not painfully, more... possessively.

"... Everyone is special, in their own way. But Zara... he was special to me. I don't know how I can still look at myself in the mirror. Why do we laud the position of Magic Knight when we use that power to hurt each other? So..."

Julius's grip loosens, but he pulls me even closer, his legs tangling with mine, as if he means to coil himself permanently to my body.

"I'll use this power to protect everyone. I'll protect you. I'll protect the whole Kingdom. I-...I'm going to become the Wizard King. This world will be one where everyone can be special... and we all work together instead of hurting each other."

...Wizard King?

For some reason, those words send a chill down my spine.

"...I know you can do it, Julius."

I shift a little, looking up at him. Julius's eyes widen as I lean up and press my lips against his chin lightly, the highest place I can reach in our position. "And I believe you... I feel safe with you. Thank you... for everything."

"No. Thank you." Julius lets out a nervous chuckle, something I didn't expect. "You know... you're the only person that I've told that too... I've had that plan in mind for a while now, but saying it out loud was a little scary. But now-" He grins, rolling over so he can kiss me properly now.

"- I feel like I could accomplish anything. Including becoming the Wizard King!"

.....

....

....

"What in the world is that supposed to be?!"

"Hmm?" I don't even have time to turn around as I brush my wet hair in front of the bathroom mirror. Someone grabs my shoulder. "Hey! What are you doing?" I twist my head a little to see that Margery is the one who's staring at something on the back of my neck. "Stop it!" I swat her hand away and quickly turn around, my back hidden now.

"Calm down- you just have something weird on your neck-" Margery says, looking annoyed but also sort of concerned. "Turn around, you might have some dirt or something."

"Dirt?" Elia pipes up, standing a few sinks away as she brushes her teeth. "You can't even take a bath correctly, huh?"

"Shut up-" I mumble, but begrudgingly turn back around. Her hand rubs vigorously at the spot, and I get a weird tingle down my spine. The spot is right where my neck and shoulder meet, and something about it is familiar-

Oh- SHIT-

"OOOOOO-" Margery realizes what it is the moment that I do. "You naughty bitch!!! You didn't tell me Lawrence came to visit!"

Once again, I swat her hand away and turn around, pressing my back against the tile wall. Everyone in the bathroom is staring at me now. Margery is smirking like the devil, and Elia has a shocked, perplexed look on her face. My own face is bright red, and I open and close my mouth a few times pathetically as I attempt to come up with an explanation. "I- uh-" How am I supposed to explain this?! Should I tell them that it's not Lawrence?? But then they might suspect that it's Julius now- AHHHH-

I want to curl up into a ball and scream, but both Margery and Elia are in my face, demanding answers.

"When was he here? You should have introduced him to the rest of us! He's always off somewhere with you when he visits-"

"Yeah, but we always see him when he arrives, just for a little while..." Elia says, narrowing her eyes. Uhoh- "Also... there's something that's been bothering me..."

"Oh... what?" Elia's question gives me a reason to dodge Margery's, but I soon realize that it is a big mistake.

Elia crosses her arms, her frown depending. "Your room is right next to me and Cecelia... it's been a week since you got back from the hospital. And every- EVERY night-" She points at me accusingly. "I wake up because I hear two voices talking in your room- and that can only mean one thing-"

Margery's eyes widen, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp. I gulp, panic starting to rise in my chest.

"-you're letting someone in there all night! Are you sneaking Lawrence in EVERY SINGLE NIGHT?"

"Uh- er-"

Elia's eyes flash, my unintelligible words being an admission of guilt to her ears. "AHA! So it's not Lawrence! Who is it, then?"

"N-Not Lawrence?!" Margery squeaks, still looking shocked, but her eyes are glinting from how juicy this new information is. "You're cheating on him?! Who is it, though? Someone on the squad?"

"Tell us!" Elia demands. "You owe us all an explain-"

"I don't owe you anything!"

I finally snap, unable to just sit there and be scrutinized. Elia immediately shuts up.

"I don't know how you don't realize this already- but none of it is any of your business!" I step away from the wall, and the others step back to give me space. "Yes, I've been having someone in my room... and yes, they foolishly gave me this hickey. But it's my private life, so it's private, okay?" I let out a sigh, my heart beating quickly with adrenaline. "So- just leave me alone! And for the record, Lawrence and I broke up when he visited me in the hospital. I'm not cheating on anyone."

That's all I have to say on the matter. With one last huff, I turn and run off, my hair only half brushed, and leave Margery and Elia behind.

"...yikes... they broke up?" Margery asks, the silence only broken by the dripping of the sink. "She doesn't seem too beat up about it..."

"No, not at all." Elia narrows her eyes, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror.

I have a feeling I know who it is... and if it is him... this has been going on for a lot longer. Since before she and Lawrence broke up... so...

An evil grin crossed her lips, for just a moment.

"You are going to be in so much trouble..."

UH OH! What is Elia planning... will her well-meaning actions lead to disaster? Find out next time!

[iamtaran]

Dialogue Prompt 30

SO I’m a dingus and answered @partyhardwoohoo’s dialogue prompt (30: “You don’t see me.”) privately bc the button is the bigger of the two and I! Am! Easily! Swayed! By! Button! Size! Anyway, thanks so much again for the prompt and, uh, sorry for the fic now living in your inbox!  *

“You don’t see me,” Jaskier pants from behind his chair. 

And, really, of all the ways Geralt had foreseen this night turning out, this was not outside the realm of possibility. Rather than say anything, Geralt picks up his goblet and, sighing heavily, drains it.

He hadn’t known Jaskier would be at this celebration. Scratching that, he hadn’t even known Jaskier was in this kingdom. Last they had parted in some muddy marsh in Redania, Jaskier had been awaited in Cidaris to perform in some political wedding between two major noble houses. At the time, the last glimpse Geralt had caught of him had been: huddled in his cloak, made small from the last chill day of spring; caked in mud up to his knee-high boots, yet rosy cheeked and grinning with victory as he waved the witcher on with the parting farewell, “‘Til summer, then! I’ll just catch on with that caravan coming over the horizon. Looks like they’re very well to do-- exactly the type to enjoy a traveling bard’s charm and warmth on such a drab trek, don’t you think?” And then, when Geralt was nearly out of (human) earshot, he had called, “Don’t let anything get its claws into you whilst I’m not there, Wolf!”

In a month and a half, Jaskier seems to have come into some good fortune (the fine, soft linen of his flatteringly draped trousers, the kidskin of his soft boots) only to immediately lose it again. The last bit, of course, is only supposition. Based on the fact that he crouches behind Geralt’s seat, sleeveless tunic completely unbuttoned over his airy organza chemise where it gapes open at the collar. 

Geralt had caught only a glance of his flushed face, but he knows what his friend looks like when he’s been at the drink. He also knows from their time together exactly how recent debauchery shows on his skin and neck. He doesn’t need to turn and look to see it for himself. He can smell it. Instead, he reaches for the pitcher of wine.

“Jaskier,” he sighs. It is all he says.

Jaskier, of course, takes immediate offense.

“I haven’t done anything wrong!” he hisses from the shadows. Geralt hums, refilling his goblet. The wine isn’t bad-- not to a witcher used to the road.

“Or anyone?” he rumbles. Jaskier scoffs behind his ear. The main doors open; a harried guard and a fluttering servant stride up the middle of the hall between the two tables, headed for their host.

“Is there no respect for the choices of a grown man or woman in this backward kingdom?” he complains. “You’d think I’d killed someone by the way they carry on.”

“Jaskier,” he growls. Jaskier huffs an overblown sigh. 

“How am I to know who is engaged and who is not if they won’t tell me? Really, Geralt.”

The seneschal at Geralt’s elbow sends him a condoling look and passes the bread. Geralt happily takes another roll with thanks. This baron keeps the best baker in the state, and he is never one to turn away such a luxury. The road has only ever lined his gut with venison and crispbread, and recently the road has been long and his purse light. Even so, he is even more thankful that his other neighbor has yet to take any notice of their whispered conversation.

A hand snakes into view for just a moment. Petulantly, Geralt jerks the roll away and nudges it back with his elbow.

“And besides,” Jaskier continues, apparently unbothered by the fracas growing in volume at the front of the hall. He is lucky indeed that Geralt had been positioned in somewhat obscurity to the back of the hall. He doubts he would have been able to hide half as effectively where they any nearer to the windows and candles closer to the nobility. “It’s not a love match. No one has exchanged anything like a vow or even a half-hearted promise at this point.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt scolds. Fingers pinch his side.

“Not a word.”

“I thought traveling bards were meant to keep up on such news,” Geralt says into his food, which is many words. Jaskier exacts revenge by stealing the pickled cucumber from his plate. His hand retreats back behind his seat.

“News, yes,” Jaskier huffs. “Gossip, as well. But only a fool believes it.”

“I believe,” Geralt murmurs, “that you are about to face a cadre of very unhappy kinsmen if you continue to linger here.” Jaskier makes an agreeing sort of noise as he crunches his stolen goods. “Why haven’t you ridden for the border yet? Or left the castle, even, you dolt.”

“Lost my horse in a bet,” Jaskier grouses. Geralt snorts and pretends it was to spit into his napkin when it draws attention. The woman across from him glares her disapproval briefly. “Not a word, I said!” Jaskier hisses. “I was actually quite attached to- ah--”

“Marigold,” Geralt supplies. 

“-yes, Marigold.”

“Triss would curse you if she knew.”

Jaskier sniffs. “It was a tribute, meant only in the highest respect.”

“Was it respect when you bet her on-”

“-a case of Toussaint red.”

“-on a case of wine?”

“Let me take Roach,” Jaskier says rather than answer. Teeth-deep in a bite of roast lamb, Geralt frowns. 

“No.”

“Oh, come on, please,” Jaskier wheedles. For a man hiding from very unhappy kinsmen to his latest lover, he is quite chatty. Geralt remembers his flushed cheeks and reconsiders, ah, yes. Must have been wine. I thought he lost the bet? “It will just be until I’m outside the kingdom borders. I’ll take the highway and stop in the first clearing so you’ll know exactly where to find me. I’ll even oil your tack as compensation for what would otherwise be an unselfish show of friendship and trust.”

“No.”

“Geralt,” he begins. Geralt doesn’t get to hear what other argument he has up his sleeve, however. The seneschal picking at his salad on Geralt’s left clears his throat delicately. 

Immediately, he realizes what is wrong: the noise from the front of the hall has ceased. From the corner of his eye, he becomes aware of a half dozen armed guards led by two men he recognizes at the baron’s oldest sons striding down the length of the hall. 

Jaskier must notice, too. Rather than turn tail and make for the door-- or even, knowing him as Geralt does, standing to talk his way out of whatever trouble he has drawn-- rather than doing either of those, he crouches further, hisses at Geralt, “Move your thigh,” and with a shove to his side wriggles under the table. 

“Don’t!” Geralt whispers, too late.

It is a tight squeeze. The table is long but not terribly wide, and seated on both sides with every member of the household staff. Geralt hears Jaskier mutter a curse to himself and nearly jumps when two hands land on his thighs, pressing them apart to make room for Jaskier to squeeze between. The seneschal clears his throat once more, radiating judgement. Geralt resists the urge to clamp a hand over his eyes, barely. As if it would make the current situation disappear. 

The company of guards and sons moves past and out of the hall. 

“Don’t get excited,” Jaskier whispers, and pats him far enough up his leg that Geralt does jump. Jaskier chuckles. “Merciful goddess, that was close.”

“And what,” Geralt grinds out, “do you plan to do down there?”

The scandalized seneschal coughs into his fist. Roughly, Geralt grabs the pitcher of wine nearly out of the questing hand of the Housekeeper across of him and slams it down at the seneschal’s elbow. The seneschal, steadfastly ignoring him as he unashamedly eavesdrops, jumps like a man prodded.

“For your throat,” Geralt glowers. 

It is, admittedly, an effective glower. He watches just long enough to see the pale-faced man nod quickly and fumbling pour himself a glass that goes more on his plate than in his cup, then returns to his predicament. 

“Well, funny you should ask,” Jaskier hums, unawares, “because, you see, um, I haven’t quite, well, planned past this point-” 

Geralt really does lower his eyes into his hand. All he can do is prop that elbow on the table and hope he merely looks tired to any who should glance his way. Tired, and not like he is having a conversation with the man crouched between his legs.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls at his lap as quietly as he can. “If you pull me into this fucking farce you’ve orchestrated before I’ve even been fucking paid for this job that took me two fucking weeks-”

“I haven’t!” Jaskier whispers back fiercely.

Geralt pins him with a look. “If it looks like they are going to find you here, I will drag you out from under there, march you to the Baron’s table, and offer to thrash your bare arse like a snot-nosed brat myself. I’ll do it in front of the whole fucking court if it means I will still get paid. Do you understand me?”

Wide eyed, Jaskier opens his mouth to protest. They are interrupted by one of the sons returning. Geralt doesn’t even hear him come up, so focused is he, until the man speaks.

“Sir Witcher?”

Jaskier shifts against his legs. Almost before he is aware of it, Geralt buries his hand in his hair and makes a hard fist. Jaskier, mid way to crawling-- back out, or away-- freezes. Casually, Geralt turns to face the second oldest son whilst his free hand reaches for his goblet with not a care in the world.

“Trouble, my lord?” He grunts, and takes a sip of wine. Jaskier’s boots shuffle under the table. Geralt tightens his hold and pins him to his leg. Jaskier stills, breathing sharply against his thigh where his cheek is pressed.

The son smiles grimly. “Purely human in nature, serah. Please don’t let me interrupt your dinner beyond the necessary.” 

A distracting hand wraps around his ankle. Geralt distinctly does not twitch.

“My thanks,” Geralt says dryly.

“My father has asked that I offer you room for the night, should you require.”

“Your father is uncommonly generous to offer,” Geralt notes. He can feel Jaskier’s rabbiting heartbeat thrumming where his knee has pressed into his chest. “No, I require nothing but the agreed upon price. I have a room booked at the inn for another night yet.”

The lordling smiles. “Very well. I’m afraid I can’t see you to our steward myself at the moment. But I will have my father informed to expect you in the antechamber after the meal has ended. He will see to your payment.”

It is unspeakably rude that he has not risen, Geralt knows. He also knows that he can get away with it. Witchers have always held a strange position in society. Outside of its rules and structures. It is a pleasant surprise, however, when rather than being offended as is his born right, the young lord merely offers his hand like a lowbornsman and with a short farewell leaves to catch up with his guard.

Under the table, Jaskier pants out an insult against his trouser leg. Geralt smirks and holds him there just long enough to make his point. It’s when Jaskier’s hands start fumbling up his legs looking for weaknesses and one finds the back of a knee that he lets go and goes back to his meal. Jaskier pinches him anyway and tells him exactly what he thinks.

“Neither of us know my father, and such a configuration seems unlikely,” Geralt replies mildly.

“Even more likely to be true, then,” Jaskier shoots back, craning his head as if to peer around Geralt’s chair for any other visitors.

From this angle, Geralt can see what he hadn’t before. A handful of deep maroon suck-marks spot the side of his neck and just behind the hinge of his jaw. His lips are still red from kissing whatever noble he should not have. (Judging by the stubble burn on his neck, it was the future husband.) He smells like wine, and sex, and cedar and bergamot perfume. His hair is mussed where Geralt had grabbed him. He doesn’t know what it had looked like before. He knows what it looks like now, however.

Suddenly, supremely aware of what the assumption will be if they are discovered, Geralt straightens. A passing servant pauses, takes up an empty plate to his left, and moves on without noticing anything amiss. Jaskier’s sigh of relief skitters hot and far too close across leather. It raises all the hair along Geralt’s arms. He freezes.

“In my belt purse,” he blurts. Blue eyes flash up at him. He tries to keep his face still and fails. He lifts his cup to hide it. “I still have a room at the local inn for the next two nights. Take the key from my purse and go there. And don’t get caught, or I’ll say you stole it.”

“And Roach?”

Geralt gives him a flat look. “Leaving on horseback is conspicuous. Or have you forgotten you’re sneaking out a fugitive?”

Jaskier pouts. “Point made,” he says, before ducking back enough to give himself room to work. Geralt tears his eyes away to look about the room nonchalantly. It is only the wood of the table creaking under his grip that makes him realize how tense he has become. Breathing in and out deeply, he forces himself to relax. 

Fingers grope at his belt for an excruciatingly long moment. Geralt takes up his forgotten roll and rips a bite off with perhaps too much gusto. 

“Got it,” Jaskier whispers. He leans forward just enough to wink up at Geralt one last time, grinning impishly. “Well, this has certainly been one of the more interesting nights I’ve spent on my knees-”

“Leave,” Geralt groans, and really does curl a defeated hand over his eyes as he feels Jaskier wriggle out from under the table. He doesn’t even watch him go. 

Only after he is sure he’s gone does Geralt slide a coin to the seneschal.

“This stays between us.”

[rachelkaser]

Stay Golden Sunday: The Custody Battle

Dorothy’s sister Gloria arrives and wants Sophia to come live with her. Rose and Blanche clash over a production of Macbeth.

Picture It...

Dorothy and Sophia are tidying ahead of the arrival of Gloria, Sophia’s other daughter and Dorothy’s little sister. Sophia subtly needles Dorothy for not having a date -- and fortuitously, Blanche enters and asks to borrow Dorothy’s jewelry for her own date. She’s going on a date with the director of the local community theater, who she’s hoping will soon cast her as Lady Macbeth. Sophia continues to nag Dorothy for not having a date. Dorothy gets angry at Sophia for her meddling, and demands space. Sophia leaves in a huff.

The next morning, Blanche is confident her tete-a-tete with the director will get her the part, though she and Rose are still going to the audition. Dorothy and Sophia are still annoyed at each other, but put it aside when Gloria arrives. Gloria, a wealthy widow, gives her mother and sister fabulous gifts. When Sophia guilts her over staying in a hotel, Dorothy offers to let Gloria share her (Dorothy’s) room.

DOROTHY: Hi! How was the audition? BLANCHE: Wonderful! I’m 99% sure I got the part. ROSE: Oh Blanche, there were so many good people there. BLANCHE: Trust me, I got this part in the sack. ROSE: She means in the bag. DOROTHY: No honey, she means in the sack.

That night, as Sophia and Gloria are out shopping, Blanche comes back from the audition convinced she got the part. She and Rose ask about Gloria’s relationship with Dorothy, and Dorothy confesses she’s always felt her parents favored Gloria. Blanche relates how she felt the same way about her parents and her sisters. Rose exposits about her idyllic family life, annoying the other girls enough that Blanche lets the kitchen door slam in her face.

Gloria and Dorothy settle down in bed together, with Gloria asking if Dorothy resents her for having money, a happy marriage and successful children -- none of which Dorothy has (and gee, nice of you to point it out, Gloria). Dorothy says she has grown beyond such sibling rivalry. Gloria continues to go on about her palatial home in California. Dorothy says she and Sophia would love to come out for a visit, and Gloria finally drops the bomb: She wants Sophia to come live with her, and Sophia agreed.

GLORIA: This reminds me of when we were little and you used to read me bedtime stories. DOROTHY: Oh yeah, yeah... the Bogeyman and the Little Girl... the Zombie in the Hamper... Cannibal Parents. I think between the ages of 5 and 7 you might have gotten two hours’ sleep.

Dorothy talks to Sophia about her plan to live with Gloria. Sophia avoids talking about what she wants, and says this way she can give Dorothy space. Dorothy doesn’t try to dissuade her, saying Gloria can give her a better life. Sophia looks very uncertain when Dorothy leaves.

In the kitchen, both Rose and Dorothy deliver bad news to Blanche. Rose says Blanche was cast as Witch #3, and Rose got the part of Lady Macbeth. Dorothy tells both that Sophia is leaving, and they’re heartbroken, insisting that they don’t want Sophia to leave. Dorothy forbids them from guilting Sophia, and leaves. Rose offers to let Blanche fill in for her as Lady Macbeth, but Blanche demurs gracefully.

BLANCHE: Well Rose, isn’t that sweet? And I do love you for it, honey, but I just couldn’t. I could never fit this trim little body in that big old tent of a dress they’re going to have to make for you.

After avoiding it for a few hours, Dorothy gives in and confronts Gloria, telling her it’s not fair of her to steal Sophia away when she’s already the favorite. Gloria reveals that she thinks Dorothy is the favorite, because Sophia respected and trusted her and constantly pointed out how much smarter and self-reliant she was to Gloria. Gloria admits she’s envious of how happy Dorothy’s life is compared with hers, and she wanted part of that. She says she knows Sophia doesn’t want to leave, and Dorothy goes to talk to their mother.

Dorothy demands that Sophia stay, and Sophia at first refuses but then agrees. She says she and Dorothy both need a little space from each other occasionally, but she’ll stay and look after the Girls. She breaks the news to Gloria, who understands. Sophia says she’s happy that both of her daughters love her and want her around so much.

SOPHIA: I love you. I love all my children. GLORIA: Even Phil? SOPHIA: Sure -- but don’t tell him, he’ll want to borrow money.

Later that night, the Girls are ecstatic that Sophia isn’t leaving. She brings them presents she was planning to give them when she thought she was moving. They open the presents and discover their own things, which Sophia purloined. After she leaves the kitchen, they wonder what else she might have taken and go to search her room. Rose cautiously exits last, worried about the door slamming in her face again.

“I think all my children are special... except Phil.”

I’ll be honest, there’s a reason for the gap between this review and the last one. Sure, Christmas and New Years (not to mention a busted keyboard) shifted my priorities a bit, but were this almost any other episode, I would have still gotten it out no matter what else was going on. But the truth is, I didn’t allot the necessary time to analyze this episode because... well, I didn’t want to. Because this episode is just not very good.

Remember when I said that Golden Girls had no truly bad episodes, but there were some that were noticeably lower-rung than others? This wasn’t the episode I had in mind when I said that (I’ll tell you which episode was when we get to it), but this is still a pretty good example of what I mean. It’s not particularly funny, has no meaningful message, doesn’t involve any character growth, and is confusingly written.

SOPHIA: I should have known you couldn’t make it without me. DOROTHY: You’re right, I can’t. And neither can Blanche. And neither can Rose. SOPHIA: Of course not Rose. The woman can hardly find her way to work!

I’d never given it much thought before I had to pick it apart for this blog. Now that I’ve watched it with a necessarily discerning eye, I couldn’t help but get this weird sense of flatness. Not badness, per se, just a total lack of good distinguishing features.

For example, I usually insert one of my favorite one-liners as the header text above my analysis section, and I had to really pick apart this episode to come up with any single line that gave me a little smile. That’s not to say that there aren’t funny exchanges in this episode, but no Girl is given a single stand-out line that’s still funny, divorced from context. I’m using an “except Phil” line because this is the first time we see Sophia use it as more of a catchphrase.

I don’t have any behind-the-scenes material that might explain why the episode feels so lacking. Maybe it’s because this is Terry Hughes’ first episode as director? There are definitely places where the script doesn’t feel nearly as tight as it could be -- the several minutes Rose spends reminiscing about her happy childhood don’t really do much besides fill time, except maybe set up for the “kitchen door face slam” gag.

ROSE: *reminiscing about her saccharine family Christmases* And then Daddy would tell us a story, and tuck us into our feather-- DOROTHY: Who was your father, Rose? Michael Landon?

