#the nox knew what they were doin

[wordsnbones]

i love the urumi. so much.

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Chapter 4 - Left Hand Woman

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Gryphon time, A spot of magic, No one knows how to communicate, I've given up on any semblance of reader neutrality, sorry, Sweetpea is her own woman and you are just along for the ride, Farah is here now! We love Farah

~7.2k words - MDNI

Someone sends a young woman from the staff to help you dress the next morning. She’s shy and mousy-haired, and you have to ask her what her name is twice before she haltingly tells you that it’s Tiphanie. She goes entirely pink when you tell her that you think it’s a very pretty name, and that you hope you’re not pulling her away from anything more important.

“I’ve been tidyin’ your room, highness,” she says turning even pinker. “Or, um, tryin’ to. You leave things so neat there’s been nothin’ for me to be doin’.”

“I’m used to living on my own,” you explain. “I’ve been in charge of keeping my own space tidy for years now.”

“On your own?” Tiphanie asks, aghast. “But your wicked father sold you away to the giants in the mountains so they’d help him in the war, and they kept you in a cage and made you sing to them like a songbird, until Sir Ghost came flyin’ in on his gryphon and rescued you.”

Is that how they’ve explained your absence? You unwrap your hair, laughing. “Oh goodness, no. I was living in a town not all that far from here. Out in the country. Not sold off or captured by anyone.”

“Well, then what was sir Ghost gone so long for, if he wasn’t travellin’ through the wastes and fightin’ monsters lookin’ for you?” she asks, blinking at the cloud of tightly curled hair you’ve let down, like she’s not entirely sure if she should be doing something about it. “He’s been gone three years, and then he came back with you— If you’re tryin’ to put on a brave face about it, I understand, highness, but what you’re sayin’ don’t make any sense. You wouldn’t’ve stayed away so long if you was just a few towns away.”

It’s a bit funny that she’s so insistent that it makes more sense that you’d been held captive in the distant mountains than simply living your life peacefully close by, but you have to admit, it’s certainly the more compelling story. “Well, the giants made me keep my own room tidy,” you say, splitting your hair into three segments so you can braid it down your back in one thick plait. “I only had to sit in the birdcage when they were entertaining guests.”

“I knew—” she cuts herself off with a little yelp, catching sight of movement at the window.

You glance over, and it’s just Nox, landed on the balcony, shaking her wings out. “Thank you for your help, Tiphanie,” you say, smiling at her reassuringly. “I should say hello to Nox.”

She nods, wide-eyed, and gives you a wobbly curtsy as you step out to the balcony.

“Hello, my darling,” you croon to Nox, holding your arms out. She presses herself against your chest, making a strange, warbling purr as you scratch behind her tufted ears. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you yesterday, pretty girl.”

If she's offended by your negligence, she doesn’t hold a grudge. She hops backward and gently tugs at one of the loose curls around your face, cawing happily at the way it bounces back into shape when she lets go, wiggling her wings a little playfully.

“Sweetpea, we’re down ‘ere, whenever you’re ready,” Ghost calls up from the courtyard. When you look over the edge, you can see that all four of them are down there, sitting around a table you hadn’t noticed before. “Nox’ll ‘op down with you.”

“One second,” you tell Nox, giving her one last scratch under the chin before you dash back inside for the book Kyle lent you. When you return to the balcony, she kneels down enough that you can climb onto her back carefully, and straightens up once you’re settled in place. Inky black wings spread out on either side of you, and she jumps into the air, headed upwards rather than down like you expected, her strong legs landing lightly and launching off the low roof on the other side of the courtyard, wings catching the wind. Your stomach plummets on her first leap, and you grip the saddle tightly, terror closing your throat tightly against the scream that builds up inside your chest.

Wind rushes in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat the next loudest thing. You take a steadying breath and open your eyes to a picture of the castle, and the city beyond, laid out below you, towers as small as a child’s toy blocks, the river coiled around the eastern bank of the city, glittering like a serpent in the morning light. Nox’s wings are huge fully spread out, and when you twist in the saddle, you see that her back legs are stretched out behind, her big paws tilting one way or the other, adjusting her flight the way a true raven’s tail feathers would. She tips her whole body slightly to the side, starting a slow, circling descent, calling out joyfully, her rough croaks echoing eerily back to you, the sound bouncing off of the stone below. For a moment, it sounds like there’s a whole flock of gryphons, rather than just Nox.

You wonder if she’s lonely, being the only one here.

Nox settles back in the courtyard and sticks her beak in the fountain while you try to dismount. Your legs don’t fully cooperate, and you slide sideways out of the saddle, the returned grasp of gravity unkind and unrelenting. Solid arms catch you before you hit the ground, scooping you out of the air with one arm behind your back and the other under your knees.

“There you are,” John says soothingly. “You want some tea, love?”

You nod, still too frozen to insist on him putting you down. You’re not certain your legs will hold you.

“Nox, you naughty girl, you were just supposed to ‘op down! What if you’d dropped ‘er, eh? You’d be feelin’ pretty sorry about it now, wouldn’t you?” Ghost scolds the gryphon, standing next to her at the fountain, his hands on his hips. She just uses her beak to splash water at him in response, which earns her a pointed finger. “Oi! Don’t you sass me, you daft bird, she wun’t even buckled in.”

Nox deftly snatches the glove off of his hand and launches herself up to the roof, where she settles in on the tiles and pretends to gnaw on the leather, her cat’s eyes wide as saucers, tail twitching back and forth.

Kyle offers you a cup of tea and a smile that's on the shy side. You thank him, realizing a little too late that John has taken his seat with you still in his lap, his arms looped around you securely. “John,” you say sternly, twisting to look at him. “Did we not talk about this?”

“I don’t believe this was on your list of complaints, actually.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your temple, whiskers twitching as he smiles. "Besides, you're trembling. I know I behaved terribly yesterday, but all I want is to take care of you. Are you so afraid that you'll like it?"

"That's not what I'm afraid of. I think people are getting the wrong idea about what my presence here means, and cozying up to you will not help matters." You hold the cup and saucer a little bit apart, so that the rattle of dishes doesn't draw attention to the fact that you really are shaking, and would have spilled all over yourself if the cup was filled all the way up. Not that there would be any disguising the fact from John, the way he wraps around you. "You know that this will only complicate things."

“Did someone say something to you?” John asks.

You take a sip of tea, eyes tracking Ghost as he took the last seat at the table. Typical of them to invite you to a table with only four chairs. “Tiphanie, the girl that was sent to help me this morning? She didn’t say anything outright, but it certainly sounded like she expects that I’ll be staying. And something about me being held captive by giants. And that Ghost was gone for three years? What on earth were you doing all that time?”

Ghost shrugged. “Told you already. Was keepin’ an eye on you.”

“For three years?”

“Started off just droppin’ by, but figured it’d be better to stick around. Was.” He sits back in his chair and folds his hands together. “Din’t ‘ave nothin’ better to be doin’.”

“You did, actually,” John says tiredly. “You were supposed to be the commander of my knights. Had to train Keller up for it instead.”

“An’ ‘e’s a sight better at the job than I’d’ve been,” Ghost replies. “Did you a favour, din’t I?”

“Wouldn’t’ve found Sweetpea without him either,” Kyle points out. “And Alex is much better with people than Ghost has ever been. It probably was for the best.”

You glance at Johnny, uncharacteristically quiet across the the table. He meets your eyes only for a moment, and then looks down at his hands, frowning. You're not sure if this is because of yesterday, or if something else is bothering him. He sneaks another look up, and drops his eyes again immediately when he finds you still watching him.

If it is about yesterday, you're glad that at least one of them has the decency to be ashamed of themselves. Price isn't acting the least bit concerned. His fingers are dug into the top of your thigh firmly, and his thumb keeps tapping a rhythmless pattern against your hip, distracting and wholly inappropriate. Kyle won't quite meet your eyes, but he seems hopeful that you'll let it slide and forgive him if he’s careful to make no further waves.

You'll forgive all three of them from a distance once you go home. You want your life back. You’ll do a better job of seizing that freedom this time— you think you might finally work up the nerve to talk to the blacksmith's tall apprentice, with those coal dark eyes that always soften when he looks at you. You’ve thought him handsome for a long while, despite, or perhaps because of, the scars that ripple over his skin, and now that you know that he hasn't spoken to you because of Ghost's interference, you feel hopeful that he might— Oh. Of course.

It's choking, how tight a leash these men have put on you.

“Was there something that you all needed from me?” you ask stiffly. “Or can I go?”

“You need to eat something, first off,” John says, squeezing your hip lightly. “Then down to the city to have that dress fitted, and to meet with Farah.”

“When I requested a woman to accompany me, I was anticipating a longer stay,” you point out. “I’m sure I’ll be fine without a chaperone for the rest of the day, don’t you?”

“I’d allow that, if you’ll stick close to me.” John’s voice is practically a purr, his lips too close to your ear.

You imagine tossing your cooling tea into his face, which is almost as satisfying as actually doing it would be, and freer from consequence. “I will not.”

He laughs. “Then Farah it is. You’re angry with three of us, and I don’t trust Ghost alone with you.”

“What did I do?” Ghost asked, clearly offended by the notion.

You sigh, and resign yourself to being watched. Even if this Farah person answers to John, you’ll be glad for a few moments away from these unbearably pushy men.

“We can move our little lesson to this afternoon,” Kyle offers, brown eyes hopeful. “And I’d like to join you this morning too. It’s been a while since I popped down to visit Rosie.”

“Why not head there now?” John asks. “Get a visit in, make sure things are in order, and Ghost can bring Sweetpea on Nox in a bit, if she’s up for a proper flight.”

Kyle gets up without objection. “Yes sir. I’ll see you there, Sweetpea.” His eyes linger on yours for a long moment before he turns to go.

You lean forward to set your tea on the table, and push John’s arms away roughly, taking Kyle’s abandoned seat rather than remain in John’s lap for another moment. He smiles serenely when you glare at him from your new perch, as unaffected by your ire as a mountain would be by a single drop of rain.

You regret kissing him. You hate that he’s handsome and smug and insufferable. It frustrates you to end that there’s so much of you that wants to melt under his touch, that there’s a glacial, undeniable give to your resolve. Warmth spreads through you every time he puts his hands on you, every time he gives you that cheeky grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

He gives you one of those smiles as he picks up your abandoned tea cup and sips from it, his mouth where yours had been, watching you so that you know it’s no accident. Yet more heat curls in your belly, like the press of his lips against the rim of the cup can still reach you.

Hateful man.

You feel a little better once you’re sitting in Nox’s saddle again, pretending not to notice the way both Johns stare when you shift your dress out of the way and buckle your legs into the waiting straps. And when you wrap yourself extra securely around Ghost, pressing your whole body against his back, it’s certainly not because you want either of them to feel any kind of jealousy.

This time you’re better prepared for the leap skyward, and your stomach doesn’t remain somewhere on the ground below. With Ghost to cling to, you feel safer looking down, even if it does still send a jolt through you.

The world spreads out below, distant and beautiful, like a painting with minute brushstrokes. You can even see a glimpse of green fields beyond the spread of forest, a near glimpse of home. It seems so close from here, but still far out of reach. Nox begins her descent only a moment later, and the glimpse of the far countryside dips out of view again. She didn’t have to climb so high, but you appreciate that she did, that the gryphon is so keen to show you the world from her perspective.

Simon touches the back of your hands, where they’re clasped tight around his middle, thumb running across your knuckles. Your heart aches curiously. You want to pull his mask off and see if you’re right, if he really has been living in your town as Simon the blacksmith’s quiet apprentice, if he’s the owner of the brown eyes that sparked warmth in your belly whenever he looked at you.

Maybe, if he is (and you’re nearly certain of it), he’ll come with you, when you leave once more. You’re afraid to ask such a thing, to test the weight of his oath to protect you against his loyalty to John. And John… Well, that was never going to go anywhere, no matter how much his kiss shook you to the core. There’s no sense mourning a choice you never had. He would find a queen elsewhere, and you would all be happier for it.

Just one more day. You’ll be glad to leave this behind, won’t you? It’s not as though it feels like any kind of homecoming, to return to this cursed place.

There are a few shrieks from the street below as Nox swoops down and lands on the cobblestone, onlookers ducking behind carts and into alleyways, although all of the terrified faces relax somewhat when they recognize you and Ghost, and then fear is replaced with wide-eyed excitement, whispered conversations springing up around you as you lean down to unbuckle your straps. Ghost is faster with his, and hops down to help you with the straps on your other leg while you’re still working on the first.

He lifts you clear of Nox’s saddle, and the closest shop door opens. “Princess!” Kyle’s sister, Rosie, rushes out of the shop and embraces you. She’s as pretty as Kyle is handsome, with a beaming smile that creases her face in just the same way. “Goodness, it’s been years. How have you been?”

“Well,” you say. “Life outside the city has been good to me.”

“I see that. I was so glad to see that you’d gained weight, when Kate sent your measurements. We always worried about you when you were younger. No appetite.” She pulls back and cups your face fondly. “You really are a sight for sore eyes, my lady. It will be good for the people to see you again, to know that you’re well.”