If I had to put this down to a single element, I think it’d be the portrayal of Gloria. Sisterly rivalry is a recurring theme in this show . . . seriously, none of the Girls have good relationships with their sisters. We saw this already with Blanche and Virginia, but Dorothy and Gloria provide a slightly different take on it. Whereas Virginia and Blanche have been clashing their whole lives and are only just now starting to reconcile, Dorothy and Gloria have a warm and loving relationship with unaddressed resentment beneath the surface.

The difference is, Virginia gave the impression of being a three-dimensional character. There were subtleties to her, such as her inability to keep from rising to Blanche’s bait no matter how much she claimed to want a more peaceful relationship. That just doesn’t exist with Gloria, or at least not Gloria as she exists in this episode.

In fact, the writers don’t seem to have a clue what to do with Gloria. She’s explicitly stated to be distant from her mother and sister, never inviting them to her home in California and only calling three times a year and yet wants her mother to move in with her. She’s sometimes obliviously insensitive, and yet has enough self-awareness to shoot holes in Dorothy’s insecurities.

I’m not sure if I like the fact that the resolution of the rivalry is Gloria saying, “Actually, I’m envious of you and want part of your happiness for myself,” as opposed to, “I, too, wish to spend some of my mother’s last years with her.” It just doesn’t seem realistic that Gloria’s desire to spend time with Sophia is rooted in her feelings towards Dorothy. It seems more like the ending to a revenge fantasy than a proper wrap-up of the story.

BLANCHE: Now, when were little, every year my sisters had huge parties. With clowns and magicians and tons of presents. DOROTHY: And you didn’t? BLANCHE: Well not exactly. I mean, I did have parties and I had presents but... I never had a clown. *smiles* Not until I was... BLANCHE & DOROTHY: Much older.

It doesn’t help that the B-plot is a little undercooked. Blanche’s extreme desire for a part in “Mister William Shakespeare’s masterpiece” is funny enough, especially since she thinks her sexual performance is an adequate substitute for theatrical performance -- I mean, she’s Blanche. She probably thinks her sexual performance is enough to eclipse all other forms of performance anywhere, ever.

But what I don’t get about it is how Rose managed to snag the part of Lady Macbeth despite not wanting it. Granted, it’s been a long time since my community theater days, but I think you generally have to say which parts you’re auditioning for before you audition, so the director doesn’t cast someone who can’t commit the time to a big role. I could be wrong about that, though. I get that Rose not expressing any of her own interest in the play makes it extra funny when she actually gets the part, but it’s still a little confusing to me.

Still, I don’t want to end the review on a sour note, so I’ll say this: There’s not much in the way of a moral or character growth in this episode, but there is something to be said for Dorothy and Sophia coming to the conclusion that too much togetherness isn’t good for them. Given that we’re now going on a year in pandemic lockdown, I can’t help but think that’ll resonate with some of us.

Episode rating: 🍰🍰 (two cheesecake slices out of five)

Favorite Part of the Episode:

The exchange between Rose and Blanche over the casting of Lady Macbeth, culminating in Blanche brandishing a kitchen knife in the most darkly funny way possible:

[swanqueeneverafter]

What Dreams May Come, Pt.17

Henry's Dreamscape. The Bottle Yard Tavern. (Henry and King Richard sit at a table together, drinking heavily.) Henry: "You must have felt awful. Drink up, drink up." King Richard: "And you know the worst thing about it? Madelena and I never even... Well, let's just say she never let me walk through her garden." Henry: "I don't follow?" King Richard: “I never pollinated her flower.” Henry: “What? Are we talking about the same Madelena?” King Richard: “Yes!” Henry: “But you were married. You didn't insist?” King Richard: “I'm not an animal. I mean, sure, I'll kidnap a woman and force her to marry me, but after that, I'm all about a woman's rights.” Henry: “Good for you. Cheers to that.” King Richard: (They clink tankards:) “Thank you very much. You know, the truth be told, I've always sort of felt that that business should never happen until two people really love each other, you know? I never loved anyone until I loved Madelena, and so that's why I'm... I've never actually walked in anyone's garden.” Henry: “But you're the king?” King Richard: (Standing:) “That's right. I am the king, so watch your mouth, boy. (Sighs:) I'm sorry I barked at you. (Sits back down:) See? This is why I don't have guy friends.” Henry: “Hey, it's all right, it's all right. (Refilling Richard’s tankard:) You're under a lot of pressure.” King Richard: “I know.” Henry: “Your brother's trying to steal your kingdom. He's trying to steal your lady, put you against your best friend. Times are tough. Drink up. Here, let's... let's play a game.” King Richard: “Hmm?” Henry: “Let's just say there's this standing king.” King Richard: “Mm-hmm.” Henry: “And his evil, treacherous brother comes into town, and we wanted to sort of ‘take care’ of him.” King Richard: “Mm-hmm.” Henry: “I don't know, like, say, tonight.” King Richard: “Mm-hmm.” Henry: “Do you think anyone would care?” King Richard: “I don't follow.” Henry: “Kill your brother.” King Richard: “What?! Have you gone absolutely mad? What do you expect me to do, just sneak into Kingsley's bedchamber and slice his throat while he sleeps? What, in this outfit?!” Henry: “Yes.” King Richard: (Gasps, then stands:) “Everyone, I'm going to kill my brother! Drinks are on me! (The other patrons all cheer as Richard sits once more:) Right. Fill her up. (Henry obliges, several times:) There we go.” Enchanted Forest. Past. (The Evil Queen opens the door to a rowdy tavern, and she and Hook enter.) Hook: “Ah, finally. I could murder a goblet of wine.” Evil Queen: "I think you've had enough. I want you sharp for what you must do next.” Hook: “Aye. I will kill your mother, and in exchange, you will bring me to a land without magic, where I can finally get my revenge on Rumplestiltskin.” Evil Queen: “Indeed. But first... I need to know what kind of man you are. You don't know my mother. She's an expert at one thing: exploiting weakness. And I need to make sure you have none.” Hook: “Well, she sounds lovely. So, a test, is it? I've been a pirate for over one hundred years, and my hook has tasted the blood of dozens. Whatever your test, trust me... I've got the mettle for it, love.” Evil Queen: “I want you to kill a man.” Hook: “A man. That's the only description I get?” Evil Queen: “Oh, I'm pretty sure you'll know which one I mean. Face him, and you'll prove you have what it takes to face my mother.” Hook: “I'm not sure I see...” Man: (Interrupts:) “Pirates ain't welcome here!” Hook: “Ah.” (Hook walks forward confidently but stops when a giant of a man blocks his path and Hook looks slightly shocked at the size of him.) Man: “Get out, pirate.” Hook: “Well, it seems we are at an impasse.” (Goes goes to strike the man with his hook.) Evil Queen: (Rolls her eyes and scoffs:) “Oh, for heaven’s sake. (She uses her magic to snap the man's neck and kill him:) Not him. (She grabs Hook and turns him to face the person he is there to kill:) Him.” Hook: (Shocked:) “Father?”

Storybrooke. Present. (Snow White and Emma are walking to work together while Emma explains how shared dreaming works.) Emma: "...So because you and Dad share True Love, it should be real easy for you to find each other." Snow White: (Distractedly:) "Mmhmm. Then we walk through the door, right?" Emma: "No, Mom, haven't you been listening? The door was just how Xanax did things. All you have to do is fall asleep together and... well to be honest I'm not totally sure how it works. It's sort of like, one of you starts to dream and the other can follow inside that dreamscape and boom - you're dream sharing. And I mean, if anyone can find each other, it's you two. (Watching Snow closely:) Mom, is everything all right?" Snow White: "Oh, Emma. There's something you need to know and something you need to hear." Emma: "Okay..." Snow White: "Your father and I, when we entered our dreamscape, we did come to a door. A door that lead us to you. Or rather, the younger you." Emma: "You don't have to tell me this, dreamscapes are meant for the dreamers. It's a very personal thing." Snow White: (Nods:) "I know but... at first I didn't want to go in. I told David that I thought speaking to you as a child would somehow screw things up back here. But David convinced me that we had to, and he was so right. We talked and hugged and cried and talked some more. And, although I know none of it was real, it made me realise just how alone in the world you were. Because of the choices we made. The choice I made." Emma: "Mom, you gave me up to save everyone. I was destined to be the Savior. I understand and it... it took me a long time, but I accept it now. It was-" Snow White: "It was an awful, terrible thing to do. I sacrificed your happiness to save us all." Emma: "Mom-" Snow White: "No, please, let me get this out. (Sighs:) When I woke from the dream, I felt wonderful. But ever since, my head has been filled with memories of the conversations you and I have had since you broke the curse. How you tried to tell me how you felt for all those years and all I did was stand there justifying myself to you. It makes me so angry just to think about it. I-I even did it again in Neverland, when you told me how growing up in the foster system, you felt like a lost little girl who didn't matter. A little girl who cried herself to sleep unable to understand why her parents gave her up." Emma: "Mom, that's all in the past." Snow White: "No. It's right here and now. Do you know the worst thing? I let you apologise to me for how you felt. For what my choice made you feel for your entire life. It took a dreamscape for me to finally understand how much damage I did to you. And how I have never, truly apologised for any of it. Not even once. (Tears falling:) I am so sorry, Emma. For making you feel worthless, for giving you up. For never once putting you above everyone else like every mother should. Can you ever forgive me?" (Emma doesn’t answer, merely staring at Snow for a long moment, before closing the distance between them and enveloping her mother in a heartfelt embrace.) Henry’s Dreamscape. The Bottle Yard Tavern. Exterior. (Henry and Richard leave the tavern, both stinking drunk.) Henry & Richard: ♪ Oh... ♪ ♪ We're off on a secret mission ♪ Castle Armoury. ♪ We've got us a secret plan ♪ Henry: ♪ We're going to go and slay your bro ♪ King Richard: ♪ As quietly as we can ♪ Castle Hallway. Henry & Richard: ♪ We'll sneak up and then surprise him ♪ ♪ Before he has time to think ♪ King Richard: ♪ We're off and away ♪ Henry: ♪ But first, another drink ♪ Henry & Richard: ♪ Da-Da, Da-Da, Da, Da ♪ Wine Cellar. Henry: ♪ We're off on a secret mission ♪ King Richard: ♪ A totally secret scheme ♪ Henry: ♪ We'll slyly do in your next of kin ♪ King Richard: ♪ And quietly make him scream ♪ Henry: ♪ We've got to be swift and stealthy ♪ King Richard: ♪ So none will raise a stink ♪ Henry & Richard: ♪ We're off on our way, but first, another drink ♪ ♪ Da-Da, Da-Da, Da, Da ♪ Raised Walkway. Henry & Richard: ♪ A secret, secret, hush, hush, hush ♪ ♪ Secret, secret ♪ Throne Room. (Richard and Henry sneak silently across the throne room behind the guards backs.) Hallway. Richard & Henry: ♪ Oh, we're off on a secret mission ♪ Henry: ♪ It's some kind of secret plot ♪ King Richard: ♪ We're gonna go ♪ Henry: ♪ Yeah ♪ King Richard: ♪ And then... ♪ Henry: ♪ Exactly ♪ King Richard: ♪ Who are we? ♪ Henry: ♪ I forgot ♪ King Richard: ♪ Ooh, ooh, we're gonna go kill the... ♪ Henry: ♪ Someone ♪ King Richard: ♪ My brother! ♪ Henry: ♪ The rat ♪ King Richard: ♪ The fink! ♪ Henry: “Shh! Lower your voice!” (They come upon a line of men.) King Richard: “Hey, w-what are all these dudes doing in front of Madelena's room for?” Henry: “Yeah, what is it? A party?” Man: “T-the queen's interviewing new consorts.” Queen Madelena: (From inside her chamber:) “Next!” Henry: “Oh, God. She's the worst.” King Richard: (To the Man:) “Hey, you know what? (Nudging Henry:) The queen is really proud of her feet.” Henry: “Mm. Yeah, yeah. Ask her to take her socks off.” King Richard: “Ask to kiss her feet. (Laughs:) That's an order from your king.” Henry & Richard: ♪ Oh... ♪

Storybrooke. Past. Mayor's House, Regina's Bedroom. (Regina wakes up once again. She looks out of the window and smiles.) Storybrooke General Hospital. (Mary Margaret leaves flowers in John Doe's room. Regina is standing behind her, smiling.) Main Street. (Regina is walking down the street and sees Marco struggling to repair a sign.) Marco: “Maybe this time, you won't fall.” (Ruby and Granny argue again.) Ruby: (To Granny:) “This is the last time I'm working the early shift.” Archie: “Good morning, Madam Mayor. Beautiful day, isn't it?” (Not looking where she’s going, Regina bumps into Mary Margaret.) Regina: “Oh!” Mary Margaret: “Oh, Madam Mayor, I'm so sorry.” Regina: “You should be! Watch where you're going next time.” (Mary Margaret nods and walks away. Regina smiles.) Mayor's House Regina's Bedroom. (Regina wakes up.) Storybrooke General Hospital. (Mary Margaret leaves flowers in John Doe's room. Regina is standing behind her, but she looks bored.) Main Street. (Regina is walking down the street and sees Marco struggling to repair a sign and Ruby and Granny arguing. She looks bored.) Archie: “Beautiful day.” Regina: “Save it.” (She bumps into Mary Margaret.) Mary Margaret: “Oh! Mayor Mills, I am so sorry.” Regina: “I ran into you. Why are you apologizing?” Mary Margaret: “No, I should have been looking where I was going.” Regina: “You're not even going to fight back?!” Mary Margaret: “Fight back? Why would I do that?” (Walks away.)

Mr. Gold Pawnbroker & Antiquities Dealer. (Regina enters, while Mr. Gold is dusting one of the antiques.) Regina: “I'm not happy.” Mr. Gold: “I believe Dr. Hopper's office is down the street.” Regina: “Oh, I don't wanna talk to him. I wanna talk to you.” Mr. Gold: “Very well, Madam Mayor. What is it you wanna talk about?” Regina: “This town. This isn't the deal we made.” Mr. Gold: “I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.” Regina: “You don't, do you? I was supposed to be happy here.” Mr. Gold: “Forgive me, but, um, you're the Mayor. You're the most powerful woman in the town. What is there to be unhappy about?” Regina: “Everyone in this town does exactly what I want them to!” Mr. Gold: (Smiles:) “And that's a problem?” Regina: “Well, they do it because they have to, not because they want to. It's not real.” Mr. Gold: “I'm sorry, what exactly is it you want?” Regina: “Nothing you can give me.” (Regina walks away, pulling the gift from Owen out of her pocket and smiling at it. Outside, she walks to a phone booth and dials a number.) Regina: “Hello, Kurt? Mayor Mills. Good. You're still here. I would love to see Owen before you leave. Would you two like to come over for dinner tonight? Great.“ Enchanted Forest. Past. (The tavern is now closed, and Hook is the only remaining ‘customer’. Sitting at a table, he is tapping his hook impatiently, taking another sip of his ale. Brennan, who is still behind the bar, spots him. Brennan steps out from behind the bar, but still keeps his distance.) Brennan: “Look... I don't want any trouble, but we're closed, mate.” Hook: “Why might I cause trouble? Because I'm a dirty pirate? Or because I'm a boy whose father abandoned him on the high seas?”

Brennan: “Killian?” Hook: “Aye. (Slams his tankard down and stands up:) But it's Captain Hook now. You once told me I had to decide what kind of man I wanted to be. Well, Father... this is who I became!” Brennan: “How is this possible? I left nearly a century ago.” Hook: “We both found a way to cheat death.” Brennan: “That we did. Your brother?” Hook: “Liam... was not so fortunate.” Brennan: (Sighs:) “But you... look at you. You grew up. Where have you been?” Hook: “Neverland. I was biding my time until I found a way to kill myself a crocodile. It's a tale of woe and revenge but one that you don't need to be concerned with. It's your tale that matters. So, tell me, father, where does a scoundrel like you run after he's sold his sons into servitude?!” Brennan: “Oh, I'm sorry, Killian. Truly, I am. I ran. I didn't get far. Not long after I left you and Liam, I got caught and put under a sleeping curse.” Hook: “A sleeping curse? How the bloody hell are you awake now?” Brennan: “How does anyone break a curse? True love's kiss.” Hook: “Who could ever find a way to love you?” Brennan: “My nurse. I could hear her speaking... as I slumbered. Her voice was so kind, so gentle. She made me see the error of my ways. I fell in love with her. And she with me. She changed me. I just... I just... wish... that I'd known her when we were together. You could've had the father you wanted. The father you deserved. I'm so sorry.” Hook: “Where is this woman?” Brennan: “A few years... after we married... she fell ill. (He sits down at one of the tables:) The plague. She never recovered.” Hook: “I came here to kill you, Father. Your life was the price I had to pay to finally get my revenge. But we've both lost too much.” Brennan: “You're going to spare me?” Hook: “In a manner of speaking. The world must believe you're dead. The queen, everyone must think I killed you. I can secure you a letter of transit to take you far from this place. Maybe you can start again.” Brennan: (Stands up:) “You'll come with me?” Hook: “No, you see, I had a love, too. And she was taken from me. You can't destroy the plague that took yours, but I can destroy the plague that took mine. I must continue on.” Brennan: “I hope you find peace... Son.” (Places his hand on Hook's shoulder.) Hook: (Shrugs it off:) “We must hurry. Any delay will arouse suspicion. I'll bring the letter of transit tonight.” (Begins walking to the door, but the sound of his father's voice stops him.) Brennan: “Actually... would it be possible... to bring two?” Hook: “Two?” Brennan: “My wife and I... we had a son.” Henry’s Dreamscape. The Dungeons. (Henry & Richard stumble down into the dungeons.) Henry & Richard: ♪ Secret, secret ♪ Henry: ♪ 30th verse, same as the first ♪ King Richard: “Whoa. There's some serious acoustics down here. Hey, everybody! Whoa. (Notices a prisoner tied to the rack:) It looks like someone couldn't do anything if I went like this!” (King Richard laughs as he begins tickling the prisoner.) Prisoner: “Stop it! I'm ticklish!” Henry: (Leans on the bars of Ella’s cell:) “Hi, pretty Ella. Oh, you're so pretty. But not just your face, your brain. It's like your beautiful brain exploded all over your face.” Ella: “Are you drunk?” Henry: (Sighs:) “I should have just kissed you. I should have kissed you ages ago.” Ella: “Yeah, well, um, maybe we should talk about this tomorrow. Okay, bye-bye.” Henry: “Yes, and we will, and we're gonna kiss, and it's gonna be one of those forever sort of kisses. (Reaches through the bars and touches Ella’s nose:) Boop! Okay, I've got to go kill a king.” Prisoner: (Richard continues to tickle him mercilessly:) “I beg of you, sire, stop it!” (Henry pulls Richard away from the prisoner and they leave the dungeons.) King Richard: “Bye, everybody! Echo! Echo! Oh, it’s fun! You try it!”

Storybrooke. Past. (Regina, Owen and Kurt are eating dinner at Regina's house.) Kurt: “This is delicious lasagna, isn't it Owen?” Owen: “Not really.” Kurt: “Owen.” Regina: “It's okay. I know I'm not the greatest cook. Unless it involves apples. (She chuckles and turns to look at Owen:) Speaking of which. How would you like to help me make turnovers for dessert? There's a bunch of apples sitting in the sink. Why don't you go pick out some red ones?” (Owen gets up and leaves.) Kurt: (Laughs:) “Owen is a bit of a free spirit. Like his mom.” Regina: “Is she back in New Jersey? With the boss?” Kurt: (Smiles:) “With the boss. She uh... she passed away six months ago.” Regina: “I'm sorry.” Kurt: “That's why I brought him here actually. I thought that camping, new surroundings, that might help him take his mind off of things, but...” Regina: “I came here looking to start over too. It hasn't turned out quite the way I'd hoped.” Kurt: “And why's that?” Regina: “What good's a new life if you don't have anyone to share it with?” Owen: (Yelling:) “Hey! I thought we were making dessert!” (Regina gets up and heads to the kitchen. She helps Owen make the turnovers and puts them in the oven.) Regina: “Voila.” Owen: “So, how come you're not a mom?” Regina: “It... just didn't work out that way I guess.” (Removes her apron.) Owen: “It's too bad. You'd be really good at it.” Regina: “Thank you, Owen.” Owen: “So how much longer?” (He points at the oven.) Regina: (Chuckles:) “Patience. They're almost done. (Leans on the counter, speaking to him at eye level:) How are you liking Storybrooke so far?” Owen: “It's better than New Jersey.” Regina: “You don't miss your home? Your friends?” Owen: “I hate it there! All the kids at my school treat me weird now.” Regina: “Because of what happened to your mother?” Owen: (Nods:) “Nobody gets it. It's like-” Regina: “There's a piece of your heart missing.” (Regina smiles and puts a comforting hand on his arm.) Kurt: (Walks into the kitchen:) “How's dessert coming?” Regina: “Great! Owen and I were just talking, and I know this might sound crazy, but how would you too feel about sticking around town a little longer?” Kurt: “Uh, stick around? As in?” Regina: “Move here! I could get you a job with the city, and there's a great school for Owen.” Owen: “Please Dad, can we?” Regina: “It could be a chance for a new start.” Kurt: “Look, I appreciate everything you've done for us, but our life is in New Jersey. It's not here.” Regina: (Disappointed:) “Of course.”

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 37)

WOW, this chapter took way longer than I meant it to. But it’s also forty pages long, so that might explain it.

CW: Brief mention of sexual assault this chapter, not graphic.

Tagging: @mysteli ; @whatmcsaid ; @xo-endlessmayhem-xo ; @endlesshero1122 @feartheendlesssummer ; @tigerbryn11

Chapter 37 : Night of the Twelve

Craig

On Christmas night, I fall asleep spooning Zahra. I wake up later and find her gone. The digital clock on our bedside table says it's a little after three in the morning. This isn't unusual, since Zahra's an insomniac. It happens a lot less these days, but it still doesn't make me panic or anything. I think I've been in the same position since I fell asleep, because my limbs are feeling crampy. I roll over, stretching, and find Zahra sitting up at the computer with a cup of coffee beside her. She's frowning at the screen, her fingers rubbing her lips absentmindedly. She looks up when she hears me moving.

“Good. You're awake. Come look at this.”

“I'm not awake,” I mumble, yawning. “Come back to bed.”

“I found something, loser. Something important.”

“So important it can't wait until morning?”

“Yes. Get over here.”

I groan, dragging myself out of bed. I shuffle over to the computer, pulling up the second chair and plop down next to her. There's an article pulled up on the screen, with a picture of an attractive blonde woman.

“What am I looking at?”

“Cassandra Chandler's obituary. Look at this.” She points to a line on the screen. I squint at it.

“Can you zoom in?” She rolls her eyes, but she enlarges the text. “...'Matthew Chandler and his wife Cassandra (nee Sullivan) of Manhattan were victims of Wednesday's deadly plane crash.' ...So...Alodia's parents were from Manhattan? Is the what you're showing me?”

“No, Craig!” she sighs, exasperated. “Sullivan! Cassandra's maiden name was Sullivan!”

It takes a moment for that to sink in. “...Wait...like Flora Sullivan?”

“Now you're catching on.”

“But...it's not like Sullivan is a rare name, right?”

“Almost three-hundred thousand Sullivans in the United States.”

“So...you think Cassandra Sullivan-Chandler is somehow related to Flora Sullivan?”

“I think there aren't many coicidences where Vaanu is concerned.”

I yawn, rubbing my hands over my face. “...Come back to bed, Z. You can worry about this more in the morning.”

“I'm worried now,” she grumbles. I wind an arm around her waist and lower my head to nuzzle her neck. She sighs, whining a little, and tips her head so that her cheek is resting on my head. “...Fiiiine. I'll come to bed...”

Everett Rourke

Throughout this month, I have been giving interviews to the Man on Fire. Of course, he uses a psuedonym with me, and why should he imagine I have any idea who he actually is, when I have been in prison for five years? I have allowed him to suspect I have been in contact with Silas Prescott, and perhaps that has led him to have suspicions that I know more about him than I am letting on.

I feel a bit of melancholy as I gaze across the table at him today. Hope has been growing within me since I first saw Silas activate his Prism Gate, but my years in this prison have changed me. I am harder, and yet I am less confident. That was inevitable, I suppose. Prison makes a person hard, because one must be hard to survive it. And no matter what happened to result in a person being locked away, the moment when the door slams shut is the moment when failure is realized. Perhaps it is the inmate's failure, perhaps it is a failure of justice. But someone has failed, and failure shatters confidence. I wonder if I haven't lost my edge in this nightmare I have lived for the last five years. I wonder if my perception is slipping, if there is any chance I have tipped my hand a little too far to this wild card. Not that there is much time to worry about it. Alodia's child is due in four months.

“Mr. Rourke,” Caleb begins after a long stretch of thoughtful silence, “what do you think about the Prism Crystal giving people superpowers?”

“What do I think about it? I think it must be quite a boon to those fortunate individuals.”

“What I mean is...scientifically. Why those people? How does it work?”

“Ahh. That, I could not tell you. Nothing like that ever came of my own work with the crystals. My old friend Silas Prescott would know more about that than I would. He surely did a great deal of research following the event.”

“...And then he attempted to take over Northbridge.”

I chuckle. “Oh, is that what you think he tried to do?”

The young man raises an eyebrow. “Seemed like it, considering he basically said as much while he was shooting up with liquid prism.”

“You don't know the man like I do. He is not a man who naturally craves power, nor is he an idiot. Liquid Prism's effects are obviously temporary, and eventually, he would have been put down, even if he had succeeded in taking out Dragonness.”

“So what do you think he was really after?”

I shrug. “Perhaps you should ask him.”

He frowns. “Yeah. Maybe I should.”

I lean back in my chair. “I suspect we are reaching the end of our time together, Mr. Harding.”

“...Yeah...yeah we are...” Caleb gathers up his supplies. As we both stand, he obligingly reaches across the table to shake my hand.

“Happy New Year, Mr. Harding.”

“Yeah. Ditto, Mr. Rourke.”

He leaves me, and I am returned to my room. When I am left alone, I find myself standing in the middle of my quarters, casting an almost wistful eye over this...cell that has been my home for the last five years. I wonder if I will miss it. When my plans come to fruition, when I have regained what I have lost, will I ever yearn for this place that has become so familiar? It is doubtful. But one never knows for sure.

Silas Prescott

The winter solstice has passed, and the daylight hours increase incrementally each day. Still, I eat my dinner alone in the dark each night, hardly bothering to put more than a candle or a single light on at one time. I feel safer, wrapped in darkness. Lately, I have been feeling vulnerable, almost paranoid. I startle whenever my phone rings, and I can always hear the quiver in my voice when I answer. Most of the time, the voice on the other end is the same one I'm listening to tonight. Everett's contact. The man who goes between us.

“Rourke has the information he needs regarding the Trojan Project. He got it from Blaire Hall.”

“Can she truly be trusted? I remember Blaire. She is ambitious, and generally pragmatic. ...But there is an idealism in her. Unless she has grown harder and colder in recent years, I can't imagine she will have any reason to get behind this plan. ...Especially because it's likely to bring her daughter into harm's way.”

“She is already tugging at her leash,” he admits. “But if she gets off that leash, she'll have reason to regret it. Rourke knows things about her. Secrets she would not like revealed.”

“I am going to trial after the new year. How shall I handle that.”

“For now, just go along with it. Do as you are advised by your lawyers. The outcome won't be of any concern. Just be prepared.”

“I will be prepared. ...As long as I can get my Helena back, I am prepared for anything.”

Raj

“I'm scared.”

Lila's voice is soft, barely dominating the cheerful pop tunes and dance music bounce out of the rental car's speakers, even though the volume is so low they're basically background noise. We're boxed in on a California expressway, traffic currently moving at a snail's pace, so I feel pretty safe taking my eyes off the road to glance over at her. She isn't looking at me, her face turned slightly toward the window.

“...She knows you're coming. She won't hurt you. I wouldn't bring you if I had any doubt about that.”

“I know. I trust you. But...after so long...after the way things ended...”

“They ended with you on our side. On her side.”

“...I don't know if Estela actually sees it that way.”

“Even if she doesn't, she moved beyond the need for revenge a long time ago. And now that she has her mom back, I'd be willing to bet she'll be a lot more likely to let go of any lingering bad blood between you. Especially because tonight is mostly about Michelle and Alodia, and she won't want to sour anything.”

Lila turns slightly toward me and I catch a glimpse of a wry smile before I turn my eyes back on the road.

“I thought this was a New Years' Eve party. Isn't it a little early for bridal and baby showers, when the wedding and the baby are both months away?”

“Possibly, but this is the one time before the wedding that we could guarantee all the Catalysts would be together. Besides, it's also their birthdays. It's a combination party, just like Elysian Lodge.”

“...The morning after the party at Elysian Lodge didn't turn out so good,” she points out softly.

“But that's behind us now. Five years behind us. And this is Laguna Beach, not Elysian Lodge. We're not being chased by Arachnid, we're not hunting Catalyst idols, and none of us have missed our birthdays thanks to a time skip. ...We still can't have fireworks, but that's because they're illegal. But we can have a bonfire on the beach.”

“...You always did plan the best parties,” Lila concedes, smiling a little wider. I grin back.

“I am good at parties. And I've been planning this New Year's Eve/double birthday party/baby shower/wedding shower for months. Do you know how much effort goes into maintaining a few surprises when you're planning a party at someone else's beach house?” Finally, she laughs, which is what I was going for. I smile as the traffic starts to inch forward. “You got the shopping list?”

“Of course I do. You know I take every mission you give me very seriously.”

“And that's why we make such a great team.” I hold out my hand for a five, and she almost shyly slaps my palm with hers. “Ahh, finally, we're getting somewhere. Look out, Laguna Beach, it's New Year's Eve!”

* * *

We reach the beach house around one in the afternoon, laden with groceries and presents. Jake and Mike must have been watching for us because they meet us in the driveway, ready to help us carry everything inside.

“Food can go in the kitchen,” Jake informs us, gathering up all the bags he can carry, “presents in the front room under the Christmas tree. Think you brought enough food for everyone, Big Guy?”

“I hope so! With luck, there'll be leftovers, and I can keep up with any sudden cravings your wife has.”

“As long as you brought peanut butter.”

“Oh, not just any peanut butter. Five flavors of gourmet peanut butter. Plus, plenty of ingredients for virgin cocktails.”

Jake whistles. “You really do think of everything. Well, come on inside. Everyone else is in the kitchen.”

Lila

The moment I step inside the beach house, I am overwhelmed by the aura of warmth and good cheer in the air. Laughter rings from the kitchen and the chatter of familiar, friendly voices. Alodia, Diego, and the Vaanti prince. Alodia is visibly pregnant by now. She looks...amazing. Beautiful. Glowing. She looks so happy as she rushes to hug Raj and show him where he can put everything. I slink along behind him, wondering if any of them are going to comment on my presence. Jake and Mike didn't say much to me beyond 'hello,' but Alodia turns her attention on me pretty quickly, moving to embrace me. It doesn't feel...stiff exactly. Her embrace is warm, but it's also...formal in its way. A little shy. But I guess that's okay, because I feel a little shy, too.

“It's good to see you again, Lila,” she says sincerely as she pulls back. “How have you been?”

“Well...better, since I got away from Mr. Rourke. You have a beautiful home, by the way.”

“Oh, thanks. But technically, it's my aunt and uncle's house. They're just letting us live here. And turn one of the bedrooms into a nursery. So...pretty generous. ...Can I get you a drink or anything? Have you had lunch yet?”

Alodia plays an anxious hostess for awhile until Jake, Diego, and Raj practically force her to sit down at the kitchen table with a glass of orange juice and a sandwich. I settle into a role that has become familiar and comforting to me, helping Raj with whatever he needs done in the kitchen. As I dice and mix and whip, I feel myself relaxing. I start to participate in the conversation. I laugh. I joke. I tease, and they tease back. The kitchen fills with delicious smells. The stoves and ovens and the heat of our bodies makes the air swelter, and my cheeks feel fiery hot, but it doesn't bother me. I feel like I could stay blissfully ever after in this kitchen, delighting in the company of friends, sampling delicious foods.

Before I'm ready for it, the doorbell chimes. My blood sizzles with adrenaline. My heart spasms wildly, thumping so hard against my ribs that I when I look down I can see my left breast jumping. Alodia eagerly rushes to the door. I trail after her, afraid of who I'll see, but more afraid of being caught off guard. When I see who she's greeting, the relief that floods through my limbs leaves me feeling weak and shaky.

Sean, Michelle, Grace, and Aleister. Aleister has his son in his arms, and Murphy is curled over Michelle's shoulders. Like Alodia and the others, they greet me with equal parts reservation and warmth. I attempt to make friends with Reginald, but he's shy, and I suppose that's fair. Murphy is the only one who seems to be ready to welcome me back without hesitation. As soon as he shakes off his sleepiness, he leaps into my arms and licks at my face. We drift back into the kitchen, and Jake takes drink requests. Raj makes sure Alodia gets the first cup of his non-alcoholic cider while Michelle pesters her with questions about how she has been feeling and what were the results of all her latest tests. Everything is fine, Alodia assures her. She has ordinary pregnancy discomforts, but she and the baby are both healthy. I can't help but feel a twinge whenever I look at her belly, remembering Mr. Rourke's words, his musing that the baby might be useful to him somehow.

Another chime of the doorbell, and Craig and Zahra appear with a fresh supply of alcohol. I do a quick mental headcount of the Selected. The Catalysts. My old tour group. Alodia. Jake. Diego. Raj. Sean. Michelle. Grace. Aleister. Craig. Zahra. Ten accounted for. Two still to arrive. And one of them is Estela.

It isn't as if she doesn't know I'll be here. I know she was told, and she promised there wouldn't be trouble. Alodia wouldn't have been willing to let me come along with Raj if Estela wasn't willing to put aside any lingering hatred and play nice for the evening. But that doesn't mean I'm not still scared. I haven't spoken directly to Estela since...well, since I died at MASADA. I don't know how this is going to go. I knock back a couple of cocktails, feeling my nerves steady as I work up a pleasant buzz. We migrate into the main rooms, helping Raj lay the food and drinks out buffet-style in the massive dining room. In the main sitting room, Alodia turns on the gas fireplace, even though the temperature outside hasn't been below sixty-five all day. Zahra connects her phone to a speaker and starts up a playlist. Reginald seems to have adjusted to his surroundings somewhat, and plays with his toys on the living room floor, though he still protests when either of his parents move out of his sight.

Somehow, I miss it when the doorbell chimes again. Suddenly, I'm looking up and Jake is handing a drink to Estela while Quinn carefully transfers pastries from a tupperware box to a platter on the buffet. My eyes meet Estela's, and for a moment, everything surrounding us turns fuzzy, and the sounds of conversation are drowned by the blood pounding against my eardrums. Then Diego passes between us on his way somewhere, and the moment is broken. Next thing I know, Estela has plopped down beside me on the couch with a beer in her hand. As I try to avoid her eyes, I realize that everyone is watching us while clearly trying to pretend they aren't. I glance back at Estela as she gulps what has to be half her beer in one go.

“...We should talk privately,” she murmurs.

“If you want to,” I mumble back. “...Should...we just get it over with?”

She rolls her eyes, smirking just a little. “I'm not going to kill you. Promise. But yes. We should make sure the air is clear, or I think we run the risk of killing the mood.” She stands, nodding at me, and I follow her lead.

She leads us down a hall into what appears to be some kind of game room, with tables for chess, ping-pong, and pool. She closes the door behind her.

“It probably won't be too long before we're interrupted, knowing this crowd,” she remarks. She wanders over to the cue stands and pretends to examine the cues, running her finger absently over the smooth laminated wood.

“...If you hadn't already promised not to kill me, I might think you were planning to bludgeon me with one of those,” I quip. I hear a slight tremor in my voice, and try to cover it with a giggle. “...Or run me through. That would be particularly unpleasant.”

“For both of us,” she replies. “I would have to be in a very pure rage to summon the will and the strength to stab you with something blunt like a pool cue.”

“It could be done though.”

She turns toward me just slightly, her scarred eye regarding me thoughtfully. “...Have you ever done it?”

“Killed someone with a pool cue? No. I've never been angry enough. ...But...I think there was a time when you were angry enough at me that you could have done it.”

“Maybe,” she concedes.

“...Why didn't you kill me? In the end?”

She turns away again, and stays quiet for a long moment. “...You were already dying,” she says at last. “...But...more than that...I guess it just struck me that I couldn't really justify it. Killing you would accomplish nothing. It wouldn't bring my mother back. It wouldn't...teach you a lesson. You had turned on Rourke in the end, so I couldn't even pretend I was making the world safer by taking out his hired killer. ...The only reason I could honestly give for why I still wanted to kill you was...my own aggression. My own hurt and anger moving me to hurt someone else. ...I don't even remember exactly what Alodia said in that moment. But what I do remember is feeling like someone had held a mirror up to my face and showed me something ugly. ...If I had killed you in that moment, I would have been something I never wanted to be.”

“I never wanted to be what Mr. Rourke made me, either,” I say softly, unthinking. “I got sucked in, though. Or...he infected me. I'm not even sure how it happened. It was like...I was a frog in a pot of water, and he just kept turning up the heat, but I couldn't feel it until I was already boiling. By the time he was telling me to kill, I was his creature. He told me to kill my best friend, and it never occurred to me that he might be wrong.”

“But...being asked to kill us snapped you out of it?” She sounds...not quite skeptical, but unsure. “I believe you had a fondness for us, but that didn't exactly stop you from killing my mother.  

“It may have been a combination of triggers,” I concede. “I had been told to protect you with my life up until then. Mr. Rourke had promised Aleister he wouldn't harm you. Then he ordered me to kill you. It was enough to throw me off balance. And then when he said that he had technically told the truth because he wasn't going to hurt you, and that's what I was for... Then I saw you on your knees in front of me, and...I woke up. You look so much like your mom, Estela. And...she was so much like a mom to me when I knew her...” My voice breaks. I'm starting to realize that there are tears slipping down my cheeks. “I'm sorry...I'm so sorry, Estela...I don't know if you can ever forgive me...”

Estela turns to look at me. Her expression is heavy with sorrow. “...I don't know either, Lila. I don't know if letting go of the need for revenge is the same thing as forgiveness...but I can at least offer you that much.”

“...Really?”

She smiles wryly. “It's hard to hold onto that vendetta when the person I was supposed to be avenging is alive. ...But even if she didn't come back...even if she didn't come back and you did...after five years of living with everything that happened on that island...” She trails off, sighing. “I just...I have too much going for me now to let the past drag me down. ...My mother wouldn't rest in peace knowing I was spending the rest of my life in prison for murder.”

My lips feel a little dry. I try to wet them with my tongue and find a chapped spot to worry with my teeth for a moment. I knew Olivia was alive, ressurected the way I was. Raj had broken that news to me gently, though I honestly wasn't surprised.

“...Do you think...is there any way I could...talk to Olivia?”

Estela winces. “I...don't think that's in the cards right now.”

“Oh...okay. I understand.”

“For now...why don't you and I work on getting comfortable with each other again? Make that our New Year's resolution?”

I nod eagerly. “Of course. Of course, Estela. I've been given more chances than anyone should have. I don't want to waste this one.”

She puts out her hand, and I shake it. After a moment, we seem to silently agree that it's time to head back to the party. As she opens the door to the game room, Raj, Craig, and Zahra all stumble back from it.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Estela asks, eyes narrow. Raj and Craig blush, looking away guiltily.

“Uh...Diego told us there was a pool table in here,” Raj stammers. “But the door was closed, and...uh...”

Zahra rolls her eyes. “And we saw you two go in here, and we were eavesdropping to make sure no one ruined the party. Now if you two have cleared out the bad air, do you mind letting us in? We actually want to play pool.”

Michelle

Whatever Lila and Estela said to each other, it seems to have cleared the air. The party continues without any hint of the tension that crackled in the air not too long ago. All that's left now is a feeling that all is right with the world. Twelve Catalysts—plus a few cherished friends—are all together. Just as we should be. For the most part, the party seems to be sticking together. When Craig and Zahra head into the game room to play pool, the rest of us migrate in after them. We don't all take our turn playing, but we watch the action and hold conversations above the clacking of pool balls knocking against each other. When pool loses its appeal, we migrate back out to the main sitting room. Raj figures it's time for the combination wedding/baby shower portion of the evening, and forces me and Alodia in a pair of chairs in the middle of the room so we can open presents. Sean and Jake are enlisted to take turns carrying the gifts over to us and read the cards that accompany them. Alodia and I take turns unwrapping gifts at an unhurried pace, giving everyone enough time to “ohh” and “ahh” and “aww” over every onsie, decorative towel set, baby blanket, and embroidered throw pillow. Of course, every time I break a ribbon, someone remarks that I'm destined to have another baby. Grace and Quinn, giddy on Raj's signature cocktails, decide to take it a step further, predicting the sex based on who gave the present the ribbon came from, and assigning names to my hypothetical children. Apparently, courtesy of Raj, Estela, Grace, and Diego, I am destined to have four children named Victor, Susanne, Vera, and Phillip.

“Wow, Michelle, four kids,” Alodia teases. “I can barely believe I'm going to have one.”

“Yeah, that feeling will last awhile,” Grace chuckles. “But at some point, the reality will sink in. And then you'll start thinking about whether you want more.”

“Personally,” Aleister says from where he is sitting on the floor with Reggie and a pile of building blocks, “I would love for Reggie to have a sibling, but I am hoping we wait at least another year before actively trying for a second child.”

“Well, that is the plan,” Grace assures him, but then she grins mischeivously. “But sometimes things happen.”

“I was just realizing,” Quinn says suddenly, “that Grace and Aleister are the first Catalysts to be both married, and to have a baby. I mean, technically, Alodia, Jake, and Diego were the first Catalysts to get married, but Grace and Aleister were the first to get married after the island...”

“It's true,” Alodia concedes. “And you're still the first of all of us to have kids. But given my five year absence from my own marriage, I think Diego and Varyyn definitely hold the title of the oldest Catalyst marriage.”

“Congratulations, darling,” Varyyn quips, winding his arms around Diego from behind and kissing his cheek. Diego laughs, leaning into the embrace.

“It's been an amazing five years.”

“Do you guys ever think about bringing kids into the equation?” Sean asks.

“It is something we had imagined,” Varyyn admits. “But the pair of us raising a child in your world seemed much less likely than it would have been if we had chosen to live in Elyys'tel. Since we obviously cannot conceive one of our own together...”

“Our options were either to get a surrogate or adopt. And both of those seemed dauntingly complicated when we thought about explaining Varyyn's appearance. But...” Diego reaches back to stroke the back of Varyyn's head, “now that you have that disguise, the subject might be worth revisiting.”

“If you guys want a surrogate, I'd be willing,” Alodia declares. “I mean, once I'm recovered from this pregancy, of course. And if Jake were okay with it.”

“I dunno, Princess. I gotta admit that sounds a little weird on the face of it. I wouldn't dismiss it out of hand, though, if it were important to Diego and Varyyn.”

“Well, if we went that route, I think I'd have to provide the...genetic material,” Diego muses. “I'd be paranoid about an outside volunteer giving birth to a blue or green baby. And if Allie were the surrogate, I'd worry about mixing Vaanti DNA with half-human, half-Prism alien.”

“When you put it like that, I can see where it might get weird pretty quick,” Alodia admits. “Being the aunt/bio-mom to a kid whose bio-dad I think of as my brother...”

“Adoption would help you sidestep all that weirdness,” I point out. “It's what Sean and I want to do whenever we're ready for kids.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Well, it's really more like Michelle wants to adopt and I don't have a preference,” Sean clarifies. “Whenever we decide we want kids, it doesn't matter to me how we get them, whether we have our own or adopt.”

“But Michelle, you definitely want to adopt?”

I nod. It's a discussion Sean and I have had more than once. In any other company, I might consider it too personal to share. I don't even plan on telling my mother until after the wedding, when I know she'll ask about the possibility of grandchildren. But I don't think twice about telling the Catalysts. I don't think there's much I would want to keep from them unless it was something I hadn't dealt with myself.

“Either adopt or get a surrogate if we decide we really want our own kids. The long and short of it is that I don't want to be pregnant. I'd love to be a mom some day, but I also still plan on being a neurosurgeon. And I don't want to be worried about pregnancy complicating my progress if my body doesn't react well to it or there are complications.”

“That makes sense,” Alodia concedes. “I might have suggested adoption myself a few years down the line if this one hadn't crept up on me.”

“So, guys...” Diego says suddenly, “I have a very important question. How long has this been going on?”

He points towards Quinn, waving his index finger in a circle, a conspiratorial grin on his lips. I look at Quinn, raising an eyebrow when I realize that she has cozied up to Estela, who seems quite content to have the other woman in her arms. Estela blushes, but she's smiling as she averts her eyes.

“Only about a week.”

Zahra snorts. “Officially maybe.”

“Huh?” Craig frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please,” Zahra rolls her eyes. “Those two have been giving off 'vibes' around each other for months. I can't be the only one who noticed.”

The somewhat embarassed silence that ensues seems to confirm that she was in fact the only one to notice. Alodia raises one finger.

“In my defense, I'm on the other side of the country most of the time.”

“Me too,” Diego agrees. “And Jake and Varyyn and Mike.”

“And I spent a lot of time outside the country,” Raj points out. “But whether or not we noticed, it's awesome! You two'll be great together, I'm sure.”

“Well, we certainly hope so.”

Quinn suddenly sits up. “Oh! Raj! The cake! Should we do that now?”

“Right! Cake!” Raj claps his hands. “Michelle, Alodia, the part of the evening where we pamper you two isn't over yet, because Quinn baked birthday cake. Everybody into the kitchen!”

Alodia

I expected Raj to outdo himself with the cooking for this party. I expected Quinn to provide enough cupcakes to feed an army. I knew that Raj intended to make me and Michelle the focus of much of the evening, considering that we're both celebrating birthdays at the same time that she's planning her wedding and I'm twenty-seven weeks pregnant. But somehow, when I see the elegant layer cake that Quinn has prepared, smooth vanilla frosting topped with beautiful sugar roses, I feel tears clogging my throat. I manage to make it through the song and the cutting of the cake without breaking down. But in the chaos of serving that follows, I have to slip outside. I open the sliding door, hoping the chatter in the kitchen covers the soft rushing noise it makes as it glides on its runners, and slip out onto the deck.