Her enthusiasm surprises you. You had always rather liked Rosie, when she worked at the castle, but you hadn’t expected a greeting like this, after so long. “I hadn’t realized— I mean, my father—”

Rosie laughs, the movement of her head making the pile of coily curls on top of her head bounce slightly. “Did you think we counted you party to your father’s crimes? No, princess. You’ve always been loved. There isn’t a soul in this city, perhaps not even in the whole of the country, who isn’t glad to know you’re safe and hale.”

Your heart twists. You had expected indifference, that no one would care one way or the other if you were here or gone. You hadn’t even considered that the people would be disappointed that you aren’t planning to stay. It’s one thing, to say you wish to leave to Price, but another to say so to Rosie, and a heavy thought indeed, knowing you’ll make a speech over it tomorrow.

“Come on, in we go,” Ghost says firmly, motioning for you and Rosie to get inside. “Keep a look out, hey Nox?” The Gryphon makes a low, gurgling sound in response and sits on her haunches beside the door.

There's a prickle of magic in the air, but perhaps it's just Kyle, the energy that crackles around him wherever he goes. He stands next to a dress form with a beautiful dark green gown hanging off of it. It's off the shoulder, with pearly beads and clusters of embroidered leaves and flowers in a pale cream colour all around the neckline and the cuffs of the sleeves, giving way to beautiful lace. You think that maybe the colour difference is too stark— You would have chosen a more subtle accent— but you politely say nothing of it. Perhaps this is what's fashionable these days. You certainly won't ask Rosie to make a serious alteration like that with less than a day of lead time. You only have to wear the dress for a few hours anyway.

Rosie and one of her assistants shoo Kyle away, and start taking the dress off the form. Ghost joins Kyle on a bench on the other side of the room, his bulky frame taking up most of the available space. Another assistant ushers you into another room and begins helping you take off your dress and settle a few extra layers of petticoats over the ones you're already wearing.

The shop bell rings, and you hear Nox make a churring sound. "Hello," a woman says, her pretty, accented voice carrying through the space without growing too loud, like she naturally knows how to command attention. "Sir Garrick, Sir Ghost. Good to see you."

"Always good to see you, Farah," Kyle says pleasantly. “It’s been too long.”

“Hardly. We never see each other when times are good, Garrick.”

“Times are good now,” Kyle replies.

“Hm.”

You twist to look behind you, thinking about going back into the other room to introduce yourself, and Rosie accidentally stabs you with a pin. “Hold still, my lady,” she chides. “We’ll just be another moment.”

Farah pushes past the curtain and stalks into the room. She’s small, even shorter than you are, but she has a hunter’s lean to her stride, and a sword strapped to her back. She’s dressed practically, leather pauldron on her left arm pieced together with her bracer with a jack chain, nearly balanced on the other arm, but without the heavier pauldron, to keep her sword arm freer. Her leather breastplate is scarred from battle, but well-maintained, and a small hand-crossbow that glitters with magic hangs from her thick belt, along with a knife and a quiver of bolts. Her hair is braided back from her strong-boned face, and although her expression is serious, thick brows drawn into straight, unimpressed lines, her dark eyes have a curious glint in them. “Princess,” she says as you turn, earning yourself another pin-prick. “I am Farah Karim. I’ve been told you have need of me.”

“John insists that I’m not safe without a sword-wielding escort,” you say wryly. “I disagree, but his knights will hardly let me out of their sight as it is.”

“Could be assassins lurking about, my lady,” Rosie says, warm brown eyes wide and worried. “We would hate to lose you so quickly, after just getting you back.”

You glance at Farah, and spot the slightest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You see what I’m dealing with?” you ask. “Everyone thinks I’m in terrible danger.”

“The danger likely comes tonight. With their envoy.”

You tip your head to the side. “No love for our neighbours, Commander?”

Farah huffs, crossing her arms and widening her stance reflexively. “No. My father’s lands are close to the border. I’ve seen the worst of them. While you were locked away in the palace, I saw villages burned, people slaughtered, foul magics leeching life from the very soil. You would be wise to be wary.”

“I suppose it’s naivete to think the peace can last.”

“No. It is hopeful. But you must project strength, or they will see that hope as weakness. Your cousin has given them leverage to oust John. So it falls to you to correct the course. We cannot fight another war amongst ourselves, or the wolves will be at our throats.” The challenge in her eyes is immistakable. Her perspective is valuable, and she offers it without pretense, as both warning an a test. Are you willing to listen? Or are you like so many others of your station, in your country and without, that only hear what they wish to hear?

“You don’t see minding me as beneath you?” you ask. “You lead a company of soldiers.”

Her lips curl into a smile. “My fighters are in good hands. Besides, I’m curious about you, princess. We might have been friends, had our paths not diverged. Perhaps we still can be.”

“I’d like that,” you admit.

Farah walks back out to speak with Ghost and Kyle while Rosie finishes marking adjustments. When you’re finally freed from the dress and get dressed again, Kyle and Ghost are both gone, and Farah is inspecting some spools of ribbon idly.

"I sent them home," she explains. "I suspect Ghost will be nearby and watching, but Gaz has gone back to his tower. He says he will be there all afternoon if you still wish to learn magic tricks from him." She wiggles her fingers vaguely, eyes creased with a smile.

"I think I should. It can't hurt to try."

"No. And it will give me a chance to go over castle wards and security."

Nodding, you bid farewell to Rosie and her assistants, and step out onto the street with Farah by your side. Nox is still waiting outside, basking in a block of sunshine. She stirs, getting up and stretching like a house cat, her feather-tufted tail lashing lazily behind her. You smile when Nox settles into her stride behind you and Farah, sticking her beak over your shoulder. You hook your fingers over the smooth black beak. “Just us girls, hey Nox?” you croon.

She churrs in response.

“The beast likes you,” Farah says approvingly. “Gryphons tend to be disagreeable, unless they’re hand-reared. Nox has famously bitten more than a few fingers.”

“Yours too?” you ask.

Farah laughs, shaking her head. “I know how to keep my hands to myself.”

“At least someone around here does,” you grouse.

“Price?” she asks, raising her thick brows. “Do you want me to speak with him?”

“I don’t think there’s much point. This will all be over soon enough.”

Farah frowns at that, her dark eyes studying you sidelong. “It doesn’t give him the right, no matter who he is to you. If he cannot behave, I will gladly remove a finger or two to remind him.”

“Really? I thought you were one of John’s people.”

“He may be the king, but I am not one of his sworn knights, nor am I a member of the army. He cannot command me, he can only ask if he wants something done,” Farah says, and there’s something in her tone that tells you that she’s had to remind John of this fact more than once. “If I am to be loyal to anyone in court, it will be you, and you alone.”

“Just like that?”

“I have a good feeling about you, princess. I think your people need you, and you will need allies of your own.”

Your stomach twists again. You’re beginning to doubt your resolution to leave. Maybe you really are needed here. Maybe you bring something vital that’s been missing for too long. Maybe things aren’t going as well as you had thought— You have to admit, your perspective is still limited, for all that you were living among ordinary citizens all this time. Your town is a prosperous one, along a good trade route, too far from any borders to face any significant dangers. There has been little strife, no awful storms, no disasters. This can’t be the case for the whole kingdom.

Maybe you should stay a few extra days, and go through the accounts and reports from the last few years, at least. If there’s something that’s been missed, you might have better eyes to find it. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing, to stay on just a few days more. Especially once you’d made your speech and no one was labouring under the idea that you’d be staying forever. It would be easier to speak to people if you really were no longer a princess.

On to better things, as John had said.

Maybe there’s a place here for you. Not as a queen, but an advisor. Something to speak to John about later, perhaps. You’re sure he’d be happy for an excuse to keep you close.

But then again, maybe not. It’s a bitter thought, but his interest in you is very likely just based in your lineage, your claim to the throne. He has no need to keep you close once you’ve pledged your support to him. Better to send you away, lest you rescind that support when you have a large enough disagreement.

John is nothing if not pragmatic. You’ll be no use to him by the end of the day tomorrow.

And that’s good. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To go home, to be left alone, to take upon yourself a destiny of your own, that has nothing to do with where you’re from, and everything to do with where you’re going next?

“How did you become a mercenary?” you ask. Better to think about something other than yourself before you drive yourself mad with what-ifs and maybes.

“My father arranged a marriage for me, and I wanted to be a knight, like my brother Hadir was in training to be. It was an argument. In the end, I saw only two paths. I could do what was expected, but I knew even as a girl that would not be tolerable. I was too proud of my skills, eager to fight and defend people that needed me. So I took the second path, and left my home. I started off as a sell-sword, mostly caravan work until Hadir left his knight-master to come work with me, and the two of us started making a name.” She gives you a wry smile. “My parents were none too pleased with Hadir either. But they still speak to him.”

“You don’t talk to them at all?”

“Once in a while they send me a letter to remind me that the man who wished to marry me still hasn’t found another. That he’s still open to the match.” She rolls her eyes. “I think if he hasn’t been able to find a wife in all this time, there’s a reason for it.”

You laugh lightly. She has a good point.

By the time the two of you meander back to the palace, you do feel like you’re fast friends. Farah has a way of opening up without having to say much at all, her dark, pretty eyes sincere. Maybe it's something shared between you, not words exchanged, but who you both expected to become, how you both were raised to be something you wanted no part of. Farah is bolder than you, decisive and candle-quick, and you are a slow trickle of water, always taking the path of least resistance, but somehow you were both born of the same stuff. You understand each other.

Nox flies off when you reach the castle gates, and Farah and you split at the foot of Gaz's tower, her off to meet with the knight commander, and you to see if there's anything that you can learn. The book that Gaz had lent to you had been easy reading, especially with the annotations in his neat, scratchy writing, and the first two chapters had been more reminder of what you already knew. The third was about disrupting and dispelling magic, which seemed like it would be a useful place to start your lessons. Even if you expect that greater magics will be beyond your grasp, you can protect yourself by disrupting spells used against you.

By the time you reach the workshop door, you’re a bit warm and out of breath, the countless spiraling steps more effort than you’d like to admit, especially after a walk through the city. Why Kyle liked it was apparent just from looking at him, but you have a softer physique, and you’ve become quite unused to stairs over the years away from the castle. There are very few buildings taller than two stories back in town. You halt outside the door to catch your breath, glancing out the narrow window, through the slight warping of uneven glass panes.

“Isna right, Gaz, and even ye know it!” Soap’s heated voice seeps through the door. Kyle’s response is too low to make out, but Soap’s next words are clear. “She deserves better! Been nothin’ but kind to us.”

“She’ll get over it, Soap. You know it’s for the best.”

“The best for himself, sure, but I dinnae ken if it’s best for her.”

You sigh, torn between the impulse to eavesdrop and knowing that it’s wrong to do so. It’s not difficult to surmise that they’re talking about you. It would explain the look on Johnny’s face this morning and the feeling that things are not quite right that has been worrying at you all day. Perhaps John does intend to make you stay on in some capacity, to prop up his rule, which would be contrary to everything you’ve said you want. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to get the truth of the matter out of Soap later however— He seems uncomfortable with any level of duplicity.

The knock on the door silences the low, indecipherable sound of Kyle’s response. You rub your knuckles idly as the door opens, the tingle of magic clinging to your skin like cobwebs.

“Hello, Sweetpea.” Kyle greets you with a big smile. “I’m glad you decided to come up. Did you get through the reading I gave you?” He throws a look over his shoulder at Soap that cleary says go away.

“I did. I read through the first three chapters— I was wondering if we could focus on dispelling magic? I’m familiar enough with the bare basics, and if I’m only going to have time for one lesson, this seems like a good place to focus.” You reach out to brush Soap’s shoulder as he moves past you. “Can we talk later?”

“Of course, bonnie,” Soap says. “I’m always at yer service.”

“If you go find Farah, she might appreciate any insights you have on castle security. I think she went to speak with the knight commander.”

“Aye, could be helpful there. Go’ a nose for these things.” He taps his nose, his grin tinged with relief that you don’t seem angry with him for yesterday. “We’ll talk later, then.”

You step into the workshop and he steps out, and Kyle closes the door between you. “Dispelling magic could be a good place to start… How are you at sensing magic? If you have a natural affinity for it we can breeze past the first half of the lesson.” He takes your hand and gently pulls you over to the circle of iridescent stone.

“I think I might— I get this prickle when there’s magic around. I can’t say I always notice it, but I haven’t always thought to pay attention.” You sit on the ground inside the circle, noticing the way the buzz of the workshop fades away once you’re fully inside it. “I’ve been paying more attention here. More magic to notice, I suppose.”

“And a new environment.” Kyle says. “It’s easy to get used to the ambient magic in familiar spaces. You’ll get more attuned to the castle the longer you stay.”

“I hope so. I get all tingly whenever we’re in a room together,” you say, laughing lightly.

He settles down across from you, close enough that his knees nearly touch yours. “You sure that’s just the magic?” he asks, flashing his pretty smile at you. “It could be something else.”