The sun has been down for awhile, and the temperature has dropped with it. It's still nothing like the ice age side of La Huerta, or even Hartfeld this time of year. Plus, my current condition has me running hot most of the time, so the cool, salty breeze trailing over my face and tugging at my hair feels quite soothing. I wander down toward the pool. The timed lights under the water have flickered on, as have the lamps that line the pathways. My breath is hitching as I walk the perimeter of the swimming pool, heading toward the flagstone staircase that leads down to the cove. I grip the railing as I navigate the steps carefully.

I know I was already in the picture when my aunt and uncle bought the beach house, because Aunt Molly often joked about how the beach house and I were the same age because it was built the year I was born. Having a second home on the waterfront for entertaining and retreats had always been in their plans, though. They had spared no expense, choosing a brand new house that opened onto the sands of a private cove, with only a handful of neighbors sharing the shore with them.

Several of my neighbors appear to be having parties tonight. Music and laughter drift over the beach from back decks. As it gets closer to midnight, I expect the beach will fill with my neighbors and their guests and their bonfires, but for now, they're sticking inside. As I reach the bottom of the stairs, the party sounds are overpowered by the whisper of the waves breaking on the shore. I sit down to take off my shoes and socks and make my way across the soft, cold sand toward the water. Before I quite realize it, I've stepped onto wet sand, and the cool waves are washing over the tops of my feet. I gasp slightly at the chill, and that dissolves the knot of tears that has crystalized in my throat. I sob, quietly but thoroughly, the spasms coming from deep in my core. It feels almost unbearably wonderful, exciting and terrifying, to cry like this while memories flood my mind like a film montage. They're not memories of my childhood, of time spent in this house or on this beach. I was rarely allowed here, especially before I became a teenager. No, the memories flooding my head are all of my Catalysts. Of all of us together, happy and hopeful. The party at Elysian Lodge. My resolution to hold onto what mattered, to protect the people I loved, to prevent what I thought were their terrible futures that I was seeing every time we touched another amber idol together. Kissing Jake on the roof while the Lights of Vaanu shimmered in the frozen sky overhead. The desperation in his kiss was subtle, but I could taste it as clearly as my own, our fears for ourselves and each other flavoring our passion.

I remember the first party we had together, the first night we were on the island, not yet friends. I remember Raj bringing us together with a feast just a few nights later, and I remember kissing Quinn in the hours before, tasting vanilla frosting on both our mouths.

I remember my wedding day, the warmth of Jake's calloused palm against mine and the softness and pressure of the silk ribbon Seraxa wound around our hands. The way we had gazed at the cliffside from The Dorado while Jake painted pictures in my mind of a quiet little cottage just for the two of us, and the slow realization that I had nothing waiting for me on the other side of the island. That I could not even remember the faces of my family. And just hours later, the truth that Vaanu revealed to me...the way my heart had screamed in rebellion, desperately seeking a way to get back what was lost, the temptation to either give the world to Rourke or let it burn...the sinking resignation as I realized what I had to do...

“Alodia!” I turn to see Jake jogging across the sand to reach me. He stops in front of me, frowning, his brow knitting with concern. One hand cups my cheek, flushed hot with the effort of crying, while the other rests on my shoulder. “Hey...you okay?”

I cover his hand with mine, nodding. His thumb trails over the bony ridge beneath my eye, dabbing gently at my tears. I lean forward, letting my arms encircle him as I bury my face in his chest. He embraces me, stroking my hair and kissing the top of my head.

“Is it hormones again?”

“Probably,” I sniff. “...Do you think we'll ever have a normal marriage?”

“What do you mean a 'normal' marriage?”

“You know...like Diego and Varyyn have. Or Grace and Aleister.”

“...Varyyn is a hyper-evolved human with blue skin, and until a week ago, he and Diego couldn't consider things like adoption or anything that would put them under any real scrutiny for fear of what would happen if they started questioning Varyyn's appearance.”

“...Like Grace and Aleister, then.”

“I'd argue that they don't exactly have a 'normal' marriage, either. But then...I'm still not sure what you're thinking of when you say 'normal'.”

I sigh. “...I don't know.” I turn in his embrace so that I am looking at the sea as I lean against his chest. “We got married at Niala'rei. On that day, we committed to each other for a year and a day, and eternity if we were still in love after that. ...But I was gone by the next day.”

His arms tighten around my shoulders. “You're here now.”

“Yeah, but...what would the Vaanti say about our situation? Do we have to spend another year and a day living together before our souls are officially joined? Does it count that we're still in love after five years if we haven't spent all that time in each other's presence?”

“Does it matter what the Vaanti would say?”

I'm not sure why, but his question catches me off-guard. “Well...I...” I trail off, frowning. There's only one honest answer I can give. “...Yes. ...Sort of...”

“Why?” His tone is gentle, curious without being accusing or judgmental. I am quiet for a long moment, considering. Why exactly does it matter to me whether the Vaanti believe my soul is tied to Jake's already or if they would tell me that I needed to pass a year and a day by his side first?

“...I guess...maybe a part of me still believes in their power. In the power of their gods and guardians...in the power of a creature called the Endless who isn't me...” I close my eyes, pressing close to my husband. Feeling secure in his arms, I let the words flow out of me. “...A part of me is still scared. Still looking for guidance. ...When I came face-to-face with Vaanu and I learned the truth about what I was...that was the scariest thing I'd ever gone through. When I had to make that choice...it wasn't just that there wasn't a perfect option. It wasn't just that there wasn't a future where I saved the world and lived in it, too. ...The really scary part was that it was all down to me. It's like...when people say that everyone dies alone. You can die surrounded by your loved ones, but in the end, you have to take that last step alone. I was born from all of your need, your hopes, your fears. We had gone through that nightmare together, but in the end, I was the only one who could decide how it all ended. Even with all the guidance and encouragement and love that surrounded me, I was the only one who could take that final step.

“All that time, I had counted on all of you. I had trusted in the island's power, the Endless, the Vaanti, Vaanu to guide me on the right path. Even Rourke guided me sometimes, if only by showing me where I shouldn't lead us. But in the end, the power was mine. It was all in my hands. ...And I ended up losing you.”

His arms are tight around my shoulders. He presses a kiss to my cheek. “I'm right here, Princess. We're together now.”

“I know...it's just...I'm scared, you know? I'm always scared that we'll lose each other again.”

“So am I,” he admits. “...I don't know if there's a way to stop being scared of that.”

“...Maybe a part of me believes that if we can fulfil our handfasting vow...if we can be together for a year and a day and by Vaanti tradition, have our souls bound together forever... If we had faced Project Janus after being together for a year and a day, a part of me wants to believe that Vaanu couldn't have ever taken me back. That he couldn't have taken me back because our bond wouldn't have allowed me to rejoin him.”

It's Jake's turn to be silent and thoughtful. His hands trail down my arms to wrap gently around my swollen belly.

“...I don't know if that would have been true,” he says at last. “We're not immortal, Alodia. Someday, I'll die. Someday, you'll die, too. And someday, a long time after that, our baby—this little baby girl that ain't born yet? She'll die, too. ...Even the Vaanti die eventually. Even fasted Vaanti who have lived with their partners for a year and a day have to give up the ghost some day. A lot of them end up leaving their partners alone for awhile. ...Even if there is any magic to the 'year and a day' tradition, it won't stop nature taking its course. Not sure if it could have stopped you from giving yourself back to Vaanu, either. And I ain't sure I would have wanted it too. ...It tore me apart to give you up, Alodia. But the choice was yours to make. I'm your partner, not your master. I don't ever want to be a chain that keeps you from doing what you believe is right.”

“...I love you, Jake.” There's not much else I can say to that.

“I love you, too, Alodia. I don't need to wait a year and a day to know that I'm bound to you forever. I knew it long before that ribbon was wrapped around our hands.”

“...So did I,” I confess. “...I fell in love with you over two-thousand times, Jake McKenzie. I carried all those memories somewhere in my mind all through that last timeline. ...I'm yours. Now and forever.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you really know how adored you are. How much every person in that house up there loves you.”

“...If it's half as much as I love them, then I am the luckiest person on earth.”

I exhale slowly, my breath shaking as the last of my tears dry up, leaving something still and quiet at my center. The steady rolling and breaking of the waves over the shore is almost hypnotic. Since the dawn of humanity, how many have stood on this very shore under the moonlight and watched the waves roll in and out? What ancient creatures' bones lie fossilized millions of miles under my feet? Who were the first human beings to reach this cove?

In the back of my mind, I hold an image of a woman my own age, also with child, standing on this shore and watching the waves with her lover at her back. Perhaps an American settler from the east, whose husband planted eucalyptus trees. ...Or a Mexican woman in the last days of the war.  ...Was she aware of the war? Did she worry about it? Did her husband fight? Did it matter to her whether her child was born in a territory that belonged to Mexico or to America?

...Her ancestors are varied. Somewhere in her DNA is a Spanish woman who found love with an indigenous man. Further back was a woman who had secretly loved a Spanish soldier. But before her was one who had been called a savage by the Spanish soldier who marched into her village with the others and laid his hands on her as if he owned her. I can see his face, a face that might be handsome if it were not twisted with perverse pleasure...I can feel his hands...grabbing...tearing...

“...No...”

“No?”

Jake's voice makes me gasp as an electric spasm shoots down my spine. I pull myself from the arms encircling me, whipping around to face my husband. He pulls his hands back, holding them up and open as if to demostrate that he's unarmed. I feel a hot flush creep up my neck as I realize that he is looking at me with a mix of concern and confusion. I put a hand to my chest, trying to take slow breaths so that my rapid pulse will steady. He'll worry if I don't attempt to explain my sudden anxiety. I briefly consider making something up, but I did promise not to hide things from him like I did on the island.

“...I'm...I'm all right,” I assure him. “Just...something kind of weird happened just now...”

“Yeah?” He cautiously reaches out to stroke my shoulder, giving me time and room to retreat if I want to. I don't. I step closer to him.

“I was just daydreaming. Imagining all the people who might have stood on this beach throughout human history...and...I don't know if I just imagined too deeply or what, but...I started to feel like I was actually...seeing them. Feeling them...”

“...What did you see? Or feel?”

“...A Native American woman. Spanish soldiers came to her village...they...”

Jake winces, drawing me gently into his arms and cradling my head on his shoulder. “I can guess,” he says grimly. “Fucking bastards...”

I sigh. “History is full of conquests, and all of those conquests come with bastards drunk on their own power claiming the conquered women as spoils.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw bastards like that on both sides when I was in the Navy. But...shit, Alodia...were you...experiencing that just now?”

“Not...fully.”

“Even a little is too much for my liking.” He gently cups my face in his hands and kisses my forehead.

“I'm okay,” I assure him again. He pulls back slightly, examining my face in the light from the moon and the houses that line the cove.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, it was scary in the moment. But now, I'm more wondering why it happened like that. I mean, why I saw and felt it.” I feel my brow knitting. “...When we encountered the Endless in the cave on La Huerta, and I asked for proof that we could trust her, she listed facts about us all. And she said that wherever I am, if I stand still long enough I start to imagine all the people who have stood on that ground before me. ...That's been true for as long as I can remember. For as many timelines as I can remember. I never felt...taken in like this before.”

“You think it might have something to do with the prism half of your DNA?”

Something in either his question or the way he asks it calms me considerably. I meet his eyes, and in the depths of our shared soul, I know that he not only accepts the non-human half of me, but he embraces it. He loves it as a part of me, even knowing that it may yet reveal new ways to complicate my existence and his.

“Most likely,” I concede. “The Endless did say that I probably have powers that haven't manifested yet.”

“Well...hopefully it's something you can learn to control so you aren't just experiencing horrible things whenever your power feels like it.”

“Hopefully,” I echo. “...I think I'm ready to go back to the party now.”

“Glad to hear it.” Jake brushes my mouth with his. “You are one of the guests of honor, after all. Let's get you back to your adoring fans.”

Zahra

I guess Alodia had an attack of hormones or something because she disappeared for awhile after the cake was cut. She came back tucked under Jake's arm, her eyes tellingly puffy, but no one pressed her on it. I lost track of her for awhile after that, wandering back into the game room with Craig and Raj. Murphy follows us, jumping up to perch on the edge of the pool table and swat at the balls as they roll past him.

I get the fucking pants thrashed off me first couple games we shoot.

“Too many cocktails,” I mutter, even though my last drink was an hour ago. “Can't shoot straight.”

“Only thing to do is have a couple more!” Craig declares. “Wanna head back out to the party?”

“I'm game for it,” Raj agrees, and Murphy yips, which sounds like he's game, too. I shrug.

“Yeah, sure.”

Of course, Craig notices right away that something's up. And of course he figures out right away what it is.

“Hey, Z...are you planning on giving Alodia the...you know, the thing tonight?”

“What thing?” Raj asks.

I sigh. “Well, you might as well know. Grace's mom found some stuff out on Alodia's mom. I've been doing some digging, and I brought it along to show her.”

Raj frowns. “Is it bad?”

“No. I mean, not obviously. She worked for Mansingh Transglobal as a researcher and developer. She was a computer science major, and worked on some pretty cutting edge programming. Most prominently, some of the most advanced digital drawing/rendering programs of the early nineties. There's just some stuff that's...weird. Like the fact that her maiden name was Sullivan. Or the fact that with that advanced digital rendering, she managed to draw a chillingly realistic picture of the woman her daughter would grow up into, in spite of the fact that it was painted while Alodia was still a fetus.”

“That does sound kinda weird,” Raj agrees. “But her husband was Vaanu, remember. And if she was a descendant of La Huerta's Sullivans, she may have been exposed to the Island's Heart—or inherited exposure from her ancestors. It does make sense that Vaanu might choose a proto-Vaanti to be Alodia's mother.”

“Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, too. But then there's also the matter of the Trojan Project.”

“What's that?”

“Something Cassandra Chandler was working on before she died. I've been looking into it. It's not easy to find information on it. At all. But I've been able to uncover enough to make me think it wasn't related to computers.”

“So...what was it related to?”

I meet his eyes. “Something that would make a lot of sense for the mother of the Endless to be looking into. ...Time travel.”

Estela

I help Grace and Aleister put Reggie down around eight o'clock. He's set to spend the night in the room that will be River McKenzie's in a matter of months. It is a room in progress, to be sure. A wallpaper mural of jungle flora and fauna is spread over the walls, and soft green carpet covers the floor, but most of the furniture hasn't arrived yet, so Grace and Aleister have brought along a travel crib. An air mattress has been set up and made up on the floor as well, so that Grace and Aleister can sleep in the same room. This beach house was built for entertaining and has a number of guest rooms, but there is still going to be doubling by necessity, and a few will have to camp out on the convertible sofas.

In the bathroom attached to the nursery, Aleister fills the tub with a few inches of warm water while Grace and I carefully undress him. Reggie clearly knows what's coming and does his best to help us undress him, straining eagerly toward his father and the bathtub. I laugh.

“You like bathtime, mi conejito? That's good. Makes things easier for Mommy and Daddy, doesn't it?”

“Unless we're trying to get his clothes off,” Grace chuckles as she finally tugs off the last sock.

“All right, my clever boy,” Aleister says, scooping up his son and lifting him into the tub. “Let's get you into the nice warm water.”

Reggie happily plops down in the water and immediately begins slapping the surface with his chubby little hands, and kicking his feet to feel the current swirl around his legs. While Aleister bathes him gently, Grace and I ask him questions. He can't say more than a handful of words right now, but he can point to people, objects, and parts of his own body.

“Where is your foot, Reggie?” we ask him. “Where is Daddy? Where is Tia Estela?”

Grace suddenly smiles, looking up past me and Aleister. “Who is that coming into the bathroom?” We turn to look, and find Alodia hovering shyly in the doorway, Jake standing beside her with his hands on her shoulders.

“...Sorry, are we intruding? The door was open...”

“Not at all,” Aleister assures them. “It's your home.”

“Still, I'm guessing you don't want everyone crowding around your son during his bath,” Jake remarks, even as he and Alodia slip into the bathroom. “Don't want to freak the kid out.”

“Reggie,” Aleister begins, and Reggie quickly turns to look up at his father. “Your Auntie Alodia and Uncle Jake are going to talk to Mummy and Daddy while you have your bath. Is that all right?”

I don't know if Reggie actually understood any part of that question, but he smiles at Aleister and cooes as he holds up a toy boat, so we take it to mean he isn't distressed.

“ 'Auntie and Uncle',” Alodia echoes. “Is that what we are?”

“It seems fitting,” Aleister says. “And it is hardly an uncommon term of respectful endearment to a close friend of one's parents.”

“When I was growing up, all close friends of my folks were Auntie and Uncle,” Jake says. “It was just considered respectful where I'm from.”

“It was the same for me with friends of my dad,” Grace agrees. “Mom's friends and associates were whatever they preferred to be called. Sometimes that was 'Ms. Jones ' or 'Mr. Smith,' but some let me use their first names.”

“That's how it was with any friends of my aunt and uncle,” Alodia remarks. “When it came to Diego's family and neighbors, I just used the words he used. There were plenty of tios and tias, and his parents were Mama and Papa, and I was mija to everyone...”

She lowers the lid of the toilet and sits down carefully. Jake leans against the sink.

“How's the room?” he asks. “Adequate for the night?”

“Oh, it's just fine, thank you.”

“I love the wallpaper,” Grace adds. “And the carpet is so soft.”

“I had kinda hoped the crib would be here in time for tonight, but the one we really wanted ended up being backordered. Hopefully it gets here in time for River.”

“You've still got plenty of time,” I say, absently trailing my fingers through the bath water.

“The time will pass more quickly than you think it will,” Aleister warns. “I remember when Reggie was born, it felt like no time at all between that moment and Grace telling me that she was pregnant.”

I snort. “Says the one who didn't have to carry the child for nine months.”

Grace laughs. “You might be surprised to hear that it passed quickly for me, too. At least, there were moments when I looked at the calendar and could hardly believe how close I was to my due date.”

“I'm not sure how things are going to look in hindsight once she's born,” Alodia muses, caressing her stomach. “Right now, there's a lot that sucks about being pregnant, and a lot that's wonderful. But I'm mostly eager to meet River. To hold her and rock her and give her baths...”

Aleister sighs wistfully. “Once she is born, the time will start to pass even faster.”

“That, I can definitely agree with,” Grace says, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “I can hardly believe this boy is almost a year old...”

A silence descends over us, heavy with shared sentiment. It's not hard to guess what we're all thinking about. There is joy in the anticipation of Reginald's first birthday and Alodia and Jake's first child. There is joy in seeing Reginald grow and sweet sadness in saying goodbye to his baby days. And of course, the twelve of us—plus Lila and Varyyn, I imagine—can't help but remember the last time we were all together on New Year's Eve.

It seems to me that we were all so young then. The thought makes me feel ridiculous, given that I'm not even thirty yet, but the change between who I was then and who I am now—who all of us were then and now—is almost startling to think of. I think of myself, and of my brother, how we were both bitter, angry, and lonely; motherless children abandoned and betrayed by the father we didn't even know we shared. Really, all of us were misfits, somehow out of place in the world we had come from. Even Alodia, even before the timelines repaired themselves to give her a past and a home. She was the Mystery, the one who seemed linked to the island in ways the rest of us couldn't fathom. Even before the discovery of the Island's Heart, she was the one who could understand the Vaanti. The one who the Guardians were drawn to—and the only one who could get through to Quinn when Vaanu took her over. None of us fit with the world. But we fit with each other.

We've grown since then. We've changed. We've moved on with our lives. But we haven't forgotten each other. Distance has not weakened this family. If anything, our bonds are stronger than ever. They stayed strong enough over five years to bring Alodia back to us. I hope and pray that twelve will remain as one until the last of us is laid in a grave.

“...Estela?” Aleister's voice brings me back to reality.

“Sorry, what?”

He nods over my shoulder. “Could you pass me the towel?”

I turn and find the soft yellow terrycloth hanging behind my head, draped on the rack on the wall. I tug it down and pass it to Aleister.

“Right. Sorry. Lost myself in thought for a moment.”

“What were you thinking?” Alodia asks as Aleister wraps his son in the towel and lifts him from the bath. I lean back against the wall, feeling a smile playing around my mouth.

“That it's fitting we should all be here together for New Year's Eve. And that I plan to toast to many more to come.”

* * *

When Reggie has drifted off and Grace has set up the baby monitor, we rejoin the party. At some point, Alodia dozes off on the couch, cuddled up with Jake, but she comes awake again close to eleven, when we start migrating toward the beach. With many of Alodia's neighbors having the same idea, Varyyn opts to put on his holographic disguise. Though we were all told of Dax's gift, this is the first time I've seen it demonstrated. It's more than a little strange to see Diego cozying up to someone who looks so different from the Varyyn we know, and even stranger to hear Varyyn's voice and speech patterns coming from this stranger's lips. But I suppose it's something we'll get used to.

On the beach, we build a bonfire in a portable fire pit. We might have just assembled one from scratch like we would have on the island, but I don't think we could get the materials to do so without risking stealing someone else's plantlife. It's turned cool since the sun has set, so we pull our lawn chairs into as tight a circle as we can make around the firepit and wrap ourselves up in blankets. Quinn and I lie side-by-side on a chair, a blanket draped over our legs.

“So what are everyone's resolutions this year?” Quinn asks.

“Oh, yeah!” Raj's face lights up. “We should go around the circle and say what our resolutions are!”

Diego mock-groans. “Oh, come on, do we have to be so orderly about it?”

“Yes!” Raj replies firmly. “That way everyone is sure to get their turn.”

“Come on, Raj! That's like those lame families at Thanksgiving who go around their tables announcing what they're thankful for!” Zahra whines.

“Hey, you did exactly that with my family a couple months ago,” Craig points out.

“And it was lame. I just didn't say anything out of politeness.”

“Well, you can follow your own example tonight, too,” Raj retorts cheerfully. “Quinn, why don't you start us off, since you asked the question?”

“Well, okay.” Quinn sits up a little in my arms. “I resolve...to start learning a new skill. Like a musical instrument or knitting or something. Estela?”

“Hmm. I suppose...I resolve to cherish my circumstances. I was once prepared to throw away my freedom for something that I know now would have only left me hollow. So I am resolving to be grateful for my freedom and any opportunity to make real change.”

“Which, as a CEO of Rourke International, you have plenty of opportunity to do,” Aleister points out. “And with that in mind, I think I will resolve focus more of our resources on clean energy. Silas Prescott's 'clean energy' cover story for the Prism Gate may have been tripe, but it has gotten me thinking lately.”

“I'll resolve to make more of an effort to stay in contact with my dad,” Grace says. “He deserves to see more of his grandson.”

“I resolve to get more sleep,” Michelle announces, and is met with approving chuckles.

“And to help you with that resolution,” Sean adds, “I resolve to help you out more, especially with the wedding plans. Any task you need done, throw it my way and I will complete it to the best of my ability.”

“Welp, I'm gonna be completely predictable and resolve to get some more exercise,” Craig says, grinning. “Not saying I'm gonna in the kinda shape I was at Hartfeld, but Cheese Friday has gotten me a little mushy.”

“I like you mushy,” Zahra says firmly. “But I guess I like you healthy, too. So, I resolve to help you with your resolution by being your personal trainer and driving you mercilessly.”

Craig groans. “I think I'm regretting this already.”

By now we've circled around to Raj. “Okay, well. I'm resolving to be a little bit more organized. Take a little more responsibility for not just planning my shows, but paying a little more attention to logistics.”

He nods at Lila, who turns her gaze on the flames. “I resolve to let go of who I was before. To let go of Mr. Rourke and what I was to him. That isn't me anymore.”

Raj puts a hand on her shoulder. “Here, here.”

Lila smiles somewhat timidly before turning to the person beside her. “Jake? Your turn.”

“Me? Jesus, I dunno. Few more months, I'm gonna be someone's dad. Hard to think about anything beyond that. But I guess I resolve to get the nursery finished by then.”

“Which should be easy since Molly and Rob insist on letting professionals do most of it,” Diego snickers.

“Hey, if that crew is willing to come back after the way Jake was bossing them around over the wall and floors, I'll be impressed,” Alodia quips. Jake slings an arm over her shoulders, kissing her temple.

“That was my brilliant plan all along, Princess. So what's your resolution?”

“...Basically the same one I made last New Year's I experienced. I'm going to hold onto what matters. Stay in the moment and not worry about the past. Protect what I love. And...maybe look into finishing my degree, if motherhood permits me the time.”

Diego sighs. “So, am I seriously the one who's going to have the responsibility of throwing out the joke resolution? You guys are gonna make me be the one who resolves to eat more ice cream or something like that?”

“Hey!” Zahra yelps. “I'm the one who resolved to be Craig's personal trainer!”

“How is that a joke resolution?”

“Uh, because he played football, and if you haven't noticed, I have skinny T-rex arms?”

“Legs and ass, though,” Craig drawls, waggling his eyebrows. “Mmm-mm.”

“Craig, we all know your girlfriend's a snack. You can stop bragging about it.”

“Says my very gay best friend,” Alodia quips.

“Yeah, I'm gay, not blind. I'm just saying that if I had to pick a woman--”

“Thank you, Diego,” Zahra interrupts, smirking. “I'm flattered. I wouldn't kick you out of bed, either.”

“As...confusingly sweet as this little flirtation is, both of your men are sitting right here, and you should probably knock it off.”

“Yes, please do. Or I shall have to remind you who your fasted partner is.”

The dark-skinned man beside Diego pulls him playfully onto his lap. For a moment, I'm alarmed, thinking that a stranger has crept into our circle, until I remember Varyyn's disguise. Varyyn holds Diego against him, planting kisses on the back of his neck.

“Does this help improve your memory?” he asks between kisses.

“Mmm...it's getting there. I can almost remember now...”

“Okay, you two, save some of that for midnight. Varyyn, do you have a resolution for us?”

“Well...I suppose now that I can walk through the world a bit more openly, I suppose I would like to experience new things. Things I have hesitated to try for fear that I would be seen and questioned.”

“I can probably help you with some of that,” Mike remarks. “I'm planning on getting myself a little more settled in the area. Get a permanent job, possibly an apartment...try to put myself a little bit back in the world, more than I have been since I got back to the States.”

Jake reaches over to put a hand on Mike's shoulder. “...You know you're welcome here indefinitely. You're a big help, and every extra set of hands is gonna be a blessing once River's born.”

“I know. And I'm happy to help out however I can. ...But I also wanna get my own two feet back under me. ...Metaphorically speaking,” he adds ruefully, flexing one bionic foot.

“I can't say I don't get that,” Jake concedes. “And I'll fully support you. ...But you are welcome to stay with us as long as it takes.”

“Agreed,” Alodia adds. “It's a big place. It's your home until you're ready to move out.”

“Thanks. ...I feel like I should toast to that.”

“Oh! Good thinking, Mike!” Raj opens the cooler beside him, pulling out a bottle of champagne and a bag of plastic champagne flutes. “It's getting near enough to midnight to break out the bubbly. And don't worry, Alodia, I've got sparkling grape juice for you.”

“I wasn't worried. You've kept me well-stocked on mocktails this whole evening.”

“I live to serve!” Raj pops the cork and fills the glasses, passing them around the circle. When everyone has a glass, he raises his. “Here's to a New Year. Here's to Michelle and Alodia as they celebrate their twenty-eighth birthdays. Here's to Michelle and Sean as they prepare for their wedding, and here's to Alodia and Jake as they prepare to welcome the newest addition to our family. Here's to Reggie, who is almost a year old. We love you, little dude. ...Anyone have anything to add?”

“Here's to having Allie back with us,” Diego says.

“Here's to this family,” Alodia adds. “All of you mean everything to me, and I can't believe how lucky I am to have you.”

Beside me, Quinn raises her glass. “Here's to love. Eros, storge, philia, and agape.”

We raise our glasses, tapping them against the ones beside us before taking a sip. Around the other bonfires on the beach, the neighbors have begun to shift, gathering together in anticipation of the countdown.

“Two minutes until midnight, everyone!”

Couples begin pairing off, ready to ring in the new year with a kiss. I stand, carefully pulling Quinn up with me. She stumbles a little, leaning heavily on me. She grins sheepishly up at me.

“Maybe I've had one too many cocktails...”

I grin back. Jesus, she's adorable. “We'll have time enough for you to sleep it off.”

“Mm...but I hope I don't fall asleep too quickly.” She winds her arms around my neck, standing on her toes to whisper in my ear, “I've got a few ideas on how to properly ring in the new year.”

“You remember we're sharing a guest room with Craig and Zahra, right?”

“It's a big house. We can find a place to disappear.”

“Thirty seconds until midnight!” Craig calls before I can answer.

In twenty seconds, the whole cove rings out with the sound of the massive gathering counting the last ten seconds until midnight. I join in, finding myself swept up in the festive mood. As the last count dissolves into cheers and applause, I bend toward the woman in my arms and press my mouth to hers. She parts her lips to receive me, tasting me hungrily. I feel my cheeks growing warm as my belly flutters with anticipation. It isn't enough to feel her in my arms, or to trace the inside of her mouth with my tongue. I reluctantly withdraw my tongue from her mouth, though I keep my lips close.

“...Where did you have in mind for us to disappear to?”

* * *

Locked in one of the beach house's luxurious bathrooms, Quinn and I lie naked and spent in the empty whirlpool bath, our sweat-slick bodies leaving impressions on the acrylic. I'm still trembling with the exertion of my last climax, feeling heady and languid as I sink into the afterglow with Quinn panting in my arms. I can still distantly hear voices elsewhere in the house, traveling through the vents to reach the bathroom. Gradually, Quinn's breathing slows and she lays her head on my chest.

“That was...incredible,” she murmurs around a yawn.

“Very,” I agree, stroking her copper hair, damp and tangled with sweat. “You are very...skilled.”

“So are you.”

“That is generous of you, but I know I am not. I was a virgin until about three years ago. I hadn't even had my first kiss until then. ...Before you, I'd had only two partners, both of them men.”

“Then you have good instincts. Or...perhaps you have experience enough with your own body to guess what might feel good on mine?”

“I suppose that could be it,” I concede. “The first man I slept with was very experienced. Very generous, too. A considerate lover. I learned a great deal about my body from him, and I suppose it's fair to say he awakened my appetites. Even after we were no longer seeing each other, I found I had learned to enjoy exploring my own body.”

“Sounds like a good way to lose your virginity.”

“It was. I'm grateful that my first time was with an attentive partner, even if the relationship didn't last.”

“My first time was probably much less pleasant. It was all consensual, but we were both virgins, and neither of us knew what we were doing.”

“What sort of...equipment was your partner sporting?”

“Outdoor plumbing,” she giggles. “A man. Well...I use the term loosely. It was freshman year at Hartfeld, and we were both barely legal previously sheltered kids drunk on the freedom of college. ...I spent a lot of nights in other people's beds that semester. Hooking up with every attractive person who was willing. But, that meant I learned a lot about sex, too.”

I chuckle. “You know, anyone who didn't know you better would never guess you were the type to have a series of one-night stands. They would think you were too sweet and innocent for that type of behavior.”

“But you know better?”

“I and all the other Catalysts certainly. We know that a sweet disposition doesn't preclude a sexual appetite. ...And it seems natural to me that in your circumstances, you would have had a lot of wild oats to sow, as the saying goes.”

“And you're a natural warrior. But that doesn't preclude a lack of sexual experience. It makes sense to me that you would have focused everything on your mission to the point of ignoring romance or even just sex because it wasn't a priority.”

“But lately, I find myself craving it. Especially with you.” I kiss the top of her head. “...Quinn? What would you like us to be to each other?”

“Well...girlfriends, for now. …That is what we are, right?”

“Well, I hope so. But...I was thinking of in the future. We've known each other for a long time. We've been friends for a long time. I've always loved you as my friend and fellow Catalyst. I always will. But...as my girlfriend, that's...”

“...It's a new dynamic. One that might take some getting used to. ...We'll see where this goes, Estela. I love you, too. I always have. ...I think I could love you as my girlfriend, too. And...maybe someday, as my wife? As a mother to my children?”

I nod, a smile on my lips. “Yes. Yes, that's what I'm hoping for, too. ...I am hoping that this is the relationship that lasts the rest of my life. ...I want to marry. I want to have a family. ...I hope that further down the line, you and I decide we want to have that together.”

“I agree that would be the ideal outcome.” Quinn sighs happily, yawning again. “...Mmm...I think I could just sleep here.”

I laugh. “We'll wake up freezing an hour from now if we don't at least put some clothes on. Besides, I really think a bed would be more comfortable.”

“We smell like sex. Craig and Zahra will know what we've been up to.”

“Do you think they haven't been up to it themselves? Even if they haven't, I'm not ashamed of having sex with my girlfriend.”

“Me neither. But maybe it's not polite to make our friends smell it.”

“Hmm, perhaps not. ...But I have an answer to that, I think. After all...we are in a bathtub.”

When we can finally summon the energy, we stop up the tub and turn on the water, filling it up to our chests. We turn on the jets and let the water massage our tired muscles as we tenderly bathe each other. The hot water saps the last of my energy, and clearly Quinn feels the same. We lean heavily on each other as we stumble to the guest room, wrapped in soft towels, water dripping off the ends of our hair. We'll clean up our mess in the bathroom in the morning, I decide.

Craig and Zahra haven't come to bed yet, so we turn on the light as we paw through our overnight bags for sleep clothes and toothbrushes. We throw on our pajamas, hastily brush our teeth, and stumble into one of the two double beds in the guest room. I just barely manage to kiss Quinn goodnight and draw her into my arms before I've fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep.

* * *

We're having an earthquake. That's the next thought I am aware of as I am forced out back to wakefulness by a vigorous vibration. As my roaming consciousness is unceremoniously dumped back into my brain, my waking body struggles to make sense of my surroundings. My hand fumbles for Quinn and finds her still curled against my body. I realize there is a hand on my shoulder. That's where the shaking is coming from. And there is a person speaking.

“Estela!” My brother's voice is a whisper, but there's an urgency in it that turns the sound harsh. “Estela, wake up!”

“...Aleister?” I roll over, rubbing my eyes. Quinn stirs beside me, and past Aleister, I can see Zahra tucked in the other bed, lifting her head off the pillow. I can faintly hear Craig snoring beside her.  I try to look at the digital clock on the nightstand between the beds, but the room is still dark, and my eyes seem disinclined to focus. “...What time is it?”

“It's a little after five in the morning. But I'm afraid this can't wait.”

There's something in his voice that makes my stomach go hot and then cold before settling into a hard lump. In an instant, I am awake. I meet his eyes in the dim light of the moon that comes through the window, and nod toward the door that leads to the hall. As he gets off the bed, Quinn sleepily mumbles my name.

“Shhh. Go back to sleep, mi sirenita. I'll be right back.”

“Mmmokay...” Quinn yawns and rolls over again, her breathing deep and even within seconds. I'm not sure she was ever fully awake. I follow Aleister out into the hall.

“...What's wrong?”

“Estela, I just got a call from the mental institution in Northbridge. ...They said that...they found Father dead in his room this morning.”

[themaddeningscience]

Originally published in “When the Villain Comes Home” (Dragon Moon Press, 2012) and “Hero is a Four Letter Word” (Short Fuse, 2013)

Warning: This story contains profanity and sexual situations

Bullets fired into a crowd. Children screaming. Women crying. Men crying, too, not that any of them would admit it. The scent of gun powder, rotting garbage, stale motor oil, vomit, and misery. Police sirens in the distance, coming closer, making me cringe against old memories. Making me skulk into the shadows, hunch down in my hoodie, a beaten puppy.

This guy isn’t a supervillian. He isn’t even a villain, really. He is just an idiot. A child with a gun. And a grudge. Or maybe a god complex. Or a revenge scheme. Who the hell cares what he thought he had?

In the end, it amounts to the same.

The last place I want to be is in the centre of the police’s attention, again, so I sink back into the fabric, shying from the broad helicopter searchlights that sweep in through the narrow windows of the parking garage.

If this had been before, I might have leapt into action with one of my trusty gizmos. Or, failing that, at least with a witty verbal assault that would have left the moron boy too brain-befuddled to resist when I punched him in the oesophagus.

But this isn’t before.

I keep my eyes on the sky, instead of on the gun. If the Brilliant Bitch arrives, I want to see.

No one else is looking up. It has been a long, long time since one of…us…has donned sparkling spandex and crusaded out into the night to roust the criminal element from their lairs, or to enact a plot against the establishment, to bite a glove-covered thumb at ‘the man.’ A long time since one of us has done much more than pretend to not be one of us.

The age of the superhero petered out surprisingly quickly. The villains learnt our lessons; the heroes became obsolete.

A whizzing pop beside my left ear. I duck behind the back wheel of a sleek penis-replacement-on-wheels. The owner will be very upset when he sees the bullet gouges littering the bright red altar to his own virility.

I’ve never been shot before. I’ve been electrocuted, eye-lasered, punched by someone with the proportional strength of a spotted gecko and, memorably, tossed into the air by a breath-tornado created by a hero whose Italian lunch my schemes had clearly just interrupted.

Being shot seems fearfully mundane after all that.

A normal, boring death scares me more than any other kind—especially if it’s due to a random, pointless, unpredictable accident of time and place intersecting with a stupid poser with the combination to daddy’s gun drawer and the key to mommy’s liquor cabinet. I had been on the way to the bargain grocery store for soymilk. It doesn’t look like I’m going to get any now.

Because only the extraordinary die in extraordinary ways. And I am extraordinary no longer.

I look skyward. Still no Crimson Cunt.

Someone screams. Someone else cries. I sit back against the wheel and refrain from whistling to pass the time. If I was on the other side of the parking garage, I could access the secret tunnel I built into the lower levels back when the concrete was poured thirty years ago. But the boy and his bullets are between us. I’ve nothing to do but wait.

The boy is using a 9mm Barretta, military issue, so probably from daddy’s day job in security at the air force base. He has used up seven bullets. The standard Barretta caries a magazine of fifteen. Eight remain, unless one had already been prepared in the chamber, which I highly doubt as no military man would be unintelligent or undisciplined enough to carry about a loaded gun aimed at his own foot. The boy is firing them at an average rate of one every ninety-three seconds—punctuated by unintelligible screaming—and so by my estimation I will be pinned by his unfriendly fire for another seven hundred and forty-four seconds, or twelve point four minutes.

However, the constabulary generally arrive on the scene between six and twenty-three minutes after an emergency call. As this garage is five and a half blocks from the 2nd Precinct, I estimate the stupid boy has another eight point seven minutes left to live before a SWAT team puts cold lead between his ribs.

Better him than me.

Except, probability states that he will kill another three bystanders before that time. I scrunch down further, determined not to be a statistic today. This brings me directly into eye-line with a corpse.

There is blood all around her left shoulder. If she didn’t die of shock upon impact, then surely she died of blood loss. Her green eyes are wide and wet.

I wonder who she used to be.

I wonder if she is leaving behind anyone who will weep and rail and attend the police inquest and accuse the system of being too slow, too corrupt, too over-burdened. I wonder if they will blame the boy’s parents or his teachers. Will they only blame themselves? Or her?

And then, miraculously, she blinks.

Well, that certainly is a surprise. Perhaps the trauma is not as extensive as I estimated. To be fair, I cannot see most of her. She has fallen awkwardly, the momentum of her tumble half-concealing her under the chassis of the ludicrously large Hummer beside my penis-car.

I am so fascinated by the staggering of her torso as she tries to suck in a breath, the staccato rhythm of her blinks, the bloody slick of teeth behind her lips, that it’s all over before I am aware of it.

This must be what people mean by time flying.

I’m not certain I’ve ever felt that strange loss of seconds ever before. I am so very used to being able to track everything. It’s disconcerting. I don’t like it.

And yet the boy is downed, the police are here, paramedics crawling over the dead and dying like swarming ants. I wait for them to find my prize, to pull her free of the SUV’s shadow and whisk her away to die under ghastly fluorescent lights, too pumped full of morphine to know she is slipping away.

I wait in the shadow of the wheel and hope that they miss me.

They do.

Only, in missing me, they miss her, as well. She is blinking, gritty and desperate, and now the police are leaving, and the paramedics are shunting their human meat into the sterile white cubes, and they have not found her, my fascinating, panting young lady.

Oh dear. This is a dilemma.

I am reformed. I am no longer a villain. But I am also no hero and I like my freedom far too much to want to risk it by bringing her to the attention of the officials. What to do? Save her and risk my freedom, or let her die, and walk free but burdened with the knowledge of yet another life that I might have been able to save, and didn’t?

I dither too long. They are gone. Only the media are left, and I certainly don’t want them to catch me in their unblinking grey lenses.  The woman blinks, sad and slow. She knows that she is dead. It’s coming. Her fingers twitch towards me—reaching.

A responsible, honest citizen would not let her die. So I slink out of my shadow and gather her up, the butterfly struggle of her pulse in her throat against my arm, and slip away through my secret tunnel.

I steal her away to save her life.

It occurs to me, when I lean back and away from the operating table, my hands splashed with gore, that I’ve kidnapped this woman. She has seen my face. Others will see the neat way I’ve made my nanobots stitch the flesh and bone of her shoulder back together. They will recognize the traces of the serum that I’ve infused her with in order to speed up her healing, because I once replaced the totality of my blood with the same to keep myself disease free, young looking, and essentially indestructible. The forensics agents will know this handiwork for mine.

And then they will know that at least one of my medical laboratories escaped their detection and their torches. They will fear that. No matter that I gave my word to that frowning judge that I had been reformed, no matter that the prison therapist holds papers signed to that effect, no matter that I’ve personally endeavoured to become and remain honest, forthright, and supportive; one look at my lair will remind them of what I used to be, what they fear I might still be, and that will be enough. That will be the end. I will go back to the human zoo.

And I cannot have that. I’ve worked too hard to be forgotten to allow them to remember.

I take off the bloody gloves and apron and put them in my incinerator, where they join my clothing from earlier tonight. I take a shower and dress—jeans, a tee-shirt, another nondescript wash-greyed hoodie: the uniform of the youth I appear to number among. Then I sit in a dusty, plush chair beside the cot in the recovery room and I wait for her to wake. The only choice that seems left to me is the very one I had been trying to avoid from the start of this whole mess—the choice to go bad, again. I’ve saved her life, but in doing so, I’ve condemned us both.

Fool. Better to have let her died in that garage. Only, her eyes had been so green, and so sad…

I hate myself. I hate that the Power Pussy might have been right: that the only place for me is jail; that the world would be better off without me; that it’s a shame I survived her last, powerful assault.

When she wakes, the first thing the young woman says is, “You’re Proffes—”

I don’t let her finish. “Please don’t say that name. I don’t like it.”

Her sentence stutters to a halt, unsaid words tumbling from between her teeth to crash into her lap. She looks down at them, wringing them into the light cotton sheets, and nods.

“Olly,” I say.

Her face wrinkles up. “Olly?”

“Oliver.”

The confusion clears, clouds parting, and she flashes a quirky little gap between her two front teeth at me. “Really? Seriously? Oliver?”

I resist the urge to bare my own teeth at her. “Yes.”

“Okay. Olly. I’m Rachel.” Then she peers under the sheet. She cannot possibly see the tight, neat little rows of sutures through the scrubs (or perhaps she can, who knows what powers people are being born into nowadays?), but she nods as if she approves and says, “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t let you die.”

“The Prof would have.”

“I’m Olly.”

She nods. “Okay.”

“Are you thirsty?” I point to a bottle of water on the bedside table.

She makes a point of checking the cap before she drinks, but I cannot blame her. Of course, she also does not know that I’ve ways of poisoning water through plastic, but I won’t tell her that. Besides, I haven’t done so.

“So,” she says. “Thank you.”

I snort, I can’t help it. It’s a horribly ungentlemanly sound, but my disbelief is too profound.

“Don’t laugh. I mean it,” she says.

“I’m laughing because you mean it. Rachel.” I ask, “How old are you?”

She blushes, a crimson flag flapping across a freckled nose, and I curse myself this weakness, this fascination with the human animal that has never managed to ebb, even after all that time in solitary confinement.

“Twenty-three,” she says. She is lying—her eyes shift to the left slightly, she wets her lips, her breathing increases fractionally. I see it plain as a road sign on a highway. I also saw her ID when I cleaned out her backpack. She is twenty-seven.

“Twenty-three,” I allow. “I was put into prison when you were eight years old. I did fifteen years of a life sentence and was released early on parole for good behaviour and a genuine desire to reform. The year prior to my sentencing I languished in a city cell, and the two before that I spent mostly tucked away completing my very last weapon. Therefore, the last memory you can possibly have of the ‘Prof,’ as you so glibly call him, was from when you were six.” I sit forward. “Rachel, my dear, can you really say that at six years old you understood what it meant to have an honest to goodness supervillain terrorizing your home?”

She shakes her head, the blush draining away and leaving those same freckles to stand out against her glowing pale skin like ink splattered on vellum.

“That is why I laughed. It amuses me that I’ve lived so long that someone like you is saying thank you to me. Ah, and I see another question there. Yes?”

“You don’t look old enough,” she says softly.

I smile and flex a fist. “I age very, very slowly.”

“Well, I know that. I just meant, is that part of the…you know, how you were born?”

“No,” I say. “I did it to myself.”

“Do you regret it?”

I flop back in my chair, blinking. No one has ever asked me that before. I’ve never asked myself. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Would you?”

She shrugs, and then winces, pressing one palm against her shoulder. “Maybe,” she admits. “I always thought that part of the stories was a bit sad. That the Prof has to live forever with what he’s done.”

“No, not forever,” I demur. “Just a very long time. May I ask, what stories?”

“Um! Oh, you know, social science—recent history. I had to do a course on the Superhero Age, in school. I was thinking of specializing in Vigilantism.”

“A law student, then.”

“Yes.”

“How urbane.”

“Yes, it sort of is, isn’t it?” She smiles faintly. “What is it about superheroes that attracts us mousy sorts?”

“I could say something uncharitable about ass-hugging spandex and cock cups, but I don’t think that would apply to you.”

“Cape Bunnies?” she asks, with a grin. “No, definitely not my style.”

“Cape Bunn—actually, I absolutely have no desire to know.” I stand. I feel weary in a way that has nothing to do with my age. “If you are feeling up to it, Rachel, may I interest you in some lunch?”

“Actually, I should go,” she says. “I feel fantastic! I mean, this is incredible. What you did. I thought I was a goner.”

“You nearly were,” I say.