“Could it?” You give him a smile in return, but yours is sharp around the edges, reminding him to mind himself. You’ve gotten a little weary of the flirting— It’s more John’s fault than it is his, admittedly, but you’re just tired of all the attention. You don’t want to flirt, even if he is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and even if you really do like him plenty. You just want to learn a bit of magic, and it would be nice if he could focus. “Or do you think that maybe being handsome has skewed your perspective to think that every young man and woman you meet is attracted to you?”

“Could be that,” he agrees, unperturbed. “But no matter. Lets get to work.”

He runs through some breathing exercises, half-familiar ones that you remember the old wizard making you do for hours on end. Luckily Gaz seems satisfied with your control, and moves on quickly.

He asks you to keep your eyes closed while he sketches runes in the air, asking you to identify them. “It will help you sense when someone is sending a spell your way, or using magic in your vicinity,” he explains. “Knowing what’s going on is the first step to knowing how to dispel it.”

The first rune feels warm, and tastes oddly of smoke. “Fire,” you say easily. Kyle hums with approval, and sketches a new one. It’s cool, and drips down your spine. “Water?”

“Good. This one should be a bit trickier.”

It’s not. You’re familiar with light spells, you come across them more often than almost anything else. “Light.”

He runs through a few more. Earth, ice, moon, sun, shadow, music, metal, lock, key. All components of spells, and not spells on their own, each one leaving impressions on your skin, tastes on your tongue. Kyle seems more and more impressed as he works through his list, and you’re both laughing before long, enjoying a lesson that feels more like a game. “You have a knack for this. Figures the old wizard couldn’t see your talent— I had to fight him to get him to take me seriously too.” He clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Let’s see… We can try an actual spell now. You can open your eyes, if you like.”

You open your eyes to look at him, pleased that he thinks you’re doing well. He smiles so prettily at you that at first you don’t notice the way magic curls around you, sliding up your neck like warm hands. You’re too distracted by the way Kyle smells, cedar and spice and ink and paper, the little scar just below his cheekbone, his wide hazel eyes fringed by thick lashes, the soft curve of his lips… You’ve always thought him handsome of course, you have eyes after all, but you’ve never wanted to kiss him so badly before.

It’s a charm spell. Something harmless for you to practice shredding apart. It makes sense for him to throw something innocuous at you, but he’s misjudged how much you already like him, and the charm is throwing you well past friendly suggestibility to wanting so badly that your hands tremble.

Knowing what it is, it’s easy to see how to unravel it, but you don’t really care to. It gives you an excuse to do something you want to do anyway. You pitch onto your knees and lean forward, bracing your hands on his thighs. His sweet, forest brown eyes widen with surprise, and he catches your face between his pretty, long-fingered hands, holding you back before you can kiss him.

“Wait,” he says quickly, his voice a quiet, anxious rasp. “It’s a charm spell, Sweetpea, I didn’t mean— You don’t really want to kiss me.” His fingers curl around your neck, like he’s fighting every instinct in him to hold you away and not draw you closer.

“Yes I do,” you say. “I just want to blame it on the spell.”

“Prove it,” he says.

It’s as simple as pulling a loose thread from knitting, unraveling magic that tastes sweet as fine white sugar on your tongue. Your cheeks burn, embarrassment settling in your stomach heavily. You should probably still be angry with him, you shouldn’t be thinking about how plush his mouth looks, or about how his pretty eyes fix on yours intently, the fire that he hides so neatly behind his quick-wit and natural charm rising to the surface. But you don’t move, and neither does he.

“We probably shouldn’t,” you say softly.

“Probably not,” he agrees.

And still, neither one of you tries to move away. He wets his lips, his gaze settling on your mouth. You swallow nervously. “Kyle—”

“Hells,” he says, angling his head slightly and closing the distance, slow enough that you could pull away, but quickly enough that he won’t lose his nerve halfway. His mouth is as soft as you anticipated, lips sliding over yours slow and sweet.

You move closer, and Kyle shifts his legs to either side of your knees to give you enough room, hands sliding down to your waist. You hum against his mouth, wrapping your arms around his solid shoulders. He kisses you for a long while before his tongue slips between your lips. He licks into your mouth, moaning, and the sound is just as pretty as he is, sending honey-sweet arousal through your veins to pool deep in your belly.

It would be easy to kiss Kyle forever— He makes no demands, keeps his hands on your waist or curled around your back, toying with, but making no attempt to undo, the buttons that march up your spine. He feels safe, and you know that he won’t push you for more, the way John would. Kyle keeps himself in check, holds himself back. It makes you all the more ready to melt for him.

It’s several long moments before he pulls back, lips swollen and eyes hot and hazy like a summer afternoon. “Princess,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw. “I need to tell you something.”

There’s a soft chime from his desk, and John’s voice speaks into the workroom, as clear as if he were right there with you both. Kyle freezes, a hound caught with his nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been, hands tightening on your hips.

“Gaz? Is Sweetpea still with you?”

Kyle clears his throat. He looks at you so guiltily, you almost feel like you’re the one that’s done something wrong. “Um. Yes sir.”

“Good. The Lyudireki ambassador is here, and Kate too, if you’d like to speak with her before you join us, Sweetpea. I believe she’s gone to your room to wait for you.”John’s voice sounds amused. It makes Kyle nervous, if his grip is anything to go by. “Gaz, I’d like you to find Soap, and bring him to the green parlour. He can be a wolf, if he likes. It’s up to him.”

“Yes sir. We’ll be down in a minute.” The chime sounds a second time, and Kyle relaxes slightly. “Old man has terrible timing. Come on, Sweetpea. We’d better get to it.”

He stands and pulls you up along with him. "You didn't do anything wrong," you remind him gently. "I kissed you."

"No, I kissed you, Sweetpea. And it's my fault you wanted to. You wouldn't have if I hadn't charmed you." He sighed. "Price is going to—"

"Kyle, I can kiss anyone I want," you say stiffly. You resent the implication that a Price owns you, that he has any say in who you kiss or what you do.

"Well. I suppose so," he says doubtfully. "But we should go. You'll want to speak with Kate, yeah?"

Your stomach churns slightly. Kate has been notably absent for all this time, conveniently unavailable to explain. She knew. She knew everything, and didn't give you so much as a heads up. "Yes. I have some questions I'd like answered."

"Don't be too hard on her," Kyle said. "John didn't give her a choice."

"Everyone always has choices, Kyle. She should have told me what was going on."

"Would you have done things differently if she had?"

"What could be done differently? I'm not the foolish little girl everyone seems to think I am. I understand my position in all this better than anyone."

Kyle seems to have to response to that. He’s quiet all the way down the stairs, lost in his thoughts. You let him stay there.

It would be nice if everyone wasn't too afraid of what John might do or say to be honest with you. Although you do know that loyalty like he demands from his men isn't born from fear alone, or your father would never have been deposed. There’s love there too, and real trust.

Kyle leaves you at your door with a lingering kiss. You try not to blame him for the way his eyes dart down the hall before he does so, even if it makes you want to shove him away. You offer him a small smile instead, and step into your room.

Thanks for your patience everyone! I know it took me a hot minute to get this chapter out, but we're back, baby! And we're kissing Kyle about it.

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 -

Divider by CafeKitsune - Flower Divider by Saradika-Graphics

[chaosfairy18]

perchance some binch (buttons + finch) drabble??? they're my sillies and i love them so dearly /nfta

@finchesslingshott

First of all Hello!

I do have to say I don't really do much livesies/stage musical stuff (sorry) nor have I ever really done much thinking on Finch or Buttons even as individual characters nor as a ship (I prefer Redfinch) but since you've been so kind to send me an ask I tried my best. I really only have Hotshot as a recurring character in my writing and even then she is very different from canon Hotshot.

Buttons is Tadhg McCarthy (his canon name in UKsies) and he got the name because he 'has his buttons' (being smart) but I still made him sew. (Thanks to Nox for the UKsies infos <3)

Finch isn't even here that much but I write him mostly like my dear friend @clevereverest makes me think of him, I love her Redfinch writing

Mostly this is actually Buttons character study a bit and his friendship with another pickpocket who sews: Swifty. Because I am 99% 92sies focused and I needed to at least have one character I already know how to write.

Now enjoy: (750 words)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buttons wasn’t sure what to do with Finch always having some rip in his clothes. Naturally he’d help him, but he wouldn’t be happy about it. For most people he’d ask for a fee for patching their things up – if they didn’t want that they could go to someone else – but with Finch he regrettably couldn’t do that as they were close.

Didn’t mean he had to be happy about not getting a bit more money.

Admittedly he had gotten more than enough today by relieving some people of their change.

In the bunkroom – where his sewing kit was – there was only one other newsie, Swifty, apparently doing the same thing. They got along well – thief’s codex and all that – so he sat on the bunk across from him to do his own stitching. “Hey Swifts.”

“Buttons.” Swifty grinned his usual lopsided grin. “Finch again?”

Buttons groaned, looking at the ceiling. “Idiot tears his thin’s every day. Shirts, pants, hat. Last week t’was his socks.” Of course he knew partly how it happened, Finch climbed up some tree and the branches nicked his clothes, he fell down and scraped his knees, he got in fights and teared something else.

“You’d earn a fortune if ya actually took his money.” As much as his tone was teasing, Buttons had a feeling Swifty was thinking something more than what should be going on.

“Can’t rob ‘im blind like that.”, he just said dismissively, getting out his scissors and thread.

“Mhm.”

“What’re you doin’ anyways? One of the littles ripped somethin’?” The kids always tumbled around and Swifty was close to both Flipper and Tumbler – mostly through them being close to Skittery and Bumlets, who were his best friends – and he’d also do a lot for Boots or Snipeshooter, not to mention Splasher. Though Splasher would have come to Buttons for sure.

Swifty held the shirt he was doing something on closer to Buttons, showing a little cat on the hem of it, embroidered in black. “I’m puttin’ little cats on all of Skittery’s clothes to see when he notices. I’m runnin’ out of clothes actually.”

“Bold of you to assume he’s lookin’ at his clothes when he puts them on.”

“It’s still fun. Tumbler loves it, says Skitts is like a cat anyways.”

They talked a bit more, also about what they had stolen the last few days, laughing about some of the close escapes they’d had or reactions they got after stealing various things. Swifty even managed to get a whole dollar, not even wanting to show it, already having it stocked away somewhere. Not that Buttons would have stolen it from him… probably. It would have gotten him such good clothes and sewing equipment though.

It was tempting, but thief’s honour kept him from actually doing it.

A bit later Finch came in, just as Buttons was almost finished, looking eager to get his vest back. “You done yet?”

“Almost.”, he just said dismissively, Swifty snickering from his bunk.

“Let the man work. With how much you’re givin’ him one could think you’re doin’ it on purpose.” Before Finch could reply to that, Swifty had jumped up, shoved the newly embroidered shirt in Skittery’s drawer and quietly disappeared down the stairs, steps light as always.

Finch’s eyes widened a bit, and he looked apologetic. “I promise I ain’t doin’ it on purpose, Tadhg. Just happens.”

“Yeah yeah. You’re just a clumsy bird.” Jumping up, cutting off the last thread, he held out the vest, newly patched, almost looking like new. Or at least the same as before. “There you go. Don’t go and rip it open again, if you keep givin’ me that much business I will have you pay for it. Runnin’ out of thread with all this.”

“I’m sure you won’t lose your buttons though.”, Finch laughed, referring to how Buttons got his nickname, from having all his wits with him. Having his buttons in order, so to speak. It was one of the better nicknames anyhow, as it also fit with sewing.

Finch slipped into the vest and grinned, leaning forward and kissing Buttons’ cheek. “Thanks again, really. I’ll get you some thread or cloth or somethin’. Promise.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Just don’t keep making people suspicious with all this. They’s bound to notice I treat you special.”

“Not that they’re wrong.”

“Finch.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He pecked his lips. “See you later.”

Buttons got to sew up two more of his clothes just this week.

[sparkedblaze]

oscar lashing out at morris while blind with anger and then being hit with absolutely Desperate regret the very second his anger clears is the concept that causes me the most best agony ever

he just gets so Angry and it all builds up and his brain gets filled with static and morris can never leave anything Alone he can never leave oscar alone for even a second and he always needs help and oh, god, oscar’s their pa, he’s just like their pa

he’s so petrified that morris will be afraid of him

Dhaosidhfoaishfiuaublgijabrlgj

H-

Ohohohohohhhoohohoh

Nox this is

This is delicious

Putting this in my mouth

Putting them in a blender

Putting them in a mortar and beating the shit out of them with a pestle

Holy shit

T/w: Smoking, violence, lashing out, anger, general not fun time. This is.... this is fucked up

*

Oscar had been on edge all day, he'd been extra harassed by the newsies, Uncle Wies had been extra grouchy, and Morris had been extra needy and had had almost a dozen meltdowns.

It had to have been something in the air. There wasn't any way this could all be happening in the same day.

Then again, that would be Oscar's luck. Everything going wrong, all in the same day.

Morris was distracted, watching a flock of pigeons hop around the nearby courtyard. Oscar used that opportunity to sneak around the corner, into an alleyway, where he could be alone. Just a second, that's all he needed.

And maybe a light and a cigarette.

He'd just lit one when Morris wandered around the corner. Oscar tensed, taking another drag. "Mo, what hap'nd to the boids?"

"Them flied 'way," Morris frowned, looking over at him, moving closer. "What 'ya doin'?"

" 'M just havin' a smoke, Mo," Oscar grumbled, taking another drag off his cigarette. "Go 'way."

He looked up at Oscar, lip quivering. "Where I gonna go?"

The whine in his voice scraped down Oscar's spine, and he took another drag off his cigarette, trying to stay calm. "I dunno, Mo. I jus' need a second."

Mo let out another whine, looking around the alley. "D'ya got any mo' cigs?"

Oscar shook his head, despite the pack sitting firmly in his inner pocket.

His younger brother frowned, stepping further into the alley. "Os-"

"No, Morris! Jus' go! Jus' for a second!" Oscar snapped at him, raking his hand through his hair.

His cheeks puffed out in a telltale sign of a meltdown waiting to happen, and Oscar could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Morris doesn't get to do this. He doesn't get to have a meltdown just because he can't have his way. It isn't fair. Oscar should be able to have his own time without constantly having to worry about his baby brother.

Morris opened his mouth to say something, but Oscar couldn't make out the words over the roaring of blood in his ears.

He threw his cigarette down, and ground it out with the heel of his shoe. "No!"

He didn't miss the way his voice echoed through the alley, just couldn't find it in himself to care all that much in the moment. He collided with Morris, knocking the other into the wall.

"You don' get to jus' come here 'n ruin my perfec'ly fine day 'cause you's bored! You don' get to jus' 'cause you's lonely! You don' get to do anythin' you want jus' 'cause!"

Oscar didn't know when he'd started swinging, all he knew was that he couldn't stop-didn't want to stop. He was getting out decades of frustration, working through every thought he'd had about Morris, all the things he'd ruined for them.

They could've been out of New York if it weren't for him. If he wasn't so attached to these damn streets, he and Oscar could've hopped a train years before.

And here they were, doing dirty work for the warden and their uncle, for nothing. They got a place to sleep, and food on the table, and barely a nickel more.

"An' it's all your fault!" Oscar cried out, trembling with rage. Rage at Morris' sickness, rage at pa for making Oscar take care of them both, rage at the system that kept them from leaving.

And, more than a little rage at himself (not that he'd ever admit that) for not doing better at raising Morris. For not making him a better man. For not fixing him.

The first thing he realized was the pain. The agonizing pain in his hands.

When the crashing of waves ceased in his mind, Oscar was left with bloodied-probably broken-knuckles. He had to focus to breathe properly, trying to get enough oxygen into them. Had he stopped breathing during that?

His vision came back into focus, and what he saw made his stomach churn.

Morris, curled and whimpering on the ground against the wall, beaten and bloodied and cowering away from his brother.

"Mo..." Oscar reached out for him, but Morris screamed, shaking his head, pressing himself further into the wall behind him.

Oscar knelt, pressing himself against the opposite wall so Morris wouldn't feel trapped, praying he wasn't going to hurl.

"Mo, 'm sorry," he wheezed, heart once again pounding in his ears, body trembling almost in time with Morris. "Mo, 'm so sorry."

Morris shook his head, still hiding his face in his arms, rocking and crying and clacking his teeth together and Oscar knows it's bad.

He's finally done it.

He's lived up to what he's always thought of himself.

He looks like Walter, he always had. Pa always said he'd never be rid of him, and he was right-more right than ever now-and Oscar's blood boiled at the thought.

He'd become the man he loathed.

"Mo..." his voice was barely a whisper, trying to breathe around the searing heat in his lungs. "Mo we gotta- we gotta get back- I gotta patch you up."

Morris shook his head, ducking his head further down, nails digging in at the hairline.

"Mo, c'mon, we gotta go before anybody see us," Oscar tried again, sighing when Morris still doesn't move. He glanced around, trying to gauge how far they were from the house.

He looked back at Morris, leaning in a little closer. "Okay, okay, Mo, 'm gonna be right back, okay?"

Morris said nothing, just crying and screeching and hurting himself.

Oscar slunk out of the alleyway, ducking into the store they were next to. A general store. He knew, however, that there was a row of stuffed toys in the back, and he looked over them. He looked on the lower shelves, finding a smaller toy that he could fit in the waistband of his pants, beneath his overshirt, without looking too conspicuous.

He scoffed, throwing his hands up as if he hadn't found what he'd been looking for. He made his way up to the counter, tossing a coin as the man at the counter got him his usual pack of cigarettes.

"Back for another already, Oscar?" he smiled as he traded the pack for the coin, only earning a grunt in response as Oscar took the pack and left, hoping the man hadn't noticed the stolen good.

He all but ran back into the alley, finding Morris just as he'd left him. Oscar pulled the stuffed dog out, hiding it behind his back as he knelt in front of Morris. "Hey, Mo, I got you somethin'."

He slowly brought the stuffed animal into view of his younger brother, whose curiosity superseded the fear that had been coursing through him. He was still crying, nails still picking at his skin, but he wasn't cowering away from Oscar like he had been.

Oscar's stomach churned faster as he plead with God-not that the bastard had ever been there for either of them-that Morris wouldn't be afraid of him. He wouldn't be able to handle that. He was nothing without his little brother. Morris was his entire world, the only reason Oscar was still there, the only reason he woke up each morning.

He had to make sure that Morris wouldn't try and leave.

He couldn't leave.

[crqstalite]

pt. 3, twin suns (andronikos && mierrio)

wow has it been a hot minute since i’ve written anything. decided to kick off the school year with a new chapter of my quizzy, her pirate husband and baby boy.

written: 8.23.19. word count: 2,134 ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

her boys. that's how darth nox likes to refer to her husband and son as she watches them interact from her seat in the lounge. as much as the pirate puts up a violent facade when they're away together, he's more than happy to entertain their son with toys and mindless games. papers finished and filled out to a T with red ink pen, all their official i.ds are due to arrive in the next few days, but until then they wait aboard the almost empty fury, docked in the dromound kaas spaceport. until they had them, it would be physically impossible to rent or own a home. everything on the ship was temporary for now, and she planned to allow the ship's inhabitants residence in their new home as well. as chaotic as it was, they were her family now and tossing them to the curb was a horrid idea. she's not sure where the others will fit in, but she's sure the lasting impression they've made on her will not wane through the years. ashara and xalek will surely grow out of their apprenticeships sometime in the next few years, as much as she wishes they will stay with her, and at some point talos will want to rejoin the reclamation. khem hasn't threatened to eat her in such a long time she's beginning to believe that getting rid of zash won her a few years in his eyes.

however her thoughts wander from the future to her child. ronin squeals in delight as a he whacks a poor stuffed animal on the lounge table in a great deal of fun, a childish smile on his face as andronikos gives him a small grin. in the last few months, ronin has become a staple in their lives, his giggling and squeals something that welcomed mierrio back to the ship every time she took an excursion for council business. she'd love to stay aboard the fury every day and just watch ronin figure out his surroundings, but duty called (as annoying as the shit show that dark council meetings were, but it came with just enough perks to keep her around) he loved to be tickled just above his belly button, adored it when one of them pressed his button nose and often enjoyed slobbering on someone's finger unexpectedly. the way he sometimes sits with andronikos in the cockpit while the aforementioned man tries to keep his chubby fingers off the controls is enough to make her heart pitter and patter back and forth. she finds it oh so cute when he falls asleep with his rattle in hand on her chest as she brushes his lekku back calmly. the new bodysuit they'd purchased for him fits him nicely, and she's just about ready to cry as they finally put him down for bed in between them both on his back.

mierrio finds it hilarious how sometimes ronin will gravitate to the dashade and in fact, the baby enjoys it when he gives the twi'lek a growl. the infant isn't yet able to perfectly copy the noise, but he tries and it makes her heart absolutely melt when she saw it the first time.

mierrio finds herself wondering what kind of man he will be when he grows up. whether he'll continue following in his mother's footsteps and serve the sith (offhandedly), or become part of the military. or maybe, some catastrophic event will cause her to defect to neutrality, and ronin becomes a pirate like his father. she doesn't want to consider that he'd leave them, but she figures everyone will grow up sooner or later.

but, for the jade green infant, she hopes it's much, much later. mierrio tries to hide her smile as eventually the stuffed animal falls to the ground and ronin pauses for just a moment as he looks at his small hands in wonder. then, he begins whining at andronikos, and the aforementioned male leans over to pick up the toy and the whacking begins again. she winces, the ragged doll had only been with the revels for a few months but i looked worse than most people she'd killed as of late.

"see somethin' you like, sith?" andronikos quizzically asks as she lifts her head from where it rested in her palm as she puts her datapad down, raising an eyebrow as he turns his head from their doll-loving son.

"just my world, as always." she answers slyly as he and ronin move closer to her so that she's pressed up against him.

"heh, that's cute mier." he responds, giving her a good-natured smirk as she slips ronin from his grasp. other than a small whine from being detached from his heat bank, he's happy to see his mother. his lavender eyes twinkle back at her in the dim light of the ship as he grasps at her shirt, curious. he's an adventurer, and she can already tell her son will be a handful. she's sure he cries just to get their attention at night (he sleeps through the night already, just some nights he does this and there's often nothing wrong with him), and when she had been particularily tired one evening, she'd left her double saber out and ronin had managed to grab it while she was nodding off and slobbered on one of the ends. thankfully, andronikos had found them first and a crisis was averted. "ids come in yet?"

"a couple more days." she responds, rubbing one of her fingers over ronin's markings. before vette (the wrath's companion and slicer, one she'd met on a few occasions when they hadn't strangled each other. mierrio and the wrath, not mierrio and vette), she'd rarely met twi'leks, and now she had one as a son. she'd purchased a book on their species before tossing it (it was heavily prejudiced against aliens) and had to continue searching the holonet for race specific information. mierrio was constantly worrying she was doing something wrong, but he hadn't perished yet so she figured she was doing okay. "what do you want to do today, nikky?", turning the topic away from their impending leave.

"haven't had much to do. fury's doin' alright, everything's packed for when we move. all that's left is findin' a place." he chuckles, "it'll be nice when we get this kiddo out of our bed and into his own."

mierrio rolls her eyes but silently agrees. too many nights she lies awake concerned she may roll over the poor child or disturb him from his sleep (albeit she still can't get over the fact she's a mother now, and that this child depends on her for his survival in the galaxy), and others it's like an alarm clock when he cries at a designated time of the morning. she doesn't want him out of their room, but to able to share their own bed again? that'd be nice. "i suppose you're right."

"'course i am." he presses a kiss to her temple before draping his arms back to curve around her shoulder. "take your sleep now, luggin' all the stuff to the flat is gonna be hell."

"fair." she says, tickling ronin lightly as he gasps and giggles. his small fingers latch on to hers and grins up at him. "i always did wonder what having a family was like. now i know."

"assuming you like it, huh sith?" he asks, brushing back her dark hair as she turns to face him. her hand traces the side of his chiseled jaw, fingertips running over his scars and then over the curve of a maroon red tattoo. mierrio can safely say that the dark, faded gashes across his face she can identify and tell the story behind them. sometimes, that hurts. that she is the sole reason andronikos has the blemishes on his face, from sith encounters and other people out to get her. he'd do anything to protect her when they fight side by side, sabers and blasters.

mierrio knows good and well that he can do the same to her marred, pale skin and the scars that decorate it.

she'll admit, it happened quickly. everything from being bedded by the mischeveous pirate only days after they met, then being engaged only a year afterwards with a stolen wedding band. and stars, a year after that they have a baby as well.

well, she's never been one to live in the slow hyperlanes of the galaxy. "of course i do." she answers before kissing him. mierrio still remembers the first time she was ever curved against her pirate. still just a bit after she'd met him, she'd unexpectedly put her arms around his neck after he'd said something particularly risque, and before she knew it, she was pressed up against the wall of the cockpit as his kisses trailed up and down her neck. it led to a night's worth of fun that was the milestone of the beginning of their relations, and she doesn't regret any moment of it.

as they pull away from each other, his dark eyes bore into her amber yellow orbs. "i love what we have together."

"good to hear it." andronikos says before ronin begins whining again. looking down on her lap as she pulls her eyes away from the dark-skinned pirate, he's forgotten his toy (poor thing will be forgotten on the fury when they move if he keeps dropping it like that) and is making grabby hands toward his parents. mierrio picks him up, allowing him to lay on her chest instead sitting against the table as his curious lavender eyes look up at her in wonder.

"i think ronin wants some kisses too, nikky." she says playfully.

she can almost hear andronikos rolling his eyes as he chuckles. she lifts their son a bit further so that her husband can kiss him lightly on his right cheek. he gurgles in delight as his hands squish andronikos' cheeks together, squealing as mierrio kisses his exposed stomach, blowing raspberries. "you make a good mother, sith." he comments as he watches the two.

"and i figure you make an okay father." she smirks, toying with him.