“And thank you, again. But my mom must be freaking out. I should go to a hospital or something. At least call her.”

“Oh, Rachel,” I say softly. “You’ve studied supervillians. You know what my answer to that has to be.”

She is quiet for a moment, and then those beautiful green eyes go wide. “No,” she says.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to trade my freedom for yours. I thought I was doing good. For once.”

“But…but,” she stutters.

“I can’t.”

She blinks and then curses. “Stupid, I’m not talking about that! I mean, they can’t really think that about you, can they? You saved my life. This…this isn’t a bad thing!”

I laugh again. “Are you defending me? Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Don’t condescend to me!” she snaps. “That’s not fair. You’ve done your time. You saved me. Isn’t that enough for them?”

“Oh, Rachel. You certainly do have a pleasant view of the world.”

“Don’t call me naive!” The way she spits it makes me think that she says this quite often.

“I’m not,” I say. “Only optimistic.” I gesture through the door. “The kitchen is there. I will leave the door unlocked. I’ve a closet through there—take whatever you’d like. I’m afraid your clothing was too bloody.”

“Fine,” she snarls.

I nod once and make my way into the kitchen, closing the door behind me to leave her to rage and weep in privacy. I know from personal experience how embarrassing it is to realize that your freedom has been forcefully taken from you, in public.

I built this particular laboratory-cum-bolthole in the 1950s, back when the world feared nuclear strikes. I was a different man then, though no less technologically apt, and so it has been outfitted with all manner of tunnels and closets, storage chambers, libraries, and bedrooms. The fridge keeps food fresh indefinitely, so the loaf of bread, basket of tomatoes and head of lettuce I left here in1964 are still fit makings for sandwiches. I also open a can of soup for us to share.

She comes out of the recovery room nine thousand and sixty-six seconds—fifteen point eleven minutes—after; a whole three minutes longer than I had estimated she would take. There is stubbornness in her that I had not anticipated, but for which I should have been prepared. She did not die in that garage, and it takes great courage and tenacity to beat off the Grim Reaper.

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” she says, and sits in the plastic chair. I suppose the look is called “retro” now, but this kitchen was once the height of taste.

“Why are you apologizing to me?” I set a bowl in front of her. She doesn’t even shoot me a suspicious look; I suppose she’s decided to take the farce of believing me a good person to its conclusion.

“It sucks that you’re so sure people are going to hate you.”

“Aren’t they?”

She pouts miserably and sips her soup. It’s better than the rage I had been expecting, or an escape attempt. I wasn’t looking forward to having to chase her down and wrangle her into a straitjacket, or drug her into acquiescence. I would hate to have to dim that keen gaze of hers.

I sit down opposite her and point to her textbook, propped up on my toaster oven for me to read as I stirred the soup. It had been in the bloody backpack I stripped from her, and seemed sanitary enough to save. Her cell phone, I destroyed.

“This is advanced, Rachel,” I say. “Are you enjoying it?”

She flicks her eyes to the book. “You’ve read it.”

“Nearly finished. I read fast.”

“You didn’t flip to the end?”

“Should I?”

“No,” she blurts. “No. Go at your own pace. I just…I mean, I do like it,” she said. “Especially the stuff about supervillain reformation.”

I sigh and set down my spoon. “Oh, Rachel.”

“I’m serious, Oliver! Just let me make a phone call. I promise, no one will arrest you. I won’t even tell them I met you.”

“You won’t have to.”

She slams her fists into the tabletop, the perfect picture of childish frustration.  “You can’t keep me here forever.”

“I can,” I say. “It is physically possible. What you mean to say is, ‘You don’t want to keep me here forever.’”

She goes still. “Do you want to?”

I can. I know I can. I can be like one of those men who kidnaps a young lady and locks her in his basement for twenty years, forcing her to become dependent on him, forcing her to love him. But I don’t want to. I’ve nothing but distaste for men who can’t earn love, and feel the need to steal it. Cowards.

“No,” I say.

“Then why are you hesitating? Let me go.”

“Not until you’re fully healed, at least,” I bargain. I’m not used to bargaining. Giving demands, yes. But begging, never. “When no trace of what I’ve done remains. Is that acceptable? But in return, you must not try to escape. You could hurt yourself worse, and frankly I don’t want to employ the kind of force that would be required to keep you. That is my deal.”

“You promise?”

I sneer. “I don’t break promises.”

“I know,” she says. “I read about that, too. Okay. It’s a deal.”

I spend the night working on schematics for a memory machine. I’ve never tampered with the mind of another before—I respect intellect far too much to go mucking about in someone’s grey matter like a child in a tide pool—but I have no other choice. Rachel cannot remember our time together.

Rachel sleeps in one of the spare bedrooms. She enjoyed watching old movies all afternoon, and I confess I enjoyed sitting beside her on the sofa. We had frozen pizza for dinner, and her gaze had spent almost as much time on the screen as on my face.

In the morning, my blueprints are ready and my chemicals begin to simmer on Bunsen burners. I leave the lab and find her at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and flipping through my scrapbook. It’s filled with newspaper articles and photos, wanted posters and DVDs of news broadcasts. I’ve never thought to keep it in a safe or to put it away somewhere because, besides Miss Rachel, no one has ever been to this bolthole but me.

“You found the soymilk, I see,” I say. She nods and doesn’t look up from her intense perusal of a favourite article of mine, the only one where the reporter got it. “And my book.”

“It’s like a shrine,” she says. “I thought you’d hate all these superheroes, but there’s just as much in here about them as you.”

“I’ve great respect for anyone who wants to better the world.” I touch the side of the coffeepot —still warm. I pour myself a cup and sit across from her.

“See… that’s what’s freaking me out, a bit,” she says. “You’re such a…”

“What?”

“You seem like such a sweet guy.”

I laugh again.

“What?”

“Don’t mistake my youth for sweetness.”

“I’m not, but…I don’t know, you’re not a supervillain.”

“I’m not a superhero, either.”

“You can be something in the middle. You can just be a nice guy.”

“I’ve never been just a ‘nice guy,’ Rachel. Not even before.”

“I think you’re being one now.”  She leans across the table and kisses me. I don’t close my eyes, or move my mouth. This is a surprise too, but an acceptable one.

When she sits back, I ask, “Is this why you were studying my face so intently last night while you pretended to watch movies?”

She blushes again, and it’s fascinating. “Shut up,” she mumbles.

I smile. “Are you a Cape Bunny after all, Miss Rachel?”

“A Labcoat Bunny, maybe,” she says. “I’ve always gone for brain over brawn.”

“Who are you lashing out against,” I ask calmly, my tone probably just this side of too cool, “that you think kissing the man who has kidnapped you is a good idea?”

Rachel drops back down into her seat. “Way to ruin the moment, Romeo.”

“That is not an answer.”

“No one!”

“And, that, dear Rachel, is a lie.”

She throws up her hands. “I don’t know, okay! My mother! The school! The courts! The whole stupid system! A big stupid world that says the man who saved my life has to go to jail for it!”

“I am part of the revenge scheme, then,” I say. “If you come out of your captivity loving your captor, then they cannot possibly think I am evil. You have it all planned out, my personal redemption. Or perhaps this is a way to earn a seat in that big-ticket law school?”

She stares at me, slack jawed, a storm brewing behind those beautiful green eyes. “You’re a bit of a dick, you know that?”

“That is what the Crimson Cunt used to—”

“Don’t call her that.”

“Why not? The Super Slut won’t hear me say it. Not under all this concrete.”

“Shut up!”

“Why?” I sneer. “Protecting a heroine you’ve never met?”

“She deserves better, even from you!”

“Oh, have I ruined your image of me, Rachel? Am I not sweet and misunderstood anymore?”

“You still shouldn’t—”

“What, hate her? She put me in jail!” I copy her and slam my fists on the tabletop. My mug topples, hot liquid splashing out between us. “I think I’ve a right to be bitter about that.”

“But it was for the good! It made you better.”

“No, it made me cowed. I’ve lost all my ambition, dear Rachel. And that is why I am just a normal citizen. I am too tired.”

“But Divine—”

“Don’t say her name, either!”

Rachel stands and pounds her fists on the table again, shaking my fallen mug, and I stand as well, too furious to want to be shorter than her.

“Asshole!” she snarls.

“And she was a ball-breaker on a power trip. She was no better for the city than I! The only difference was that she didn’t have the gumption, the ambition, the foresight to do what had to be done! I was the only one who saw! Me.  She towed the line. She kept the status quo. I was trying to change the world! She was just a stupid blonde bimbo with huge tits and a small brain—”

“Don’t talk about my mother that way!”

Oh.

I drop back down into my seat, knees giving way without my say-so. “Well, this is a turn,” I admit.

“Everyone knows!” she spits. “It’s hard to miss. Same eyes, same cheekbones.”

“I’ve never seen your mother’s eyes and cheekbones.”

“What, were you living under a rock when she unmasked?”

I smile, and it’s thin and bitter. “I was in solitary confinement for five years. By the time I got out, it must have been old news. And I had no stomach to look up my old nemesis.”

Rachel looks away, and her eyes are bright with tears that don’t skitter down her cheeks. I wonder if they are for her mother, or for herself, or because I’ve said such terrible things and her opinion of me has diminished. They are certainly not because she pities me.

Nobody pities me. I got, as I am quite often reminded, exactly what I deserved.

“What does your mother do now?” I ask, after the silence has become unbearable. There is nothing to count or calculate in the silence, besides the precise, quiet click of the second hand ticking ever onward, ever onward, while I am left behind.

“Socialite,” Rachel says. “Cars. Money. Married a real estate developer.”

“Is he your father?”

She swings her gaze back to me, sharp. “Why would you ask that?”

“Why does the notion that he might not be offend you?”

Her lips pucker, and with that scowl, I can see it: the pissy frown, the stubborn thrust of her chin. There is the Fantastic Floozy, hating me through her daughter.

“It doesn’t,” she lies. She twists her hands in front of her again. “Fine, it does. I don’t know, okay? I don’t think she knows. She wants it to be him.”

“So do you,” I press. “Because that would make you normal.”

She looks up brusquely.

“Please, Rachel,” I say. “I am quite clever. Don’t insult us both by forgetting. The way you do your hair, your clothes, the law school ambitions, it all screams ‘I don’t want to be like my mother.’ Which, if your mother is a superheroine, probably means that you are also desperate to not be one of…us.”

“I’m not,” she whispers.

“I dare say that if you have no desire to, then you won’t be,” I agree. I lean forward to impart my great secret. She’s the first I’ve told and I don’t know why I’m sharing it. Only, perhaps, that it will make her less miserable. “Here is something they never tell anyone: if you don’t use your powers, if you don’t flex that extra little muscle in your grey, squishy brain, it will not develop. It will atrophy and die. Why do you think there are so few of us now? Nobody wants to be a hero.”

“Really?” she whispers, awed, hatred draining from her face.

“Really,” I say. “Especially after the sort of example your mother set.”

Rachel rocks back again, the furious line between her eyebrows returning, and yes, I recognize that, too, have seen that above a red domino mask before.

“Why do you say things like that?” she asks, hands thrown skyward in exasperation. She winces.

“Don’t rip your stitches, my dear,” I admonish.

“Don’t change the subject! You wouldn’t talk about the Kamelion Kid that way, or Wild West, or…any of them! You’d have respect! What about The Tesla? You respect him. I’ve seen the pictures on your wall and you—why are you laughing?”

And I am laughing. I am guffawing like the bawdy, brawling youth I resemble. “Because I am The Tesla!”

She rocks back on her heels, eyes comically wide and then suspiciously narrow. “But you…Prof killed The Tesla.”

“In a sense, he did.”

Her eyes jump between me and the door to my lab—the only door locked to Rachel—and back to me. “You were a hero first.”

“Yes.”

“And it didn’t work, did it?”

“…no.”

“Because people…people don’t want to change. Don’t want to think.”

“Yes. My plans would have been good for society. Would have forced changes for the better. But people just want a hero to keep things the way they already are.”

She looks at her law textbook, which rests exactly where I had left it the night before, propped on the toaster oven.

“So you made it look like The Tesla was dead.”

“Heroes can save the world. But villains can change it, Rachel.”

She looks up. “I think I want to hate you, Olly, but I can’t figure out if I should.”

“It’s okay if you hate me,” I say. “I won’t mind.”

“Yes, I think you would,” she says. She flattens her right palm over her left shoulder.

We sit like that for a long moment. I forget to count the seconds. Time flies when I am around Rachel, and I find that I am beginning to enjoy it.

Rachel sulks in her room for the afternoon, which bothers me not at all, as I’ve experiments to attend. When I come back out, she is sullenly reading her textbook on the sofa, and she has found the beer. One open bottle is beside her elbow and three empty ones are on the floor.

“It’s not wise to drink when you’re on antibiotics,” I say, wiping my hands on my labcoat. They leave iridescent green smears on the fabric, but it’s completely non-toxic or I would not be exposing her to it.

“I’m not on antibiotics,” she mutters mulishly.

“Yes, you are,” I counter. “There is a slow-release tablet under your skin near the wound.”

She makes a face and pushes away her textbook. It slaps onto the carpet.“That’s just gross.”

“But efficient.”

She looks up, gaze suddenly tight. “What else did you put in me?”

I walk over and take away her beer. And then, because it would be a waste of booze to dump it down the sink, and I have been on a limited income since I ceased robbing banks, and because I enjoy the perverseness of having my lips on the same bottlemouth as hers after having so recently admonished her for kissing me, I take a drink.

“Not that, if that’s what you’re implying, my dear Rachel,” I say. She blinks hard, my innuendo sinking home.

“What? What, no! I didn’t mean…”

“I’m more of gentleman than that.”

“I get that!” she splutters. “I just mean…where did you get the replacement blood? What kind of stitches? Am I bionic now?”

“No more than you were before,” I say. “Nanobots are actively knitting the torn flesh back together, but they will die in a week and your liver will flush them from your system. The stitches and sutures are biodegradable and will dissolve by then. The rest of the antibiotic tablet will be gone in two or three days, and the very small infusion of my vitality serum only gave your immune system a boost and your regenerative drive a bit of extra gas. You are in all ways, my dear Rachel, utterly and completely in-extraordinary. Your greatest fear is unrealized.” I finish off the beer with a swig, liking the way her green eyes follow the line of my throat as I swallow, and then go to the kitchen and retrieve two more.

I hand one to her and flop down onto the sofa beside her. She curls into a corner to give me enough room and then, after eyeing the mess on my coat, thrusts impertinent—and freezing!—toes under my thigh. “Dear me, Rachel, stepping up your campaign?”

“You started it,” she says. “Re-started it. With the…bottle thingy.”

I arch a teasing eyebrow. “Bottle thingy?”

She shakes her head. “I think I’m a little drunk.”

“I think you are,” I agree.

“Enabler,” she says, and we clink beers. She drinks and this time I watch her. Her throat is, in every way, normal. Boring. I cannot stop looking at it. Her toes wiggle. “How can you read me so well?” she asks. “I mean, I didn’t even have to say, ‘I’m scared of turning into my mom,’ but you knew.”

I shrug. “I’m a great student of the human creature. We all say so much without saying a thing.”

“Do you ever say more than you want to?”

I smile secretively, a flash of teeth that I know will infuriate her with its vagueness. “Rarely, any more. I’ve had a long time to learn to control my, as poker players would call them, ‘tells.’”

“Hmph,” she mutters and takes another drink. I swallow some of my beer to distract myself.  She wriggles her toes again, and pushes them further. Soon they will brush right against my…but I assume that is the point.

“Careful, Rachel,” I warn. “Are you certain this is something you want to do?”

“Yes.”

“You are drunk and you want revenge on your mother.”

“Maybe. Maybe I want to thank you for saving my life. Maybe I want to reward you for being a good guy.”

“What if I don’t want your thanks, or your reward?” I ask.

She smiles and her big toe tickles the undercurve of my testes. “Don’t you?” she asks, and her expression is salacious. I provided her with no bra, I had none to give, and under my borrowed tee-shirt her nipples are pert.

“I do.” I set aside both of our beers and reach for her. She comes into my arms, gladly, little mouth wet and insistent against mine as she wriggles her way onto my lap. Iridescent green smears up her thighs. “But maybe…oh!” I gasp into her mouth as clever little fingers work their way inside my waistband. I return the favour. Intelligence must be rewarded.

“Maybe?” she prompts, pressing down against my hand.

“Maybe I just want revenge on your mother, too.”

She jerks back as if I’ve bitten her. “Oh my god, how can one man be such a dick?”

I press upwards so her pelvis comes in contact with the part of my anatomy in discussion. “I am honest, Rachel. There is a difference.”

She sits back, arms crossing over the breasts I hadn’t yet touched. “An honest supervillian,” she scoffs.

I stand, dumping her onto the floor. “I think we’re done here.”

“Are we, Profess—”

“I’ve asked you not to call me that!”

She cowers back from my anger. Then it fuels her. “Fuck you, Olly,” she says, standing.

“I thought that was the idea,” I agree, “but apparently not.”

“You’re nothing like I thought you’d be!”

I laugh again. “And how could you have had any concept of how I’d be? Did the Dynamic Dyke tell stories? I bet she did. And you felt sorry for me. The poor Professor, beat up by mommy, hated – like you were. An outcast, like you were. Not good enough, like you were. Was I your imaginary friend, Rachel? Did you write my name in hearts on your binders? Did you fantasize about me?”

“Shut up!” she screams.

Her cheeks are red again, her eyes glistening, her mouth bruised, and I want to grab her, kiss her, feel her ass through the borrowed sweatpants. Instead I fold my hands behind my back, because I told the truth before—I am a gentleman. I say nothing.

“You’re not supposed to be like this!”

“Be like what?” I ask, again. “Explain, Rachel.”

She collapses. It’s a slow folding inward, knees and stomach first, face in her hands, physicality followed by emotion as she sobs into the carpet. I stand above her and wait, because she deserves this cry. Crying helps people engage with their emotions, or so I’m told.

When her sobbing slows, precisely one thousand six hundred and seventy-three seconds later—twenty-seven point nine minutes—she unfolds and stands, wiping her nose. I offer her a handkerchief from the pocket of my labcoat, and she takes it and turns her back to me, cleaning up her face.

She picks up the textbook. She opens it to the back, to those useless blank pages that are the fault of how books are bound, and for the first time in a very, very long time, I am shocked.

The back of the book has been collaged with photographs. Of me.

Computer printouts of me when I was the Prof. Newspaper clippings of my trial. Me, walking down the street, hunched into the shadow of my sweater’s hood. Me, buying soymilk. Me, through the window of the shitty apartment on which Oliver Munsen can barely afford to pay rent. Me, three days ago, cutting through that same parking garage.

Genuine joy floods my blood. A small shot of adrenaline seethes up into my brain and I can’t help the smile, because I missed this, I really did. “Oh, Rachel. Are you my stalker? How novel! I’ve never had a stalker before.”

She snaps the cover shut. “I’m not a stalker.”

“Just an admirer?” I ask, struggling to keep the condensation out of my voice. “Or do you want me to teach you how to be a villain? Really get back at mommy dearest?” Her expression sours. “Ah. But you already know that you can’t be. You knew before I told you that you were born boring. So this is the next best thing.” I reach out, grasp her elbows lightly, rub my callused thumbs across the tender flesh on the inside of them. She shivers. “Tell me, how were you going to do it, Rachel? Were you going to accidentally bump into me in that parking garage? Were you going to spill a beer on me in a bar? Buy me a coffee at my favourite cafe? Surely getting shot was not in the plan.”

“It’s not like that!” she says, but her eyes are closed, her lashes fluttering. Her chest bobs as she tries to catch her breath.

“Then what is it like?”

“I don’t know! I just…I just saw you one day, okay? I recognized you, from mom’s pictures on the wall, and I thought, you know, I should tell her. But I thought I would follow you first, you know, figure out where you live, or something.”

“Except that I wasn’t being dastardly and villainous.”

“You sat in the bookstore and read a whole magazine. And then you paid for it.”

I smirk. “How shocking.”

“For me it was.” She tips forward, breasts squishing, hot and soft, against my chest. “The kinds of stories I heard about you as a kid…”

“And you were fascinated.”

“And I was fascinated.”

“And so you followed me.”

“I followed you.”

“And then what, my dear Rachel?”

She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me down for a kiss I don’t resist.

“You seemed so lonely,” she says, breath puffing into my mouth. “Are you lonely, Olly?”

“Oh, yes.” I pick her up and carry her off to her bedroom.

The mattress is new, she is the first person to ever have slept on it, but it still squeaks. After, she drops off, satisfied, mumbling amusing endearments about how wonderful it is to make love to someone who is so studious, makes such a thorough examination of his subjects.

Tonight I decide to sleep. I don’t do it very often, but I don’t want to be awake anymore. I don’t want to think. I close my eyes and force my dreams to stay away.

In the morning, I’m troubled.  I think I’ve made a very bad choice, but I’m not sure how to rectify it. I am not even sure how to articulate it.

Rachel was right. I am lonely. I am desperately, painfully lonely. And I will be for the rest of my unnaturally long life. But Rachel is lonely, too. Desperate in her own way, desperate for the approval of a mother I can only assume was distant and busy in Rachel’s youth, and then too famous and busy in her adolescence. Rachel wants to be nothing like her mother, wants to hurt her, punish her, and yet…wants to impress her so very badly that she is willing to take the ultimate step, to profess love for a man her mother once hated, to ‘fix him,’ to ‘make him better.’ To make him, me, good.

Only, Rachel doesn’t understand. I don’t want to be better, or good, or saved. I just want to live my boring, in-extraordinary life in peace and quiet, and then die. I don’t want to be her experiment. And yet her fierce little kisses…her wide green eyes…

I look down at the schematics under my elbow and sigh. The scent of burning bacon wafts in through the vents that lead to the kitchen, and the utter domesticity of it plucks at the back of my eyes, heating them. I ‘m still a fool, and I’m no less in over my head than I was two days ago.

I abandon the lab and rescue my good iron skillet from the madwoman who has pushed her way into my life. When she turns her face up for a kiss, I give it to her, and everything else she asks for, too.

And I can have this, because I am not a supervillain any more.  But I am not a superhero either. If I was, I could turn her away, like I should.

After lunch, I hand her my cell phone. It has been boosted so that the signal can pass through concrete bunker walls, but cannot be tracked back to its location.

“What’s that for?” she asks.

“Call your mother,” I say. “Tell her you’re okay. You’re just staying with a friend. The shooting freaked you out.”

She frowns. “What if I don’t want to?”

“You were arguing that I should let you call.”

“Yeah, before.”

“Rachel,” I admonish. “Do you really want her frantically looking for you?”

She pales. I imagine what it must have been like for her when she ran away from home for the first time. “No, guess not,” she mumbles and dials a number. “Yeah, hi Mom. No, no, I’m cool. Yeah, decided to stay with a friend instead of coming home from campus this weekend. No, no, it’s fine. I’m fine. There’s no need for the guilt trip! I said I’m fine! God!…okay. Right. Sorry. Okay. I’ll see you next…” she looks at me. “Next Saturday?” I nod. “Next Saturday. Right. Fine. I love you, too.” She hangs up and places the phone between us. “There, happy?”

“Yes. I am curious Rachel, how do you intend on springing me on your mother? And how will you keep her from punching my face clear off?”

She picks at her cuticles. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”

“I gathered.” I stand from the table and go to do the dishes. I can’t abide a mess.

She comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist and presses her cheek against my back, and asks, “What do you want to do this afternoon?”

“Whatever you want,” I say. “I’m all yours.” I turn in her arms to find her grinning. She believes me, whole-heartedly, and she should. I never lie, and it’s the truth. For now.

When the week is over, I sit her down on my operating table and carefully poke around the bullet wound. In the x-ray, the bones appear healed without a scar. Her skin is dewy and unmarked. The stitches have dissolved and a scan with a handheld remote shows that the nanobots are all dead and ninety-three percent have been flushed from her system. I anticipate the other seven percent will be gone after her next trip to the toilet.

I do another scan, a bit lower down, but there is nothing there to be concerned about, either. We have not been using prophylactics, but I’ve been sterile since I used the serum. It was a personal choice. I had no desire to outlive my grandchildren.

Rachel hops from the table, bare feet on the white tile, and grins. “It’s Saturday!” she says.

“Yes, it is.”

“Time to go!”

“Yes.”

She takes my hand. “And you’re coming with me, Olly. You’re coming with me and then they’ll see, they’ll all see. You’re different now. You’re a good man.”

I smile and close my fingers around hers and, for the first time in many decades, I lie. “Yes, I am, thank you.” I use our twined fingers to pull her into the kitchen. “Celebratory drink before we go?”

She grins. “Gonna open that champagne I saw in the back of the fridge?”

I laugh. “Clever Rachel. I can’t hide anything from you.”

Only I can. I am. When I pop the cork she shrieks in delight. Every ticking second of her happiness stabs at me like a branding iron and dagger all in one.

I thought I would need a whole machine, a gun, a delivery device, but in the end my research and experiments offered up a far more simplistic solution: rohypnol. Except that it is created by me, of course, so it’s programmable, intelligent in the way the cheap, pathetic drug available to desperate, stupid children in night clubs is not. My drug knows which memories to take away.

Clever, beautiful, dear Rachel trusts me. I pour our drinks and hand her the glass that is meant for her. I smile and chat with her as she sips, pretending to be oblivious as her eyelids slip downwards, giving her no clue that there is anything amiss.

I catch both her and the glass before they hit the floor. Tonight she will wake in her own bed. She will honestly remember spending the week with a friend she then had a fight with, and no longer speaks to. She will wonder what happened to her backpack, her cell phone, her law textbook. She will not remember the Prof, or The Tesla. Her mother will be annoyed that she will have to tell her the stories over again, stories that Rachel should have internalized during her childhood.

And I will shut down this hidey-hole and go back to my apartment and cash my welfare cheque and watch television. And it will be good. It will be as it should be.

The stupid boy with the gun might have been the bad guy in our little melodrama, but I am the villain.

I am the coward.

[one-of-us-blog]

Die Another Day (2002)

Today Drew is forced to watch and recap 2002’s Die Another Day, the twentieth James Bond adventure. Bond is captured and tortured by some bad guys, and now 007 is out for revenge! Can Bond handle going rogue, or will MI6 shut down his quest for vengeance before it can even begin? Will Bond find those responsible for his imprisonment? Why is it so sunny in here?

Keep reading to find out…

Eli, I loved your last two recaps so much! I know there was a stretch of less-than-stellar episodes for you to wade through, but I’m so glad you enjoyed these last two romps! I still can’t believe how close you are to the end of the show, but, speaking of, I’m close to the end of an era myself. This is the final Bond film before the big reboot, and it’s crazy to think of how far we’ve come over the course of this blog! I can’t stand it anymore, the anticipation has me way too excited to lay out any other preamble!

Buttocks tight!

Screenplay by Neal Purvis & Robert Wade, film directed by Lee Tamahori

We start with a shockingly three-dimensional gun barrel sequence, and then we jump to the coast of Pukch’ŏng County, North Korea. Bond, alongside two of his fellow MI6 agents, surf into North Korea and attract the attention of a helicopter, which they quickly commandeer. This helicopter was bound for the headquarters of Colonel Tan-Sun Moon (Will Yun Lee), located in the Korean demilitarized zone, and Bond soon arrives after placing some explosives in a suitcase full of diamonds that the helicopter’s original passenger was transporting. Just to give you an idea of how comically evil a villain Moon is going to be, the first time we see him he’s beating up his anger management therapist for lecturing him. Bond is greeted at Moon’s HQ by the surly Zao, who surreptitiously snaps a pic of 007 when he arrives. Bond and Moon meet, and it’s really driven home that Moon is a rude, crude dude with a bad attitude when it’s revealed he’s trading weapons for African blood diamonds. Moon shows off the weapons Bond’s supposed to get for the blood diamonds, but turns out Zao wasn’t taking Bond’s picture just so he could add it to his scrapbook. He’s done a background check on 007, and since Bond is the worst secret agent in the world it doesn’t take any time at all for Zao to inform Moon of Bond’s true identity. Moon blows up Bond’s helicopter, but he’s distracted by a call from his daddy, General Moon (Kenneth Tsang). He leaves the killing of Bond to Zao while he scrambles to hide all the illegal weapons he’s got in the demilitarized zone before his dad finds them and he gets grounded. Thinking, “Why the hell not?” Bond triggers the explosive in the suitcase full of diamonds, causing and explosion that allows him to escape and results in Zao getting a high-velocity diamond facial. Bond escapes on one of Moon’s hovercrafts (why not) and blows up most of his headquarters before chasing after Moon as he races across the mine-laced demilitarized zone. There’s a lot of shooting, some mines get blown up and Moon fires off a flamethrower for no good reason before Bond and Moon end up on the same hovercraft and Bond kills Moon by driving the hovercraft off a waterfall. Moon’s zaddy arrives, and he’s none too pleased about his dumb kid getting killed.

General Moon has Bond waterboarded while we finally head to the opening credits. This credits sequence is… troubling. Madonna sings out the mediocre techno ballad “Die Another Day” while we’re treated to scenes of Bond being brutally tortured interspersed with CGI ladies comprised of ice, fire and electricity dance around and some scorpions just kind of crawl around and mind their own business. Also diamonds. It’s a mess, and honestly the dime-store techno bassline makes it a little hard for me to get too invested in the vignettes of Bond being beaten and sodomoized with a hot poker by a sexy Korean woman in jackboots.

After what feels like a lifetime this bit is finally over, and a bearded, bedraggled Bond is brought before General Moon. Bond has managed not to break in all the time he’s been held here, and Moon lets him know it’s time for him to go. Bond is taken to a bridge where it seems he’s going to be shot, but then Moon’s goons lower their weapons and we find out this is all actually a prisoner exchange. Bond is being traded for the bedazzled Zao, and the two share pleasantries while they make their way back to their respective governments. On the British side, Bond is greeted by Damian Falco (Michael Madsen) from the NSA and…oh, my stars and garters, could it really be? Dare I dream?

That’s right, folks, Charles Robinson is back, babey!!! And not a moment too soon! I have no doubt he singlehandedly wrestled Zao into custody after Bond was done bonering everything up. Charles Robinson didn’t become the most valuable man in MI6 by being reckless, and he leaves nothing to chance. He has Bond sedated so that he can be checked for any kind of biological weapons. M, no doubt having met with Charles Robinson to mine his formidable intellect, goes to meet with Bond through a sheet of glass. M doesn’t mince words and lets Bond know that if she’d had her druthers he’d still be getting dicked by scorpions back in North Korea. She thinks they paid too high a price for Bond’s freedom by letting Zao go, but Bond didn’t ask to be traded and couldn’t kill himself because he… I don’t know, cut out? ripped out? his cyanide capsule years ago.

M explains that an American prisoner was killed in Bond’s prison a week ago, and they think Bond broke under torture and was mined for intel by the North Koreans. M gives him a vote of confidence by entering his glass prison to let him know she doesn’t think he’ll kill her, but she tells him he’s going for an evaluation and won’t be sent into the field any time soon. Bond… Okay, listen, Bond, like, meditates or something and lowers his heartrate to the point that the monitors he’s hooked up to think he’s dead. Some medical staff rush in to save them, he jolts them with an EKG machine and makes a break for it. Just go with me here.

Bond, now officially gone rogue, heads to a hotel he’s known at and gets a shave, haircut and new suit. The hotel manager, Mr. Chang (Ho Yi), sends up a masseuse to entertain 007, but Bond knows she’s packin’ heat and Chang, who’s actually with Chinese Intelligence (maybe he and Wai Lin have worked together?), is filming him from behind a half-silvered mirror. Bond tells Chang he won’t hold a grudge over all this if Chang can get him into North Korea so he can get his hands on Zao. Chang finds out Zao isn’t in North Korea anymore, though, he’s in Havana. Bond heads to Cuba and meets up with a British sleeper agent/cigar factory owner, Raoul (Emilio Echevarría). Raoul lets Bond know he can find Zao on an island which sports and unusual gene therapy clinic. Bond heads to a hotel which sports a view of the strange island, and there he catches sight of Giacinta “Jinx” Johnson (Halle Berry), who emerges from the ocean like the second coming of Honey Ryder.

Bond and Johnson seem to really hit it off, by which I mean they immediately hit the sheets, but the next morning Bond is left alone as Johnson sets sail for the clinic on Isla Los Organos. Bond knocks out another hotel guest and uses his ticket to get a ride to the island as well. He loads his new unconscious friend into a wheelchair and brings him along to the island, where he causes a distraction by hurling the man and his chair into a wall. He then finds a secret, mirror-lined passage and slinks his way through. Johnson, meanwhile, is apparently getting a consultation for gene therapy. Just kidding, though, she immediately kills the doctor, burns the evidence of her being there and lets us know she’s definitely a spy.

Bond finds Zao in the middle of a procedure that’s meant to rewrite his DNA to make him look like a white dude right as Johnson finds Zao’s file an stops the procedure right in the middle of things and leaves Zao looking like a naked mole rat of a man. Zao wakes up and he and Bond fight, but Zao gets away while Johnson sets off a bomb to shut down the whole facility. Bond and Johnson both chase after Zao, but he gets away in a helicopter. Johnson is almost killed by some guards, who don’t seem to notice Bond, but she avoids death by disrobing and then cliff diving down to an awaiting speedboat. Bond examines a bullet which Zao was wearing as a fun, festive necklace until Bond yoinked it off during their fight. Inside the bullet are some diamonds, which Bond has Raoul examine. The diamonds are being sold by Gustav Graves, who alleges to have found them in Iceland a year ago despite Raoul being able to definitively identify them (somehow) as African blood diamonds. Hey, that sounds familiar!

Who cares about all of that, though, because the most important man in MI6, Charles Robinson, arrives at work just in time to catch Miss Moneypenny spying on a conversation between M and Falco from the NSA. Falco thinks M played a part in Bond’s escape, and Charles Robinson sagely watches on as M shoulders the weight of Falco’s threats to make things right at MI6. Bond, meanwhile looks some stuff on Gustav Graves (Toby Stephens), who makes an interest by parachuting down to meet up with his publicist Miranda Frost (Rosamund Pike) in front of a bunch of reporters (and Bond). Bond tracks Graves and Frost to a fencing… club? academy? class? I don’t know. It’s hosted by Verity (Madonna in the cameo no one asked for), who introduces Bond to Graves. Bond, despite being on the run from MI6 and, like, a secret agent, uses his real name because why not.

Bond and Graves immediately get into a cock measuring contest via proxy in the form of a fencing match, during which Bond lets Graves know he’s figured out that Graves is selling blood diamonds. Graves challenges Bond to up the stakes and the two start fighting with real swords and completely wrecking Verity’s swordfight clubhouse. Frost eventually breaks up the fight and Graves invites Bonds to a science demonstration. A bellboy gives Bond a mysterious envelope with a key in it, and he goes to an abandoned subway station to meet up with M. M’s not here to capture Bond, though, she just wants to compare notes on Graves. M warns Bond about Graves’ political connections and agrees to give him some unsanctioned help.

Bond arrives at MI6, only to find Moneypenny dead from a gunshot to the head. He takes out several attackers and is joined by Charles Robinson himself, so you just know everything’s going to be alright. But then the unthinkable, the impossible, the inconceivable happens and Charles Robinson, the unshakable foundation upon which the stability of the British government rests, is gunned down. No, I can’t accept it! I won’t! And I don’t have to, because this is all a training session taking place in the VR Zone. C’mon, you know a Q-Branch simulation is the only place a facsimile of Charles Robinson could ever be bested! Q (née R) brings Bond safely out of the VR Zone and takes him to his workshop in the subway, where Bond proceeds to touch everything like a five-year-old at a toy store. Bond is outfitted with a sonic ring that can smash unbreakable glass and, get ready for this, a car that turn invisible.

We’re due for a twist, so we get to sit in on a meeting with M and Frost, who, it turns out, is an MI6 agent spying on Graves. Frost things Graves will blow her cover, but M says that in all her time spying on Graves Frost has turned up dick all and M wants Bond to go in and shake some shit up a bit. Bond heads to Graves’ ice palace in Iceland where he’s greeted by the imaginatively named Mr. Kil (Lawrence Makoare) before Graves scoots up in his super speedy sled car thing. We get another mention of Graves never sleeping, which is a thing that just keeps getting brought up. The famous Jinx Johnson arrives while Bond heads to the bar before his DTs can get too out of hand. Bond and Johnson meet up while Zao arrives at the ice palace. He pulls Graves out of a crazy dream machine which he has to use to stay sane due to his permanent insomnia, and it turns out Graves is actually Moon post-gene alteration.

The shindig finally gets underway and Graves unveils Icarus, a satellite which can reflect Sol’s light toward Earth and function as a second sun. Bond hides out in his magical invisible car so he can snoop around in Graves’ private business, but immediately gets caught because he’s just no good at stealth. Frost saves Bond from being discovered by Mr. Kil by making out with him while Johnson Mission Impossibles her way into Graves’ inner sanctum. While Frost and Bond are busy getting busy, Johnson is doing some actual work. Unfortunately she finds Zao waiting in Graves’ dream machine instead of Graves himself, who sneaks up behind her and electrocutes her with a souped-up Power Glove.

Zao and Mr. Kil interrogate Johnson, but she ain’t a canary and she ain’t in the mood to sing, so Zao leaves Mr. Kil to slice her up with a mining laser (paging Dr. Goldfinger). Bond finally arrives at Graves’ greenhouse lair in time to save Johnson, but first he has to deal with Mr. Kil. Bond gets his ass handed to him, but the still-restrained Johnson manages to kill Mr. Kil with the mining laser. Bond sends Johnson off to find Frost and get in touch with MI6 while Bond confronts Graves and reveal he finally knows the dude is actually Moon. Frost arrives, only to turn her gun on Bond. Turns out Frost set Bond up in North Korea and she’s been a double agent the whole time. Frost is about to execute Bond, but luckily he’s got his glass-shattering ring which allows him to… well, shatter some glass. Specifically the glass floor of the green house. You get it.

Bond escapes in Graves’ super sled, but Graves brings in some North Korean generals so he can demonstrate the destructive capability of Icarus to them. Icarus hyper-focuses the sun’s like way beyond what could be useful for a farmer trying to get that sweet wheat all year ‘round, and Bond barely out maneuvers the solar death beam by driving the sled off the side of an ice shelf and using the sled’s anchor (?) to keep himself from falling into the frigid sea. Graves solves this problem by just carving off the whole chunk of ice and making a prophetically topical joke about global warming. Bond survives, though, by jumping into a Nintendo 64 surfing game and shredding away to safety.

Johnson is discovered by Frost and Zao, who inform her she’s going to die… eventually. Bond steals a Ski-Doo and makes it back to the ice palace where he retrieves his inviso-mobile, which is useful for about a minute until another Ski-Doo crashes into it. Zao uses the thermal vision of his own car to spot Bond, and the two set off on a merry chase while the now-abandoned ice castle begins to rumble around Johnson. Graves fires up Icarus and begins to melt the ice palace, but not before Bond crashes into it (the car chase is still going on, BTW). Bond tricks Zao into driving into a pool formed out of melted ice and then shoots a chandelier down onto him instead of just shooting him in the head.

Bond retrieves the almost-drowned Johnson and gets her into the warmth of the greenhouse in time to save her. The two head to a US bunker on the South Korean side of the demilitarized zone where they’re greeted by the one, the only, the legend, the icon, Charles Robinson. With a mind to rival Watson, Charles Robinson lays down the skinny in no time flat. Graves and Frost are in North Korea, and neither the American nor the British governments can go get him before Icarus is used to destroy any of North Korea’s enemies (i.e. everypony). M’s sending in Bond anyway, and Falco decides he needs a reason to be in this movie so he sends Johnson in too. The two are airdropped in, and Charles Robinson, with the sage, cautious wisdom of an old barn owl, worries that they’ll be detected. Falco’s dumbass has the nerve, the gal, the audacity to tell Charles Robinson to “relax”, so you know that sonofabitch has some comeuppance headed his way.

The missiles Falco has sent to destroy Icarus are instantly destroyed by the mirror’s solar laser, because of course they are you dumb stupid idiot. Bond and Johnson, meanwhile, have landed and stowaway on Graves’ plane. Graves calls for his zaddy to be brought down, where he reveals himself in his new white face and shows off a plastic mech suit that allows him to control Icarus via a computer mouse trackball installed in his Power Glove. He fires up Icarus to show off and make his papa proud, but General Moon tells him the other countries will nuke the hell out of North Korea to shut this shit down. Graves doesn’t take paternal rejection well and 86es his dear old dad. Bond tries to shoot Graves but his shot is deflected, resulting in a window getting blown out and the plane violently depressurizing.

Johnson manages to stop the plane from crashing, but then Frost is there to hold her at swordpoint and of course she’s wearing an ornate bra and elbow-length gloves for no damn reason. Who even cares at this point. Icarus’ death beam is still going, by the by, and Charles Robinson, with the time-keeping prowess of the White Rabbit, lets everyone know it’s headed right their way. Johnson flies the plane right into the beam’s path, giving her time to get the better of Frost. Johnson and Frost fight with blades while Bond and Graves just ineffectually punch each other. Johnson eventually gets the better of Frost and kills her (with a very saucy, “Bitch!” thrown in for good measure) while Graves gets the better of Bond and prepares to escape the falling plane. Bond prematurely triggers Graves’ parachute, which results in Graves being sucked into the plane’s engines and most definitely dying.

Bond and Johnson find a helicopter hidden in the plane, Inception style, and manage to ride it out of the exploding plane in time to avoid death by ground. Bond makes what I think has to be a weird 69 joke before the two fly off into the sky with a crate of diamonds in the back of the helicopter.

Moneypenny uses Q’s VR shades to live out a fantasy involving Bond banging her at MI6, because that’s all this movie has to say about her character, but Q interrupts her before she can rub one out. Glad everyone thought this scene definitely needed to be in this already-over-two-hours movie.

Bond and Johnson have sex on top of the stolen diamonds (imagine how uncomfortable that would be) and we’re finally done here.

The End

~~~~~

Woof! I know way back in my introductory post I mentioned that I’d seen this movie (or at least parts of it) at some point in my checkered past, but, lemme tell ya, there was a whole lot that I’d forgotten/suppressed about Die Another Day. Just to start out with some positives, I actually really liked the design of Zao’s diamond-encrusted face, and I really liked seeing Halle Berry here. She didn’t get anything worthy of her talents to work with, but still. Then there were things that started out neat, but didn’t work in the end. I liked Frost a lot when she was introduced, but then she got reduced to a sword-wielding lunatic in a bra for the final conflict with Jinx. Icarus seemed fun, but then I remembered that this is not the first, not the second but the third Brosnan Bond film with a satellite at the heart of its narrative. We had GoldenEye, then Carver’s dumb satellite news network and now Icarus. That’s three out of four Brosnan films with satellites as key players. I love space as much as the next gay, but, I mean, get a new shtick already! Then there’s stuff that was just silly. Bond stopping his heartbeat? The Power Glove? The ice palace? The invisible car? That Madonna song? C’mon. I know you have to suspend disbelief for any of these movies, but jeez louise. And while I know I don’t normally dwell on the technical side of things during my recaps, but the special effects in this movie were very bad. If we weren’t getting some unnecessary slow-mo, we were having shots like the one of Jinx cliff diving or the truly horrendous kiteboarding scene that legitimately made me gasp when it first started. While there were definitely some fun moments and some little touches I liked, on the whole this flick is a mess and a far, far fall from the glory days of GoldenEye.

I feel I can only give Die Another Day QQ on the Five Q Scale.

We’ll see you again in a hot minute as Eli serves up a couple of fresh recaps of the next two episodes of The Golden Palace, “Say Goodbye, Rose” and “You’ve Lost That Livin’ Feeling”, and after that it’ll be time for me to move onto a brand new Bond as I tackle the next James Bond adventure, Casino Royale (and maybe you can look forward to a few special treats before then, who can say?).

Until then, as always, thank you for reading, thank you for analyzing this (Sigmund Freud) and thank you for being One of Us!

[taxesdeathtrouble]

Little Magic

I’m posting this here too because i have no self control lol

gertchase, 5700 words, title is from Ella Enchanted!

Enjoy!

The scene keeps replaying in her head.

The armed robbers, hitting the gas station they'd went to for supplies

Chase, brave, stupid Chase, trying to fight them, without weapons, without help

Chase getting sent halfway across the store for his efforts, Chase hitting a wall of shelves, knocking everything down

Chase not getting up.

Gert and Alex had had to carry him to the car, an arm thrown over each of their shoulders.

She'd sat in the back with his head in her lap, Alex driving, scared out of his mind but trying his best to be reassuring. It wasn't working, and Gert was crying, she didn't know when it had started, but the tears just wouldn't stop, and she kept trying to get him to wake up, but nothing was working-

She's got to stop thinking about this. Chase is only in the next room, and he is, for all intents and purposes, fine. He's bruised, and his arm is fucked up, but nothing serious. Except.

Except he still hasn't really woken up.

Nico had dragged him out of unconsciousness (alone, they hadn't wanted to overwhelm him) to make sure he didn't have any serious injuries and to give him some painkillers; the four of them watching anxiously through the door the entire time. But when she made him go  back  to sleep, she warned them: Chase probably wouldn't wake up for a while.

And Gert knew that running away would have it's consequences, the lack of real food and the constant chill in the air at the Hostel being just a few examples. But watching one of her friends get hurt is an increasingly frequent experience that she really doesn't like.

She remembers the first time someone got hurt. Herself, Molly, and Karolina had gone to a camping supply store a while away from the Hostel, they hadn't wanted to be tracked back there. They were just about to get in the van, which they'd parked about a mile away from the store, when they'd heard a noise.

A woman yelling, begging, for help.

The three of them had ran towards the sound to find a man holding a woman at knife point. Molly snuck up and jumped him while Gert and Karolina pulled the woman away to safety. It was probably the worst possible plan, but they were all scared and stressed and freaked out. Molly pretty near broke the guy's collarbone, and he ran off, but not before cutting her with his knife, lightning fast.

Moly has a scar, now. Gert still hasn't forgiven herself for it.

She watches the door from where she sits in the common room, somehow expecting Chase to walk in any second now, but of course he doesn't.

"Hey," Karolina puts her hand on Gert's shoulder, squeezing. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she says, even though she's really not. "I just hate when one of us gets hurt, you know? Just, knowing what our parents did, knowing what we grew up around, it just makes me worry that someone won't," her voice lowers to a whisper, "won't come back." She wants to say something, anything, about how it's even worse because its Chase, and Chase is.......special. But she doesn't, because that's totally not the conversation she wants to have right now.

Karolina sits on the arm of her chair and wraps an arm around her shoulders. Gert is so glad they're friends.

"I get it, Gertie," she's still the only one who calls her that, "I really do. It's terrifying to even think about it, and if I know you, every time someone leaves the Hostel you're probably thinking about it, right?" she nods.

"But here's the thing, statistically, something bad isn't going to happen every time someone leaves your line of sight. Just because you can't be there to make sure isn't automatically going to put a friend in danger. And I know you're still going to worry, but try to think about that when you do, okay?"

Gert nods, wiping away a stray tear. "I don't know when you got so good at this. You didn't used to be a teenage Obi Wan, what happened?"

"I accepted myself, learned how to really be me. It took a lot of introspection, I guess? And when you spend so much time in your own head, you occasionally have some wisdom to share."

"Again, deep as hell." Karolina laughs, and squeezes her again. It's nice.

"Come on, Alex is putting in Revenge Of The Sith."

"Really? that's the movie he chose? I'm gonna make him put in The Empire Strikes Back, at least that one's good."

They make their way to the makeshift TV room they have set up, the cheap projector they'd bought after everyone had gotten too stir crazy to function already set up. She bickers with Alex over the movie, and it doesn't get resolved until Molly grabs The Dark Knight and sticks it in.

The movie is good, but they've all seen it a bajillion times- they only have about eight movies in their possession-  so they don't really pay attention. They're all just looking for a distraction, and there's no way they're going back out again, especially not after an altercation. Gert does not want to go to jail, especially for something she didn't even do.

Well. They did, technically, sort of, kidnap Molly. But they definitely didn't kill Destiny. Fuck, their parents were awful.

Before she heads to what she can only generously call her bedroom, she makes sure to check on Chase. Her calm can only go so far.

She all but tiptoes into his room, making sure not to wake him up. She sits on the side of his bed and inspects him, catalogs every bruise  and cut. The robbers had really done a number on him.

She brushes the hair out of his eyes, which, to be fair, is stupid, because he's literally asleep. But it makes her feel better. It's a reassurance that he's here, that he's as safe as he can be right now.

She leans in, presses her lips to his forehead. She'll say until the day she dies that it was just to check his temperature, make sure he doesn't somehow have a fever. But really, she just wants to comfort him. His eyebrows are furrowed together even as he sleeps, but once she pulls back his features relax. He looks peaceful.

~~~~~ Chase's dreams have always been detailed, but this is a little much even for him.

He's lying in bed, and he's in pain. So, so much pain. He's not sure that part is a dream.

Gert creeps in, even with his eyes mostly shut he can tell it's her. Her hair, for one thing. The longer they've been here the more her roots show, but it's still almost completely purple. The way she walks for another, her confident gait still completely recognizable, no matter how much she tries to stay on her toes. She softly sits on the side of his bed, and he kind of wants to open his eyes all the way, but he can't bring himself to do so. And it's not like it matters, anyways. This is a dream, after all.

She ghosts her fingers against his forehead, fixing his hair. He thinks she might say something, but she stops herself, leaning in and kissing his forehead instead. All the tension bleeds out of him immediately.

It really is a dream, then. Because that's another thing about his dreams.

They are always, always about things he wants.

~~~~~

The next morning, she goes through her routine. She deflates her mattress, and zips up her sleeping bag. Opens her suitcase, changes, and makes sure everything is in its place. Brushes her teeth with the bowl, bottle of water, and two dollar mirror they each have in their rooms. Pulls a brush through her hair, checks her roots. Damn, they're really starting to show. She's been contemplating lately if they need stuff for haircuts. She'll have to talk to Alex/Nico about it. Probably Nico, though. She cares a lot more about whether she needs a haircut than Alex does.

She throws on an overly large button up before she leaves her room. It might be Chase's or Alex's, she's not sure. They'd gotten into the habit of sharing clothes a week or two after getting to the Hostel. When there isn't much, share everything.

In the common room, only Alex and Molly are up, and Molly just barely, laying on the couch while Alex attempts breakfast on the portable stove. She tries to see if she can help, but notices he's mostly done with the oatmeal, so she sits on the couch and waits for him to pass her a bowl.

"What time is it?" She asks as she takes her first bite. It tastes exactly the same as it has every morning for the past three months, but hey, at least they get a hot meal every day.

"Around tenish. Why? Do we need to have a meeting?" One thing she can't decide if she likes about Alex is that he's almost always on task, no matter what. It's great when they're actually planning something, but at ten in the morning? Nuh-uh.

"Nah, I was just wondering why no one else was up. Has anyone checked on Chase?"

"Yeah, Molly looked in when she woke up. Still conked out."

"Oh." She wishes he would just wake up already. It's weird without him, even just for a day.

"Hey, is that my shirt or Chase's?" he asks, taking a bite of his oatmeal.

"You know what, I was just wondering the same thing, and I really can't tell. We should really start labelling things, for efficiency's sake."

"Oh, that's a good idea, I'll put it in the ImpBook." ah, the ImpBook. Alex's attempt to fill the hole his laptop had left behind when he couldn't bring it- that was the one thing they'd agreed on at first, no tech, it was too easily traceable. The ImpBook has every idea and rule they'd come up with, plus an inventory of their belongings. Alex is never seen more than five feet away from it.

The 'Imp' in ImpBook stands for important. Alex still isn't very creative.

Nico shuffles in then, spooning out some oatmeal and sitting down next to Molly. She'll never say it out loud, but Gert is so glad that Nico and Alex broke up. Once they ran away, they'd get into fights constantly, over plans, over food, over anything. But now that they've broke it off, they haven't yelled at each other in weeks. They both seem a lot happier, too, although now the big thing everyone secretly (and lovingly) complains about is Nico and Karolina sending Pining Looks to each other and batting their eyelashes. Like, just get together already, you know?

But Gert is never allowed to say stuff like that, because every time she does Molly and Alex look at her like she's said something absolutely hilarious that they're not allowed to laugh at.

Now that she's not just leaving Alex alone to deal with a sleepy Molly, she goes to find the book she'd been reading yesterday, before they'd left for the gas station and everything had gone to shit. When they'd ran, the plan had been to only bring essentials, but there was no way she was going to go somewhere with no Wi-Fi and no outside connection without at the very least a book.

Well, actually, 12 books. But hey, who's counting?

She meanders to the TV room and plops down on the couch. She's not sure why, but the couch in here is her absolute favourite. It's soft, and overly stuffed, and Old Lace is always hanging out in here when's she's not trailing Gert's every move. Oh wait, that's why.

Gert loves having her own dinosaur.

Old Lace is lid out next to the couch taking a nap, so she takes a big step over her and plops down on the couch, trying to find her page. It's a good book, one of her favourites. She's had it a long time, since Chase gave it to her when they were 11.

It was her birthday, and she'd had her party at the skating rink in town. Even though it was just the seven of them, her parents had rented out the whole rink so they could have 'the most possible amount of fun that involves knife-shoes and frozen water'. Her mother had hit her father playfully for saying it, but Gert still laughed.

She misses her parents, sometimes, even if she doesn't want to.

The seven of them skated around, racing and playing an admittedly pretty dangerous form of tag. They only stopped and pulled off their skates when they were told the pizza had shown up. Looking back, Gert thinks they probably would have stayed all day if they were allowed.

After they'd eaten, the plan was to head home, but Amy practically begged her to open her gift there instead of at home, so the party went on a little longer. Amy always got what she wanted, when they were young.

She'd opened Amy and Nico's gift first, since Amy had been so excited. It was a big purple teddy bear, and Gert had loved it so much.

The only other thing she really remembers from that day is Chase giving her his gift. It wasn't very big, and it had been wrapped oh-so carefully in hunter green sparkly paper. He'd looked so nervous, his smile a little shaky. Later, she'd overheard Mrs. Stein laughing with her parents over how much he'd cared about that present, and something else, too, but their words are lost to time.

She remembers being careful with the wrapping, sliding her messily painted fingernails under the tape and opening it with pinched fingers instead of ripping it with the lack of finesse she'd used with every other gift. She'd wanted to keep the wrapping, and she's pretty sure she did. It's probably still pinned to her corkboard in her room back at the house.

The book, Ella Enchanted, is probably the one thing she can read any time, any where. It's one of the only books she doesn't have to be in the mood to read, and she commends 11 year old Chase for knowing her so well, even then, when they were young enough that their tastes weren't completely developed.

She reads for an hour or two, then goes back out to the common room so no one thinks she's avoiding them. With a group as small as theirs, sensitivity is a little bit rampant. One time she was talking to Alex and had apparently taken A Tone so he didn't speak to her directly for twenty four hours.

It's weird having part of the group incapacitated, because it means that they can't do anything until Chase is back on his feet, no plans, no leaving the Hostel. They laze around a bit more, until Molly gets started on lunch, canned soup that she somehow makes taste way better than if anyone else had made it.

She pours out a bowl of soup to bring to Chase, because he needs to eat, and Gert is not going to be the one to let him starve. And she just wants to see him.

Gert cracks open the door, trying to stop it from creaking. She makes sure to step softly, and places the bowl on the side table as she sits on the edge of his bed.

"Chase," Gert says, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Chase, it's time to get up, okay?" She shakes him a little.

His eyes, still closed, scrunch up, and he groans. Looks like someone's up.

His eyes flutter open hitting her with that sickeningly attractive hazel colour. He yawns and attempts to sit up, except he's apparently forgotten the painful injuries he acquired yesterday, so he winces, hard, but he manages when she helps him sit up, a hand on his back and the other still on his shoulder.

".....Thanks, Gert."

"Hey, no problem, just don't do something that warrants this," she waves her hands around, basically gesturing to his whole body, "again and we're good, okay?" She's trying for a joking tone, but her voice comes out almost achingly fond.

"I....Yeah, definitely. Definitely." he nods, then presses his good hand to his forehead when it turns out to be painful.

"Gert, why am I awake right now? This is like, stupid painful."

"Because humans need food to survive," she says, handing him the bowl, "and as annoying as you can be sometimes, I'm not going to be the one to let you starve."

"Oh, so I'm annoying, huh? Am I? Am I annoying?" he says, poking her side lightly. She giggles, scrunching in on herself.

"Stop, stop, holy hell."

"You're still the only person I've ever met under 65 who says that."

She sticks her tongue out at him.

She's always really liked talking with Chase. It's always felt like they were on the same wavelength, even before. It seems like, with them, there's never an empty space, never an awkward silence. She's never really had that before, not even with her family. There are some things she's just never wanted to talk to them about, especially since she's not even speaking to her mother and father right now. And Molly, no matter how mature she's grown to be, is still 14. And Gert knows that talking to her about what she thinks about all the damn time- what if they get caught, what if their parents never face repercussions, what if they don't survive this- would just worry Molly out of her mind. She can talk to Chase about practically anything, though.

Well, almost anything. There's that thing involving him, her, and whole lot of emotions she hates dealing with. But she rarely talks to anyone about that, so.

"Hey, what's that?" Chase says after finishing the last sip of his soup. She's never understood why he doesn't just use a fucking spoon like a normal person, but whatever. He places the bowl on the cheap tables they use for nightstands, then reaches out and grabs the book she'd dropped into the frankly huge pocket of her borrowed shirt.

"Oh, it's-"

"Ella Enchanted. How do you still have this? It's like, half a decade old."

"yeah, but I've always liked it. I'm kind of sentimental, I guess." She doesn't know why she says it like she's admitting a secret.

Chase looks down at the book with fond eyes, the kind of look she sees him give her when he thinks she doesn't notice. It sort of drives her a little bit crazy, sometimes. His eyes goes soft, and he gets little lines at the corners of them. He's totally going to get crows feet when they get older. He smoothes his hand over the worn cover, fingers the edge, and Gert wonders what he's thinking.

"Hey," he says hesitantly, "do you think.....do you think you could read some of this for me?"

She feels her eyebrows go up in surprise. Huh.

"Well, um,"

"Sorry, that was stupid of me, I don't know why I even-"

"No, it's okay, I'll totally do it, yeah, sure. Just.........pass me the book."

He hands it to her. He still looks as if he thinks he's going to get reprimanded for something.

She cracks open the book and thumbs to the first page, and she's about to start reading when Chase stops her.

"Um. You could sit up here. If you want, I mean." She does want. Gert is glad he asked because sitting on the edge of his bed was getting kind of uncomfortable, and also........other reasons. Like how being next to him makes her feel safe, and warm, and right. But of course she's not going to say that.

She gets up and plops down next to him. "Thanks, Chase," she says,  and gives him a smile that probably came out fonder than it should've.

She cracks open the book again, and starts reading.

"That fool of a fairy Lucinda did not intend to lay a curse on me. She meant to bestow a gift. When I cried inconsolably through my first hour of life, my tears were her inspiration. Shaking her head sympathetically at Mother, the fairy touched my nose. 'My gift is obedience. Ella will always be obedient. Now stop crying, child.'............"

She reads and reads, though she's not sure Chase is fully paying attention, from the way his eyes are closed and how he's slid back down so his head is rested against the pillow, but he's got a little smile that means he's still at least half awake, so she's not too worried.

"He did laugh, and then he made an announcement." she reads, "I like you. I'm quite taken with you."  

~~~~~

Chase loves how she does the voices. How each character has a perfectly curated accent, and how her voice stays soft even though she's putting so much storytelling into the words. He's always thought that there's a difference between reading out loud and storytelling, and Gert has it down. He loves her voice in general, actually. The way she speaks has always seemed so original to him, like dozens of people could be talking in a crowded room and he'd be able to find Gert by ear alone.

The way he feels is getting out of hand, even for him. He really should just tell her.

But not yet.

~~~~~

His eyes are fully shut now, and she's pretty sure he's asleep. She puts the book back in her pocket and gets up, heading for the door.

"Hey, Gert?"

She turns back to look at him. "Yeah?"

"Is that my shirt?"

"Uh, yeah, it is, I think." It's so fake of her to say that, because she doesn't know for sure, and it might actually be Alex's, and she shouldn't lie. But to be honest, she really just wants to see if that makes him smile because she likes him, okay? She likes him. There. She's tired of referring to her feelings as an 'it'. She's tired of tiptoeing around it even in her own head. It's stupid, and gets her nowhere.

Chase does smile, and even with his eyes closed its blinding.

~~~~~

It's a few days later, and Chase is finally back on his feet again. He's so glad he can get out of bed again. Lying down for so long kind of felt like whenever he'd get a cold and a stuffed up nose to match and automatically lament every day he'd never appreciated being able to breath properly. Standing up had felt sooooooo good.

Not being stuck in bed anymore is great, but he does feel like he's going to miss hanging out exclusively with Gert so often. He says 'so often' as if he'd been laid up for weeks, which he hadn't, but it certainly felt that way. And it's not like they had deep, philosophical conversations or anything. She just........read to him.

But it was so nice. And he feels like they bonded, somehow. Like in between the pages and letters of a children's novel they'd grown, inexplicably, closer. He feels like, maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance.

They still haven't finished the book, though. And damn if he's not invested in the cursed plucky heroine and her princely love interest.

He's pacing, slowly, but still pacing, in the TV room while some movie plays in the background. He doesn't want to sit down, and Old Lace is matching him step for step, which Chase secretly finds kind of adorable. Once you get past the whole 'terrifying dinosaur' thing, Old Lace is just a big, scaly, puppy dog.

"Hey, enjoying hanging out with my dinosaur?" Gert says, just appearing out of nowhere like she knew he was thinking about her. She's leans against the door with a lazy smirk, and Chase feels like he might be melting into a pile of sappy goop.

He knows he's probably doing The Eyes right now, but he doesn't really care that much. The Eyes is what Karolina had labelled what she called his 'pining look' once they'd become friends again and he gave her permission to make fun of him for having a crush on The Biggest Lesbian at Atlas.

"Yeah, actually. Are you sure there isn't more room for a second guardian on those adoption papers?"

"The adoption papers that I totally have after stealing an illegal dinosaur from my murderer parents? Sure, Chase."

They smile at each other, in that warm, comfortable way that Chase has never had with anybody before her.

And then Molly bursts in, and he's not going to say she ruined it, because he likes Molly, he does.

But she kind of ruined it.

"hi guys, we're going to play a board game in the common room, we need your help choosing which one to play, come on, come on, come on!" she says all this lightning fast, then runs out of the room.

~~~~~

"ALEEEEEEX!" Gert yells as she stomps into the common room, Chase close on her heels.

"..............Yes?" Alex says meekly, because he knows what he's Done, and knows he's going to Pay.

"What, pray tell, possessed you," she pauses and walks over to her sister, clapping her hands over Molly's ears, "to give my 14 year old sister a fucking boatload of sugar after being on withdrawal for three months and having a lack of defense against the effects due to our parents nutritional choices?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't kn-"

"Bullshit. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. And you know how I know this is bullshit? Because this happened six weeks ago, and you were the one who gave her the damn Three Musketeers. So, what you are going to do, is play crazy eights with her for the next hour until she calms down, okay?"

"O-okay."

She takes her hands off Molly's ears and pushes the cards into her sugar crazed sister's hand. Molly then grabs Alex by the arm and drags him (presumably) to the TV room to start up a game.

"Where did he even get candy to give her?" She mutters to Chase as she turns back around to the rest of them. Karolina and Nico are giggling at Chase from the couch. Chase, though, hasn't moved.

He's staring at her, blinking like he can't believe what he's seeing. He's biting his lip, and his cheeks are red as strawberries.

"Looks like someone's hot and bothered," Karolina says.

"Ummm, I just remembered, I've got something to go and um, do. Bye!" His voice cracks on the last word, and he leaves as quickly as possible.

She turns to Karolina and Nico, and says, "Okay, what was that?"

"That was the boy you like getting flustered because you were being all succinct and domineering. It was hot, and he was into it." Nico says.

"You really think so?" She whispers. This is so stupid. She's literally never like this, sappy over a boy like a badly written self-hating schoolgirl in a teen movie. But.........she trusts her friends enough to be around them like this. That's always been a problem for her, taking down enough walls so people can see her for what she is, which, for all her maturity, is still just a teenage girl.

Karolina pats the seat between herself and Nico, so Gert sits down. Karolina puts a hand on her shoulder, and Gert turns to look at her.

"Do you remember when you were all up in my business about my sexuality? And didn't see one clue of me clearly not wanting to talk about it?"

"Hey, I apologized for that. Profusely."

"You did, you did. But my point is, right now? You're being just as oblivious."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Am not."

"Are to."

"Guys!"

The three of them burst out laughing.

"Okay, but if we can agree on anything," Nico says, "It's that Gert is totally going to wear the pants in that relationship."

"Uh, excuse you, that is so false. A healthy relationship shouldn't involve either party being in charge, that's not how it works. Therefore, neither of us would wear the pants."

"In more ways than one, huh?" Nico says.

"Shut up!"

~~~~~

He really should talk to her, but he's just so embarrassed.

Chase doesn't even know if she feels the same way, and he doesn't want to assume, but he royally embarrassed himself and he doesn't know if that counts as a confession.

So he's kind of been avoiding Gert. Not outright, but........he's been trying his best not to be alone with her.

Right now though, he's in the common room looking for that copy of Ella Enchanted. He's got to know how it ends. He's always been like this with books, finishing them way too fast because the story is so intoxicating. And yeah, he's never been a big reader, but when he did read the book was finished in a day- maybe two if it was long. Gert used to make fun of him for it.

"What are you looking for?" Speak of the devil.

"Um....." he stalls, pulling his hand out from between the couch cushions. "I'm looking for the book we were reading. I kind of......want to know the ending."

"Oh, so you were listening." Gert leans against the door, looking a bit like she's thinking, ha! I caught you!".

"Of course I was listening." it comes out sincere, maybe a little too intense. Whoops.

".......Oh," she says. Her cheeks go a little red. "Well it's right here." She pulls the book out of her shirt (his shirt) pocket. He can't believe she's wearing it again, does she know she's killing him?

He takes it, sits down on the couch. It kind of feels a bit wrong to read it himself, Gert had been reading it to him and he got used to it.

"I could read it to you, again. If you wanted."

~~~~~

Okay, this is her chance. They're alone, and he's talking to her.

"Yeah, that'd be nice, actually."

She sits next to, and with purpose, takes the book from his hands. She's sitting closer than she needs to, just for the sake of it.

"'Lass,' Char said to me. 'I won't hurt you, no matter what.' He cupped his hand under my chin and tilted my face to his. I wanted to catch his hand and kiss it. As soon as we touched, I knew he recognized me. He brought my slipper out from his cloak. 'It belonged to Ella, and will fit her alone, whether she is a scullery maid or a duchess.' A chair was brought . I wished for normal sized feet. 'That's my slipper,' Hattie said. 'It's been missing for years.' 'Your feet are too big.' Olive blurted. 'Try it,' Char told Hattie.  'I lost it because it kept falling off.' She sat and  removed her own slipper. I caught the familiar smell of her . She couldn't wedge her toes in. 'I'm younger than Hattie,' Olive said. 'So my feet are smaller. Probably.' They were bigger." she has to pause as Chase laughs. It's one of her favourite sounds, his laugh. Gert can't bring herself to shush him, so she waits him out and starts up again.

"Now it was my turn. Char knelt, holding the slipper. I extended and he guided it. The slipper fit perfectly, of course. What was I going to do? His face was close to mine. He must have seen my terror. 'You needn't be Ella if you don't want to be,' he said softly. He was so good. 'I'm not,' I said. But in spite of myself, tears streaked down my cheeks. I saw hope spread d across his face. 'That letter was rubbish. A trick.' he glared at Hattie, then turned to me, his look probing."

"'Do you love me?' He spoke softly. 'Tell me.'" Chase was gazing intensely at her face, and she wonders if he's like, alright.

"Chase? Are you okay?" She catches his eye, nd he seems to make some sort of decision.

He leans in, but stops before he kisses her. Because that's obviously what he's going to do, kiss her. He's got that look on his face, hesitance and excitement and something else she can't place all rolled into one.

She meets him halfway.

It is, objectively, the best kiss she's ever experienced. Slow and soft, because they both know they're not going anywhere. Gert has one hand pressed against his cheek, and the other twisted into his shirt.

~~~~~

He doesn't know where to put his hands, so he just places them on her waist. Gert throws her legs over his, just to get closer. It's so good. Gert is a fantastic kisser, transcending realms, galaxies, everything. And Jesus, that is so sappy. But he's pretty much making out with the prettiest, coolest girl he knows, so he's allowed to be a bit of a sap.

~~~~~

She's practically on his lap now, and kissing him is so, so good. But she needs to ask him something, so she pulls back with a pop!

His lips are red and kind of swollen, and his pupils are so big she can only see a small ring of hazel when she makes eye contact. It's very attractive.

"Okay, okay," she says. "I need to make sure this like, means something to you, or whatever, because I'm so tired of this will they won't they bullshit, so. This mean we're together, right?" He's already nodding, so she puts both of his hands on his face and kisses him again.

~~~~~

Chase loves Gert's hands. They're soft, and warm, and a little calloused. He especially loves how her hands frame his face as she kisses him, like he's something special, something that needs to be protected. Chase has never been kissed like this, sweet and loving and slow, but he finds that he likes it.