"hey!" he says, mock offended as she laughs. "i make a perfectly good father." he begins kissing her cheek playfully as she readjusts her hold on ronin, as all three of them become tangled in their own love for each other. as cliche as it sounds, she couldn't ask for anything more. as great as being a player was, she was in for the long haul now. from the way he knows her body and the scars that decorate it, to where she exactly wants to be touched. it's like she's known andronikos for much longer than just three years. like they've been married for decades, and they'll be together for so many more. how he's peeled away her inner fears of becoming attached to someone, how she's done the same allowing him to forget his past and dive in with her.

once they do eventually go about their own business, she chuckles to herself as she helps talos pack his things into crates (labelled as such and instead of boxes, put in military grade crates. she was not risking getting infected with some sort of radiation, or stars forbid ronin finding one and assuming it was a binkie) before they move into the new apartment. mierrio admittedly wonders how soon they can have another.

inherently, a bad idea without a permanent home and her talents needed on the battlefield to fight the incessant jedi. hypothetically, having a few more wouldn't be such a horrid idea to fill her heart with.

then she gets a picture of her children being force sensitive and quickly shuts that idea down. ronin is enough for now. force-blind or otherwise, the pure chaos the crew causes on their own without the addition of a toddler is enough for now.

but, one of her fingertips brushes the taut skin of her stomach later after she stacks the last crate upon another with the force. she wonders what it would feel like to have a child growing underneath her fingertips, belonging to both her and andronikos. how it would feel to begin to put the last few pieces of her legacy into place. returning home to an apartment everyday to train her children in the ways of the force, to watch her pirate teach them to shoot and every loophole in the galaxy. to teach them to fly the fury through the hyperlanes of the galaxy.

stars, they've both become soft.

and as she leaves the cargo hold, she realizes maybe a family wouldn't be so bad. maybe being a maternal figure wouldn't but such a horrible idea.

mierrio revel is hopeful for the future.

[theperidotshade]

Part Four of Regis Has Been Saved and There Are EMOTIONS (I still need a title, damn it)

Warning, this chapter contains some pretty heavy emotional stuff and a dissociative flashback viewed from the outside.  Please take care, and enjoy Cid’s unique perspective on life!

A hand shook Regis awake, paired with an amused voice.

"Do bestir yourself, Your Majesty.  We're nearly to Hammerhead, and if I guess correctly, you will be needed for the explanations."

Regis' bleary, sleep-addled mind questioned why the Chancellor of Niflheim was waking him—oh.  Right.  That—that actually happened.  No, don't think about that yet, there was still much to be done before he had the luxury of breaking down.

The king raised his head, opening his eyes.  Ardyn's car, the roof up, was pulled over to the side of the road about a mile out from the lights of Hammerhead clearly visible in the distance.  It was very dark, probably well after midnight, and there were sounds far off that could only be made by daemons.  None were close enough to be a threat, however.

Regis looked at the Accursed.  He was as carefree-seeming as ever, if perhaps a little more tired than he was a few hours before, but something was…off, in the set of his shoulders.  A tension of sorts, that had only grown worse over the course of the day.

Well, Regis thought, the whole ordeal had not been easy for either of them.  As long as they got through the conversation with Cid without any incidents, Ardyn could crash all he wanted to afterwards.

Cid.  Oh, that was going to be a conversation for the ages.

Regis turned his gaze back towards Hammerhead, realizing Ardyn was waiting for his response.

"I suppose we'd better be on our way, then," he said.

Ardyn hummed his agreement, pulling out onto the road once more.

Regis stared straight ahead, trying desperately not to think about how Cid would react to his driving up in the company of the Chancellor of Niflheim.

They pulled up to Cid's shop and station a few minutes later, and Regis was almost buzzing out of his skin in anticipation.  The pavement was packed with cars in various states of disrepair, parked in every configuration imaginable.  

Good, Cid was as proactive as ever when people were in need.

Regis stared at the door to the garage, not sure if he dreaded or prayed for the moment it opened.

He slipped out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him and leaning on it with a wince.  His knee had apparently decided it'd had enough for the day.

A young female voice called out inside the garage.  "Paw paw, it sounds like we've got another group comin' in from Insomnia."

A very familiar voice answered, muffled.  "I've got it, Cindy, you just keep on lookin' for blankets for the young'uns."

Footsteps echoed slightly inside the building, growing louder as they drew near.

The door opened, and Cid's head, much grayer than Regis remembered, poked out.

"Y'all need any—Reggie?!?!?"  Cid's voice broke on Regis' nickname.

"Hello, Cid," Regis replied.

The door slammed into the wall as Cid threw it open, all but running in Regis' direction.

Regis was drawn into a firm hug in seconds.  He relaxed into the hold, tears starting to well up in his eyes.

"Ya reckless idjit," Cid breathed, "I'd hoped you'd made it out when folks comin' through started talkin' about warp-strikes takin' down the dropships, but it's been twelve hours.  I thought you'd gotten yourself killed!"

"I nearly did," Regis admitted, "But I had a bit of help."

Cid looked over Regis' shoulder.  The king could tell the moment Cid recognized his unusual rescuer, as the arms around his shoulders tightened almost painfully.

Cid's voice was wary.  "Now what is the Imperial Chancellor doin' savin' the life o' the King o' Lucis?"

Ardyn's reply was as dry as the desert surrounding them.  "Defecting."

Surprisingly enough, Cid seemed to take that at face value, stepping back from Regis.  "Well, s'long as ya don't cause any trouble, you're welcome here.  Folks these parts might have a few strong words 'bout your allegiances, but we're no cityfolk to turn away a man wi' nowhere t'go.  Mind your manners, and we'll leave ya be."

"Certainly," came the reply.

"C'mon in," Cid said, "Sounds like y'all've got a heck of a story t'tell."

Regis found himself surrounded by Insomnians the moment he stepped into Cid's establishment.  Dozens of refugees were huddled together in the shelter of the garage, draped in blankets and nursing steaming mugs of coffee or soup.  From the looks of the sensible backpacks each group guarded, they'd be moving on in the morning to safer locales.

A few looked up as the door opened, their widening eyes clearly visible even in the dim light.

"The King, it's the King," was murmured, quickly passing from mouth to mouth.

"Six bless you, Your Majesty, you saved us," a woman said as Regis passed.  He rested his hand on her shoulder briefly before moving on, following Cid into the living quarters attached to the garage.

Ardyn, Regis saw from the corner of his eye, pulled the broad brim of his hat down lower—unnecessarily, it seemed, as none of the Insomnians showed any sign of recognizing him in their focus on Regis.

Cid led them into a rough approximation of a studio apartment—kitchen, dining room, and living area all rolled into one.  A door led into a small bathroom, and two curtained-off areas presumably housed beds.

Cid bustled over to the coffee pot, gesturing vaguely behind him.  "Y'all make yourselves at home and I'll get a fresh pot goin'.  We're just 'bout out o' grounds, so don't expect much.  I'll get Cindy t'make a run in the mornin'."

Regis sank gratefully into the nearest armchair, ignoring the ominous creaking of the springs.  He was too tired to worry about a little thing like an old chair.

Ardyn removed his hat, turning the brim between his hands as he settled stiffly on the faded floral loveseat.  He hadn't said a word since his brief answers to Cid, and Regis was growing concerned about his uncharacteristic silence.

The beep of the coffee maker cut through Regis' thoughts.  He accepted the mug Cid brought to him with a quiet thanks, hearing Ardyn's mirror of it a moment later.

Cid sat in the second armchair with a sigh.  "Now, Reggie, what in the name of gigglin' gaggles of geese happened in that city o' yours?  All anybody comin' through these parts knew was that the Wall fell, then was up again, then gone completely, and suddenly MTs and daemons were everywhere."

Regis took a careful sip of coffee.  It scalded his tongue, but the warmth was welcome, if the flavor left much to be desired.

"Well, I'm sure you've guessed by now that the treaty was a trap.  There was an explosion outside, then all the Niflheimr in the room turned on us.  They got to the Crystal somehow, because within seconds I felt the Wall come down."

"Ah, I may be able to elaborate," Ardyn broke in.

"Go ahead," Regis said, "I still do not know how you got back to the city, in any case."

"Oh, I have my ways," Ardyn said, the barest suggestion of a smile on his face.  "Many things are possible when you have a certain skill with illusion.  But that is not why I interjected.  The traitors among your 'Glaive were responsible for distracting the guards.  The apparatus channeling the power of the Crystal was destroyed by MTs, and the Crystal itself was transported out of the city by them."

"That explains a little," Regis said, "But I do not understand how why you intervened when you did."

"And I will explain," Ardyn replied, "But we are getting ahead of ourselves.  I can guess at what happened next, but I was not there, and neither was Mister Sophiar."

Regis blinked.  He'd…honestly forgotten how the conversation had started for a moment there.  Oh, that was not promising.

He turned his attention back to Cid.  "Iedolas left, but before Clarus and I could make our own way out, Glauca arrived.  We…we fought.  Clarus didn't make it, and I, well, see for yourself."  He held out his hand, displaying the missing fingers and the makeshift bandages wrapped around them.

Cid, who'd definitely started tearing up, swore.  "Reggie, ya gods-damned idjit of a feather-brained royal, why didn't ya tell me you'd been hurt?  I'm getting the first aid kit and ya will put up with the curatives, so help me…"  His words trailed off into indistinct angry mumbling as he got up and rooted around in a storage bin stacked against the wall.  Both of the other occupants of the room pretended not to notice he was crying into the open container.

It wasn't particularly hard, in Regis' case—he was drifting in and out of reality between moments, finding it difficult to do more than star straight ahead.

Regis nearly face-palmed.  Of course he was having trouble focusing, shock had probably been all that was sustaining him through the day, between the pain, the bloodless, and the emotional devastation of seeing his city and people in such dire straits.  Not to mention the draw on his lifeforce that he'd been using to power the temporary Wall…

Cid came back, peeling back the bandages gently to pour a potion over his hand.  It'd been too long to fully restore his hand, but the wounds closed and the pain eased.  His remaining fingers regained function, Regis determined as he flexed them carefully.

As Cid cleared away the bloodied bandages and the supplies, he tossed a question over his shoulder.  "Now, I could be misrememberin', but isn't that the hand ya wore the Ring on?"

"Yes," Regis replied.

"So how'd ya get the Wall back up?"

Regis winced internally.  Oh, he was going to be in for it.  "Well, I managed to regain it momentarily when Ravus Nox Fleuret attempted to wear it, and I knew I couldn't let Glauca get his hands on it.  Lunafreya and a Glaive, Nyx Ulric, were with me, so I sent the Ring with them…after I used it to erect a temporary Wall drawing directly on my magic."

Cid turned slowly to look at him.  "Ya. did. what now?"

Regis grimaced.  "You heard what I said."

"Reggie, are ya a fuckin' maniac?  A moon-addled fool?  A Six-forsaken shit-for-brains disaster?" Cid was on a roll.  "Tyin' the Wall to your own magic, what were ya thinkin'?  Are ya suicidal, 'cause I swear by Bahamut's scaly balls, your decision-makin' has gone to the daemon-fuckin' dogs!  First the godsdamned isolationism, then not tellin' your boy about that cactuar-crap mess o' a prophecy, now this?  Shiva wept, Reggie, has the Ring melted your brain?"

Regis covered his eyes, mortified, and desperately tried to block out the slightly-hysterical giggles coming from Ardyn's direction.

"I was thinking," he said, "That if I was going to die anyway, I was going to save as many people as I could in the process."

The giggles stopped instantly, and a long minute of silence passed before Cid sighed.

"Alrigh', I guess ya knew what ya were doin'.  But what made ya so sure ya were gonna die?"

"Two things," Regis said, lifting his head from his hands to stare at the wall.  "One, the prophecy is very specific about Noctis being the Chosen King.  And two…well, Glauca followed us.  I stayed to hold him off, and he got the upper hand."

Cid's intake of breath was sharply audible in the heavy silence.

"Reggie," he asked, tremulously, "How close didja come to dyin'?"

Regis swallowed, opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't answer, no sound escaping his lips.

Ardyn answered for him.  "Very.  If I had not arrived when I did, he would certainly be dead.  Glauca was attempting to stab him."

Regis felt absurdly relieved when that statement drew Cid's attention to the ex-Chancellor.

"An' what," Cid asked, "Is your role in all o' this?  Weren't ya just in Galdin meetin' the boys not more'n a day or two ago?  That description they gave sure sounded like ya."

Ardyn actually looked embarrassed for once in all this mess.  "Ah, well, it's rather a long tale, and I do not know how much you know about the prophecy—"

Cid snorted.  "Oh, please.  Anyone wi' eyes can see that you're the spittin' image o' the religious art Reggie's ancestors are so fond of.  I wanna know what th'Accursed is doin' runnin' 'round savin' his mortal foes."

Ardyn threw back his head and laughed.  "Oh, finally someone catches on.  I've been all but prancing into temples naked with 'Immortal Accursed' written in marker over every available inch of skin for the last two millennia, and still you're the first to know who I am without prompting."

Cid let out an amused huff.  "Well, ya must have spent too long 'round cityfolk.  But ya haven't answered my question yet."

Ardyn sobered.  "In brief, today—or yesterday, by now—is an anniversary of some significance to me, and though the world has forgotten the symbolism of Insomnia's fall occurring on such a day, the Astrals have not.  I hadn't quite put all the pieces together myself, until I woke yesterday and realized what day it was.  It was…a reminder of just who my real enemies are.  So I decided I'd do something they wouldn't expect, something that would undermine their schemes just enough to be troublesome."  He shrugged.  "They've been interfering in my life for a very long time.  I thought to return the favor."

Cid eyed him for a long moment.  "Alrigh', I suppose I can believe that, though that's clearly not the full reason.  Spite, I'm sure was part o' it, but ya don't overturn plans as complex as the ones I'm bettin' ya have in motion on just a petty whim.  When ya feel like sharin' the real reason, I'll be waitin'."  With that, Cid stood.  "C'mon, Reggie, let's fix ya up a place to rest."

Regis shot a glance at Ardyn, noting the shaking hands and forcedly-slow breathing.  He followed Cid out the backdoor and into the lot out back for caravans.  There were a few parked there—as Regis looked around, he could see that the occupants were all elderly, parents with small children, and the sick or wounded.

Cid drew him to the side, lowering his voice.  "How much has he let on 'bout his motives?"

Regis thought over the events of the last twenty-four hours, remembering the tension, the rage at the Astrals, the pain and grief shining through at Ardyn's most unguarded.

"More than he's intended to, I think," Regis murmured, "He's not what we thought.  And, well, it's not my story to tell, but that anniversary he referred to—it's nothing pleasant."

"How so?" Cid asked.

"It was the start of a lifetime of being manipulated and betrayed by gods and man alike."  Regis looked back at Cid's home.  "I'm almost certain that if we walk back in there right now, he'll be having some sort of panic attack or flashback."

Cid's eyes widened.  "Then we better do that," he said, alarmed, "The man's got a hundred lifetimes o' memories in his head—I dunno what that migh' do to a body, but I'm guessin' it's nothin' good."

They rushed back into the building.

It turned out to be a very wise decision.

Ardyn was staring straight ahead, chest heaving in short, uneven bursts of breath.  His hands were clenched around his hat, digging deep into the fabric.  He didn't respond at all when they burst into the room, and his magic…

His magic was shimmering over him in waves, a shield trying to form over him but buckling under pressure that wasn't there.

Cid shot a shocked glance at Regis, which Regis ignored in favor of reaching out carefully with a shield over his own hand.

His hand passed right through, settling on Ardyn's shoulder.

Ardyn flinched with his whole body, recoiling.  His eyes turned toward Regis.

A furrow formed between his brows.  His golden eyes struggled to focus on the king, and Regis noted that he didn't seem aware of his surroundings.

Ardyn spoke, an unfamiliar language falling from his lips.  His accent had thickened, and Regis realized that this was its origin, this language of millennia past.

When Regis didn't respond, Ardyn seemed frustrated, switching to a different language.  It took Regis a moment to recognize it, but when he did…

Gods, was that what Old Lucian was intended to sound like?

"You're safe," Regis attempted to say in his scholar-taught Old Lucian, only to receive a blank stare.

Regis tried again, in modern Lucian.  "Ardyn, you're safe, you're in Hammerhead, it's the 17th of May, M.E. 756.  Your brother isn't here."

It took several repetitions, but little by little, Ardyn's breathing began to calm and awareness returned to his eyes.  The half-formed shield dropped.

Ardyn closed his eyes, shuddering.

"My thanks," he said, sounding winded and distant, "I apologize for the inconvenience."

Regis stared incredulously for a moment, realizing three things in that instant: one, this man's air of condescension masked some very deep wounds; two, it had most likely been a long, long time since Ardyn had had anyone care about his wellbeing; and three, it was going to be a battle and a half to get him to accept any sort of assistance.

Well, fuck.

Regis sighed.  "It was no inconvenience.  Perhaps we should get you somewhere more comfortable.  Some rest might do you good."

Cid came forward, and between them they managed to get Ardyn standing and through the door.

Once Ardyn was settled in the caravan under the care of a particularly concerned grandmother, Cid took Regis aside.

"Look," Cid said, "I get not wantin' t'share a confidence, but Reggie—is the godsdamned Accursed a member of the royal family?"

Regis let out a hysterical sound like a cross between a laugh and a sob he couldn't quite repress.  "Cid, in the last twenty-four hours, I have been betrayed by multiple people, attacked, seen my home in ruins, and learned that everything I thought I knew about history and religion, and even my family's right to rule, is based on a lie deliberately covered up by one of my ancestors.  I'm about ninety percent certain that not only is the Accursed a Lucis Caelum, he's an actual King of Lucis."

Cid visibly softened, holding out his arms.

Regis fell into them gratefully, burying his face in his old friend's shoulder and finally letting out all the grief and pain and rage and shame that had built up over the course of the longest day of his life.

"Gods, Cid," he choked out between the heaving sobs wracking through him, "I want to tear the Empire apart for what they've done, but I can't put my people in danger, not again.  How can I trust my judgment after this?  How can I trust myself after this?  What am I supposed to do?!?!?"

Cid didn't answer, just holding him until he'd cried himself out.

Regis pulled back reluctantly, wiping his eyes.

Cid kept a hand on his shoulder.  "Here's what we're gonna do.  You're gonna get some sleep while I get ahold o' Cor an' see 'bout gettin' these folks to safety.  When he gets here, then we'll worry 'bout what comes next, alrigh'?"

Regis nodded.  He knew he should be doing that himself, but after the day he'd had, it just felt good to let someone else take charge for a while.

Cid shook his shoulder gently.  "Good.  Now, I'm not likely t'be gettin' any sleep tonight, so you just mosey on into my house an' take my bed—it's the one on the right, wi' the striped coverlet.  Get some sleep, Reggie, I mean it."

Regis smiled, and did as he was told.

[thedeputiesofhopecounty]

Rebuilding - A Far Cry 5 Oneshot - Joey Hudson x FemDep OC

And so it had ended as quickly as it had begun.

The disaster of Hope County had finally settled down. The cult had been taken down, its numbers now dwindling down rapidly each day. Many cultists had fled for their lives. Some had stuck around to re-join the community as a decent human being. Others, still stuck in their wayward faith, had caused little skirmishes here and there, but nothing that the Resistance couldn’t take care of.

If there had been one thing that Joseph Seed had done for the County, it was forming a community. Strangers who barely knew each other had banded together to fight off his threat, and even now, the community of Hope County was the strongest it had ever been.

People had all made friends, lovers, crushes, and lasting relationships.

Even Joey.

She had never exactly been sure about dating in the past, before any of this had happened. She had always thought that she’d push it off until later. She had other things to worry about. But when the Collapse happened, when everything went to shit…

It was all she could think about.

Day after torturous day, she had sat in John Seed’s bunker, wishing she had done more with her life. She wished she had found someone, no, THE one, who loved her more than life itself. The thought of going to her grave without meeting that special someone was painful.

She supposed that she always did want to find someone, even if she had never really admitted it, not even to herself.

And thankfully, she had found someone.

Someone strong, reliable, loyal and kind. Everything she had ever wanted.

Joey stood in the middle of Fall’s End, helping to direct workers here and there in helping to repair some of the damaged homes. Some of the damage was light, such as that of scrubbing cultist symbols off the side of buildings. Heavier damage was entire walls knocked down.

Joey finished talking with Mary May and looked up, happening to catch Nox’s eye. Nox gave her a warm grin, and Joey just felt herself melt.

Nox and her had met just before everything went to shit. They had worked together, with Joey helping to train her. But now Joey fully believed that Nox no longer needed anymore training. After watching Nox handle herself in multiple fights, Joey thought that maybe she could learn a thing or two from her instead.

Their relationship had started on the downlow. They hung out together often after Nox had rescued Joey from John’s bunker. They would go out stargazing together when Nox had some downtime.

Joey remembered those nights fondly, when Nox would come back to Fall’s End, to her, looking exhausted. But she would always smile at Joey. That smile was the warmest, most genuinely kind smile Joey had ever laid eyes on. The way it made her feel never ceased, even after they began dating.

It was especially after their first kiss that that smile in particular had made Joey feel like her heart was about to explode. Her lips had been tingling with emotion, having just been pressed to Nox’s. Joey’s eyes had glided over Nox’s lips and saw them form into that same, warm smile. It had been at that moment that Joey knew that Nox was the one.

Now, Nox was giving her that same lovely smile, the one that made Joey feel so safe and protected. Her blue eyes shined in the sunlight, meeting Joey’s green ones. Nox took a moment to sweep her brown hair over her shoulder, adjusting her black cowboy hat as she did so, before walking towards Joey.

“Howdy,” Came Nox’s summer-warm voice.

Everything about her was just nostalgic. Staring at her was like being a child again on a warm summer’s day. That feeling was freedom, endless possibilities, pure and utter happiness at just being alive. That was Nox.

Joey smiled back at Nox. “Hey there, cowgirl,” She said. She reached up and gently brushed some grime off of Nox’s cheek. Nox’s smile only grew at the gesture.

“Ya doin’ alright?” Nox asked.

Joey felt like she could have run forever, the way Nox just looked at her. But she answered, “I’m alright. And you?”

Nox shrugged. She looked tired from having helped with repairs all day, but Joey knew Nox wouldn’t admit it. “Better than I’ve felt in years.”

Joey lightly pressed a hand to Nox’s upper chest, then winced. She remembered that that’s where Nox’s ‘WRATH’ tattoo was. The thought of John carving that dreaded word into Nox’s skin made Joey unbelievably...well, wrathful.

Nox didn’t deserve what had happened to her. Not the tattoo, not the conditioning from Jacob, the borderline mind-control by Faith. Nox hadn’t deserved the weight of Hope County to come crashing down on her shoulders.

But Nox had pulled through.

And now here they were.

Joey found herself lightly tracing the letters of the tattoo, each jagged cut a reminder of what Nox had done for Hope County. For her.

“You look tired,” She said.

“So do you,” Nox replied, her eyes searching Joey’s face.

Joey huffed softly. “I’m fine. But you need the rest.”

“So do you,” Nox repeated.

“Listen, I’m fine. You really should get some rest,” Joey chided. There were bags under Nox’s eyes...though Joey couldn’t remember a time as of late when there wasn’t bags under Nox’s eyes.

“I’ll only rest when you decide to,” Nox said.

“Nox-” Joey went to argue.

But that’s when Nox leaned down and gently pressed her lips to Joey’s. Joey’s brain melted, practically almost a puddle in her head. She mentally scolded herself; she needed to focus. But every time she tried to think, her puddle of a brain would drag the words down and drown them.

After a moment, Nox broke off the kiss, much to Joey’s disappointment. A short, clipped disgruntled whine involuntarily escaped Joey’s throat, and Nox grinned upon hearing it. Joey blushed, embarrassed that Nox had heard.

“I-If I say I’ll stop working, will you do the same?” Joey forced herself to speak.

Nox laughed a little. “Sure. Anythin’ fer you.”

“Then fine. I’ll take the rest of the day off. As long as you do too,” Joey said.

Nox smiled. “Alright. I’ll take the rest of th’ day off.”

“Good,” Joey said. She wasn’t sure if she had really won the battle, as she had to stop working too, but at least she got to spend the time with Nox.

Nox’s arm snaked its way around Joey’s waist, and the bigger woman started for the bar, taking Joey with her. At the same time, Nox began to whistle ‘Good King Wenceslas’, like she usually did.

Before Joey had met Nox, ‘Good King Wenceslas’ had just been another Christmas song to her, and one that she never listened to, at that. But Nox had listened to that song in particular as a child, and had the habit of whistling its comforting tune whenever she had a chance. And now Joey found it just as comforting as Nox did.

The two headed into the Spread Eagle and upstairs to the guest room Mary May had let them have. It was a small room with a queen-sized bed, which the two had shared here and there when Nox would return from kicking ass.

Now, Nox sat on the edge of the bed, taking off her deputy jacket and lightly tossing it on the floor in the corner of the room. She continued to whistle ‘Good King Wenceslas’ as she removed her boots. Joey knew she too should have been stripping down, but her eyes were fixated on Nox’s well-muscled arms. She tried to convinced herself that she was studying Nox’s tribal tattoos, but she knew better.

Nox suddenly looked over with a smirk, and Joey found her face heating. She looked away, going to sit on the other side of the bed. She too took off her jacket and boots before lying down next to Nox, who had already gotten under the covers.

“This is much better,” Nox admitted with a happy sigh, relaxing her features as she put an arm around Joey, facing her. Her blue eyes looked gray in the dim light. Evening sunlight poured through the cracks in the blinds, painting the room in a soft orange. This just felt so peaceful...so right.

Joey leaned up and kissed Nox, and the bigger woman huffed happily. Once more, Joey felt her brain melting, but before she could forget her name, Nox broke off the kiss and tugged Joey closer.

“Moderation. Any longer and I think I’d end up kissin’ every inch of you,” Nox murmured, a flirtatious spark in her eyes.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Joey cocked an eyebrow at Nox with a smirk.

Nox grinned. “We’re supposed to be resting.”

“If we’re having fun, that’s certainly resting, in my book,” Joey said.

“That’s a stretch an’ a half...but I’m going to say it counts,” Nox’s voice was soft and charming. “I love you, Joey.”

Joey’s heart swelled. Oh yes. She had certainly found the person she was searching for her entire life.

They were right here.

“I love you too, Nox.”

[unchartedterritoria]

Dangerous (Sam Drake x OC) - Chapter 4

If you don’t want to read it here, you can also find it here on A03:

Dangerous Chapter 4 A03 Link

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Chapter Summary: Faith meets Jasper Nox, the Drakes and all hell breaks loose.

Faith carefully ascended the stairs of the museum clad in a midnight blue evening gown and matching heels, wondering for the two hundred and eighty-sixth time today why she was doing this. The sun had almost finished its descent of the day, bathing the night in an indigo hue while the city lights twinkled and streaked the approaching night sky. Faith had taken a cab, feeling too nervous to drive. A black-tie event was not her element at all, nor meeting with people she barely knew. She looked to the top of the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief, the fear of being stood up fading from within her as she set eyes on Sully, who was looking quite dapper in a jet black tux and matching bow tie. Sully eyed Faith up and down, letting a wolf whistle escape his lips.

“Well look at you!” He said, obviously very impressed. Faith grinned and began to blush. She looked down at her shoes and the blue dress. She remembered buying it three years ago for an old boyfriends company Christmas party. He had sadly broken up with her a week before the party, sadness not from mourning the loss of the relationship, but more that she didn't have an occasion to wear the dress anymore. Faith wasn't really a dress kind of woman, but she really liked that one so she was happy to take it out of its garment bag that afternoon and put it to use.

“I look okay? Am I dressed up enough?” She asked.

“Sweetheart, you look like a million bucks. I am one lucky fella!” Sully said, gentlemanly offering his arm to Faith. Smiling, she slipped her arm through his, and they headed towards the building. They passed through the front doors of the main lobby and down a side hallway. Faith recognized the glass atrium doors from a lecture that she attended here while she was in college. Her recognition stopped as she passed through the doors. Inside, the room was adorned with different deep colors, emerald green tablecloths adorned a dozen round cocktail tables while glass cases containing different archaeological finds of the Great Lakes lined the edges of the room. A dark walnut wood floor complimented the wine colored accents spread throughout the room. She glanced at the glass ceiling, unable to recall ever seeing chandeliers from her previous visit. Dozens of people in elegant attire were scattered through the rooms, mingling with sharp-dressed waiters passing hors d'oeuvres. Faith glanced at the faces in the crowd and spotted the city mayor and started to think that exhibit openings were a bigger deal than she ever thought they could be. Sully skirted them around the edge of a small dance floor towards the far edge of the impromptu bar that had been set up for the evening.

“Nate!” Sully said as he approached a trio of people standing at the end of the bar. Nathan Drake looked up, a relieved smile replacing his nervous one as he excused himself from the older couple he was talking to and strode towards Sully and Faith.

“How ya doing kid? You're lookin' good!” Sully said, embracing him in a quick guy hug.

“I'm alive and upright, so I can't complain too much,” He replied. He ran a hand through his russet colored hair. He turned to Faith, an impressed smile on his face.

“You must be Faith, Nathan Drake, ” Nate said, extending a hand. Faith shook his hand, trying to hide the schoolgirl giggle that was forming inside of her as he said her name. Nathan Drake was a good looking man, she couldn't deny that. Faith gritted her teeth together underneath her friendly smile, keeping her composure. Nate looked at Faith's dress and turned to Sully, looking rather impressed and questioning.

“What can I say? I still got it,” Sully replied smugly.

“Ah you cradle robbing bastard,” Nate said with a grin. Faith, cluing into what was being insinuated, grabbed Sully's arm and leaned into his chest.

“Oh he wishes,” she said with a chuckle and confidence that she wasn't used to having.

“So, where's this book you want me to look at?” Nate questioned.

“Let's move this to somewhere a little more private, yeah?” Sully said. Nate nodded in approval and headed towards a doorway off the side of the atrium. As they approached, the door swung open. A burly looking man in a white suit reminiscent of Colonel Sanders strode out the door, stopping suddenly in front of the trio. A bushy auburn mustache perched atop his thin lips while long copper red hair hung down his back in a ponytail. He had a deeply weathered face which made him look much older than he was. In one hand he carried a walking stick, in the other a top hat to complete his ensemble and to hide the mangled hand that it was held in. He was missing his last two fingers completely while the remaining others looked as if they had been broken and never set right. As they stopped suddenly, Sully instinctively reached for Faith's arm, pulling her back gently, as if to put some distance between her and this stranger.

“Victor Sullivan, long time no see. What are you doing up in these parts?” The man asked, his deep voice accented with a southern drawl and a big grin. Faith, noticing the sudden rigidness in Sully's posture, took a cautious step nonchalantly back behind him.

“I was in town on business, thought I would catch up with Nate here,” Sully answered simply. The man's eyes lit up and darted between the two.

“I thought you two were out of the game, you're not planning a reunion tour now are you?” He asked eagerly.

“Nope, strictly a pleasure visit. I should ask you the same thing Jasper, you don't normally stray too far from Georgia.” Nate questioned.

“I financed a couple of the excavations near Fort York, and I just wanted to make sure that everything was going to a good home. It really is amazing what you can find underwater.” He said, a large smile across his face and his dark green eyes landing on Faith. His eyes were purely predatory, despite the smile, which made anxiety flush through her. The light streaming down from the chandelier suddenly shadowed her as a large figure stepped close to her side. She turned her head and came face to face with Sam Drake. He glanced down at Faith and gave her a quick wink.

“How ya doin' Jasper?” Sam asked.

The man, knowing that he was outnumbered and knowing that this could get ugly, decided to excuse himself from the stiff conversation. He cleared his throat and perched the top hat on his head, giving it a tip with his disfigured hand towards Faith with a small smile. She gave a quick, small smile of her own as he stalked away, taking long strides across the room.

“Who was that?” Faith asked.

“That was Jasper Nox. American antiquities collector,” Nate replied.

“And overall sleazeball. The man thinks the South will rise again. He even still owns a cotton plantation. Or he owns a peach farm, can't remember which. Some southern stereotype,” Sam said.

Faith, confused at the person standing next to her, turned and stared at Sam.

“Sam Drake,” He said, offering his hand.

“Faith Spencer,” Faith replied, giving his hand a quick shake. This has to be a brother, Faith thought to herself. Sam had similar eyes as Nathan, but while Nate's were a tropical ocean blue, Sam's were a warm hazel with flecks of gold bursting in the irises. She noticed the weathered look of his face and the high forehead as well as the larger frame and thought, gotta be an older brother. Faith glanced at Nate.

“Drake?”

“My brother.”

Faith nodded as they headed into the small room off the side of the atrium. It looked like an overflow room with a couple more of the cocktail tables and piles of different color tablecloths and buckets of silverware stashed in the corner. Nate and Faith strode ahead while Sully held back, walking slowly next to Sam.

“Samuel,” Sully said, hint of a chill in his voice. Even if Sam had let their last argument go, Sully was still a little sore, emotionally and physically.

“Victor. Didn't know you were supposed to be here.” “Last minute favor for a friend,” Sully explained. Sam's eyes flicked up to get a quick glimpse of Faith's backside as she walked into the room.

“Nice lookin' friend,” Sam said, slight surprise in his voice.

“Sadly, not that kinda friend,” Victor said, defeated undertone seeping into his low voice.

Faith walked up to one of the cocktail tables, set down her silver purse and unzipped it. Carefully, she removed the book, still wrapped in the hand towel. She set it next to her in front of Nathan. Nate unwrapped the towel and held the Bible in his hands. Full of curiosity, he inspected the cover, spine, even held it up to his nose to smell it. He turned the pages gently, inspecting the title pages.

“Caslon typeface, leather hardcover, I'd say late 1700's. London printers, family Bible?” Nate questioned. Faith shook her head no as Nathan turned to the loose page that had fallen out for Sully.

“That is what I thought you would find interesting, especially the underlined bit,” Sully said as Sam moved closer to his brother to get a closer look.

Nate took the old piece of paper and unfolded it. On it was notes for what looked like a speech. Nate scanned the gentle script handwriting. The page was covered in random lines, with some scratched out. Three-quarters of the way down the page, a line was underlined and circled, highlighting it's importance. The line read, 'A house divided against itself cannot stand.”

“Holy shit!” Sam and Nathan exclaimed in unison.

“Whoa, stereo!” Faith chuckled.

“Nate, is this the Gettysburg?” Sam asked anxiously. Nate nodded his head furiously.

“No, no. The notes don't match.”

“You're sure?”

“Yeah, it's not the Gettysburg. This is more focused on condemning slavery and abolition.”

“But it is him, isn't it?” Sully said, a twinkle of excited knowledge glimmering in his eye.

“This writing? No, question. It's his,” Nate replied.

“Goddamn kid,” Sully said, a proud grin on his face.

“Who are we talking about?” Faith asked, slightly annoyed.

“Lincoln,” All three answered simultaneously.

“Lincoln? Lincoln Lincoln? 16th President of the United States Lincoln?” Faith questioned incredulously, not quite believing what she had just heard, considering where she found the Bible.

“One and the same,” Nathan answered, taking out his phone. Thanks to Elena's urging and much to his distaste, Nate had slowly begun to let go of his love of paper and store important information in his cell phone, though he did manage to draw the line at storing things in “The Cloud.” If he couldn't access it as quick as pulling out his journal, he wasn't having it. Being beholden to WiFi was out of the question as far as Nate was concerned. Nate scrolled through his phone, tapping away at the infernal device, obviously unhappy with it. Meanwhile, Faith carefully grabbed the paper, now of sudden value, and slid it towards her, anxious to get a look up close of President Lincoln's handwriting. Sam stood next to her, reading close over her shoulder.

“How long have you been holding onto this?” Sam asked quietly, knowing he was right close to her ear. As he spoke, Faith felt the warm puffs of his breath as he spoke on her earlobe.

“Just found it. It almost ended up going to Goodwill,” Faith said, turning the paper over in her hands.

“Good thing it didn't end up there. Bastards probably would have thrown it away, it being so old and all,” Sam said.

“No appreciation for finely aged goods those fuckers,” Faith said in a disapproving, joking tone. Sam let out a laugh and cocked his head at a grinning Faith. Sam really was not sure what to make of this woman. He had known her for a total of five minutes, but something just seemed off-kilter about her, unsure yet if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Sully, leaning on the table, hands clasped, chin perched atop his thumbs, watched Nate impatiently.

“So what are we dealing with here Nate?” Victor asked.

“Faith, the date scribbled in the corner, what's it say?”

“May 29th. No year. Underneath I think it says...Bloomberg?” she questioned, holding the paper up to a squinting Sam.

“Bloomfield?”

“Bloomington.” Nate said, gaze up at the ceiling, reveling in his 'ah-ha' moment.

“And that means what Nathan?” Sam inquired, eager to be let in on the information his brother obviously had.

“This is The Lost Speech!” Nate said with amazement.

“What 'lost speech'?” Sully questioned.

“What's it doing in a Bible?” Faith asked.

“How much is it worth?” Sam's question piled on top of the other two.

“This, is Lincoln's most famous speech, even more famous than Gettysburg. It was so controversial, so engaging, that the reporters in the crowd forgot to take notes they were so, caught up in this amazing speech. The word Bloomington is where he gave the speech, Bloomington, Illinois. Now, the popular story was that there were no notes for this speech and he gave it completely improvised. But, according to other sources, Lincoln ran every speech he could by his wife, and before he gave them, he would hand his notes to her. She kept all of his other ones, there's no reason why she wouldn't keep this one too. Her family, her sister, said she always kept them in the family...Bible. Which makes this-” he said, placing a finger down on the book on the table, sliding it in front of him, grabbing the gaze and rapt attention of the other three, “The second Lincoln Bible.” Nate finished.

“Why are there two?” Faith asked, absolutely fascinated by the pieces of history that were potentially sitting in front of her.

“When Lincoln got sworn in for a second term, they used a different Bible. The second one was the Todd's Family Bible. No one has seen it in decades. It's just been lost to history.”

“Evidently not!” Faith exclaimed, gesturing to the small book.

“Nathan, how much are we talking about here? Seven figures, eight?” Sam asked eagerly, causing a dirty look to be shot directly at him by Faith. It's was my mother's Bible dammit, mine! Not yours! She thought to herself.

“You don't understand. Lincoln's wife collected and kept everything dealing with her husband and the trial after he was killed. She went insane. Speech notes, telegraphs, hell she even got her hands on Booth's diary. It was all supposedly gathered up and destroyed. If this Bible is still out there, then the rest of her collection has to be too, and I'd bet my left nut the Gettysburg papers are in it, not to mention god knows what else.”

“Price, Nathan. How much is it worth?” Sam pushed.

“The Bible itself, easily six. The speech notes? Considering they're one of a kind, the only real record of the speech...it's priceless, you can't put an amount on it.”

“But if you had to put a price on it, what are we lookin' at?” Sam questioned. He was slightly annoyed by his brother's importance on the knowledge and history as opposed to the payday it came with.

“The Gettysburg notes have a guaranteed ten million payday, and those are notes they know exist. These...at least that. Maybe double.” Nathan estimated.

“What about the rest?” Sully asked.

“If you can find it, you're talking about the largest collection of Lincoln artifacts ever found. It would be worth a shitload!” Nate said with an astounded laugh.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and walked away from the table, laughing to himself at the luck that had just been laid out before him.

“Uh, Sam? You do realize this isn't your book?” Nate questioned to his brother. Sam stopped in his tracks and looked at Faith who wore an expression of visible annoyance at him. Sully took the paper, folded it and returned it between the pages of the Bible, wrapping the book up in the towel and sliding it back to Faith.

“I think we have some eavesdroppers kids,” Sully said quietly and darted his eyes towards the door. Faith risked a casual glance in that direction and saw the top hat shaped shadow being cast through the partially closed door. Her stomach dropped. This is the last thing that she wanted to happen. She quickly shoved the wrapped book back inside her purse and zipped it closed.

“Faith, stay close to Sam. Hey Nate, how do ya feel about playing The Asshole Game for old times sake?” Sully asked. Nate smiled and strolled towards the doorway with Sully in tow. Faith went and stood next to Sam.

“The Asshole Game?”

“Nate the Great, the master of distraction. C'mon.” Sam grabbed Faith's hand in his and headed towards the door. They slipped quietly passed Nate and Sully who, in just a few seconds, had managed to draw Nox away from the doorway and out of their eye line. Sam lead her along the edge of the room, behind the artifact cases that lined the room. They came to a stop behind the last case. Faith's heart pounded in her chest while Sam was on alert but seemed to take this turn of events in stride.

“Why was that guy listening?” Faith questioned in a low voice.

“Jasper is a Civil War nut, he deals with all sorts American history relics, but this Civil War shit is his baby. We had a run in with him years ago, wasn't too pretty. Victor ended up with a completely busted knee and a sunken boat full of bullet holes. Jasper ended up losing a couple of fingers,” Sam looked out from behind the case of pottery shards. “So, what are you gonna do with the book?” Sam, asked, scoping out the situation.

“I don't know yet, I might just donate it to the Smithsonian or something.” Faith said nonchalantly. Sam felt like his jaw was going to hit the floor. Donate it? Donate!? Does this girl know what she has? How much money, how much potential money, she could possibly have? Especially if she finds the rest of it! She doesn't get it. She could be rich! The thoughts ran through his head quickly.

“What's happening?” Faith peered her head around the side of the case. Sam grabbed her shoulder and pushed her back against the case firmly but gentle enough as not to hurt her, intent on keeping them out of sight.

“Hey!” Faith growled, eyes suddenly blazing, nostril flared. She smacked his hand off of her shoulder. Her face a mere inches from his, she raised one pointed finger towards him.

“Do not. Touch me,” she said in a low tone. Sam raised his hands in defense, a feeling of familiarity that he couldn't place crept up his spine. His mind raced trying to place the deja vu moment he was having when Jasper's voice raised above the disquiet of the room.

“Mr. Lagina, I had no idea you would be joining us this evening! How's life on the island of oaks?”

Sam leaned his head around the corner of the large cabinet to see if what he heard could possibly be true. It was. Marty Lagina stood next to Jasper, flanked by six large men that could only be described as a goon squad. “Son of a bitch,” Sam cursed under his breath.

“What now?”

Faith turned her head around the corner. In a split second, chaos had erupted in the glass room. People began to scream and run for the door as a shot rang out. Sully was on the floor, his hand clamped down on his this thigh, blood seeping from between his fingers. Faith plastered herself against the back of the cabinet. Sam shouted for his brother and ran towards the action. Nate lunged himself at the goon with the gun while museum security ran towards the others, scattering them in all directions. A swift boot to the gut and the large man went back first into one of the artifact cases, sending it crashing to the floor. The gun flew out of his hands and into Nate's outstretched arms. Sully backed himself to the downed piece of furniture, seeking cover from the gunfire that had erupted. Sam bent down and grabbed Sully around the chest, dragging him backward behind the case while Nate fired multiple rounds for cover fire. All three were ducked behind the large wooden structure. Sully pulled the folded up handkerchief from his breast pocket and wrapped it around his wound. A groan of pain escaped him as he tied it off tight, red lines of blood seeping through the cloth already.

“Fucking Laginas!” Sully exclaimed, his eyes closed tight, his breath coming in pants as the pain radiated through his body. He really was getting too goddamn old for this shit.

“Can't we just once get together without gunfire?” Nate yelled, firing shots around the corner of the cabinet. He flung himself out from behind the safety of the case, weaving his way through the tables and sliding under the tablecloth that draped the bar. Sam readied himself to follow when Sully roughly grabbed him by the upper arm.

“Where's Faith?” Sully asked.

“She's on the other side of the room!”

“Sam!” Nathan's voice broke through the screams and of glass breaking. One of goon squad from across the room broke into a run, heading straight towards the huddled men. Sam looked down and grabbed a golden orb from a pile of debris, courtesy of the smashed cabinet in front of him. He popped his head above cover, seeing the large man running towards him, a gun holstered in his side, a knife poised and ready in his hand. Sam chucked the ball in his hand, sending it right into the kneecap of the thug. From somewhere in his knee, a cracking sound sang out and set the goon reeling forward. He landed on his side next to Sam.

“Hey! I found that!” Nate yelled from behind the bar, where he was stuffing a torn off piece of his shirt down the clear neck of a bottle of 151.

“Sue me!” Sam shouted. The goon pulled the knife back, Sam landed a right hook into his face, knocking him unconscious. Sam grabbed the gun from its holster, tucking it uncomfortably in the back waist of his pants and pried the knife from the bruiser's club-like clenched hand. Sully reached over and grabbed at Sam's sleeve to get his attention.

“Get her out of here.”

“But Victor-” Sam started to protest angrily, not one to run away from a fight, slaughter, or even a one-sided bloodbath.

“Samuel. Please.” Sully's grey eyes burned with intent, through the glaze of pain that shone in them. Sam looked down at Victor. He had never seen the look Victor was giving him before, a pleading yet primal 'please.' Sam flicked his eyes at Sully's leg, the blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage already. The shaky hand that held the handkerchief in place coated in a thick, dark film of blood. The gravity of the situation sunk into Sam. He didn't know who she was, but she was important. She needed to be kept safe.

Sam nodded with understanding and placed the gun in Sully's other hand. A bottle exploded behind them with a whoosh as Nate's makeshift Molotov cocktail hit one of the cocktail tables, flaming liquid splashing on the armed Marty Lagina hidden behind it. Sam shot up and broke into a run towards Faith, ashen face and sweaty, who still stood against the cabinet where he left her. He heard the crack of splintering wood and the high pitch of a bullet whiz past his ear. He went down, and baseball slid, coming to a stop next to Faith. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down into a crouch.

“Nathan!” Sam yelled.

“Kinda busy here!”

“Sully!” Faith shouted, frantically peering over Sam to catch sight of him. Smoke started to create a gentle haze in the room.

“I'm alright darlin' just go with Sam!”

“Nathan!” Sam hollered again.

“Just get her out of here!” Nate pulled a spare clip from the body of the man on the ground next to him and popped it into the gun in his hand. “Go! I'll find you! I got Sully! Just keep her safe!” He shouted, firing the gun at the gorilla of a man crouched behind a far table, giving Sam and Faith a clean path to get out.

Sam grabbed Faith's hand and pulled her towards the doors of the atrium. Fire alarms sang throughout the building. Sam pushed through the doors and down the hallway. Finally clear of the heart of the chaos, Sam slowed down his pace from a run to a purposeful stride, hoping not to bring attention to himself. He spotted a side entrance to the main foyer of the building. Sam headed towards it, thankful that he could bypass the throngs of people pushing their way out the front doors where a huddle of cops waited anxiously to greet them. Sam and Faith slipped out the side doors unnoticed. Sam stood, scanning the unfamiliar territory. Faith pulled her hand from his and smacked his shoulder hurriedly and then took off towards a line of green taxis that were waiting to take the drunken people from the bar across the street home. Sam followed closely behind. She flung open the heavy door of the taxi and launched herself across the back of the cab. She fished a twenty dollar bill, crumpled and wilted with sweat, out of the cleavage of her dress and thrust it at the cab driver.

“Go.” Faith said forcefully as Sam clamored in next her.

Jasper Nox leaned against the gray stucco wall of the museum. He watched the cab speed away with Faith Spencer and Sam Drake in it. He bounced the end of his cane against the ground rhythmically with his disfigured hand, smiling happily to himself. This will be fun, he thought.

[nyotasaimiri]

Nightmares

Heat. Tiny needles, pain prickling hot and thick down her spine, scouring her back. It spread, filled her body. No fire, just burning. Tunnels all around, smooth and solid, echoing with footsteps, but she could not feel her feet strike the floor. A rebel camp. She was eighteen again, a spy in their midst. Muffled voices, urgent, fearful—a raid? Nyota ran. The boy was ahead of her, the boy with the old scientist doll. She reached for him, tried to call out. Why couldn’t she remember his name?

Soldiers loomed out of the shadows, reaching, grasping, each touch at her fleeing back sending piercing fire skittering across her flesh. The boy was gone. Caught or fled, she didn’t know. And then he was the soldier, lunging for her, pinning her down, sending pain shooting through her as she struck the ground. I’m one of yours! she tried to say as his iron grip closed around her arms, but her words choked in her dry throat. He looked at her and she knew he recognized her, saw a traitor and raised his gun. She flinched—

A hand brushed her forehead. She shuddered as the bullet passed through her like a wisp of smoke. The soldiers dissolved. Light pressed on her eyelids, and the feeling of fingers, warm, smooth as glass. Not Apex? But there was an Apex voice whispering nearby. Mentor Aram? No, a woman… Her eyes flickered open, but all she saw was a shadow and a bright light. The shadow was speaking to her. A familiar scent, comforting.

“Adya?” Nyota rasped. Mother? But Mother had dark hair, like hers… This shadow was copper. Who…? She felt the warmth pause, heard two voices, so far away. Then the woman’s voice resumed, soft and soothing, her hand brushing Nyota’s cheek, moving through her hair. Nyota leaned into the cool fingers, so pleasant against the heat in her face. She knew these words. A song. A lullaby. Her throat cracked as she echoed the lyrics, her voice not even a dry whisper. Something cold pressed against her lips. Water.  She drank. The fire inside her faded and died, and she sank gratefully back into sleep.

-

The bright light was sitting beside her bed when she woke again. “Do ya know me, Nyota?” he asked softly when her eyes opened.

“Lumen?” Nyota was lying in one of the medbay beds, with no memory of how she got there. Her body ached, her back strangely light and cold. She tried to sit up as her vision slid back into focus, felt an odd stiffness, and looked down to see bandages wrapped around her chest and right shoulder. There was an IV in her right arm. 

The Novakid hummed, a low sound of relief. “Good t’have ya back, Captain. Ya gave us quite a scare last night, springin’ a fever like that…”

Memories surfaced: the Baron’s keep, Occasus, Asra Nox, Lana, the dragon. Nyota opened her hand, half expecting the relic to still be clenched in her fist before she spotted it beside a glass of water on the bedside table.

“How long was I out?” she asked. Her voice was still rough, but with sleep this time, not soreness.

“Not quite three days.”

Nyota closed her eyes, exhaling between her teeth. That long. She shouldn’t be surprised, she knew, but three days… “What did I miss? How are Hadley and Arrowmail?”

“Arrowmail’s doin’ fine. Sonny ‘n Arjun patched him up alright. Hadley…” Lumen whistled softly, flickering. “She’s a good sight better’n she was when ol’ Fern-fangs carried her in here,” he said, folding his long fingers together, “but it still ain’t too pretty. Our lil’ firebrand won’t be wakin’ up for a while yet. Cracked up about as bad as you were after that Stronghold, and that ain’t countin’ the concussion… But you an’ Sonny got her outta there alright.” Static hissed from his brand, his equivalent of a gentle sigh. “Humans are a sturdy lot. She’ll mend, given time.”

The Apex echoed his sigh as she opened her eyes again, trying to quiet the guilt that stung her throat. Hadley had volunteered, yes, but… “I am glad we met, Lumen,” she said quietly. “It seems we all end up owing you our lives several times over.”

Lumen leaned forward and pressed a hand to her forehead. Nyota flinched from the unexpected contact and he pulled back, chuckling. “Ya had me worried the fever was messin’ with yer head again there,” he teased. “It ain’t like ya to be all sentimental.”

Nyota opened her hands in a gesture of amused exasperation. “Am I not allowed to thank the medic for saving my crew?” she asked, smiling. “For that matter, how can you check my temperature? You’re warmer than I will ever be.”

That got another laugh. “Caught red-handed. Learned that trick from Eldie, but it ain’t any good when yer made of starstuff. Nah, Captain...” he said, standing up and collecting a blue jar from a nearby shelf, “it ain’t about owin’. I’d do this anyway. Ya gotta look after the folks ya love, right?”

He passed the jar to her. “I’ll be much obliged if ya drink that then, ma’am. My hands can’t tell, but yer face says yer still runnin’ a bit higher’n is good for ya. I’ll be back to check on ya in a little while.”