#the professionals

[princessnamora]

Claudia Cardinale as Maria Grant in The Professionals (1966)

[bodhrancomedy]

When you’re watching a 1970s cop show which has a whole episode that essentially boils down to “fuck homophobia” and “fuck cops with no regulations” (ironic since the show is *about* cops with no regulations), you have to get through this bit before the “let’s fuck with homophobic cops” bit.

On one hand, this is embarrassing.

On the other, queer people are handled way better here in the 70s multiple time than the 90s reboot where our heroes are actively homophobic for laughs.

[knivestothroats]

Last minute Christmas special for The Professionals

I originally wrote an excuse for why this is going out at like 9pm on christmas but we dont have to explain ourselves. Enjoy. cowritten with @victimeyez as always

Tommy woke up late.

The pale light of day was already filtering through the gray winter sky. 

Tommy leapt up and threw some clothes on quickly, hopping as his feet touched the cold wood floor. He dashed to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, running his fingers through his hair the best he could.

Two of the trainees were already up and about, engaged in a heated game of slap jack.

“Hey, uh, sorry, have you guys seen Fletcher?” Tommy asked, flinching as Caldera’s hand hit the table.

“I saw them dragging a carcass out of the forest earlier,” Barlowe said as they flipped a card. “So they’re probably out there on all fours eating it like a wild animal.”

“They’re processing a deer in the shed,” Caldera clarified.

“Okay, thank you.”

Tommy slipped on boots and a coat and ventured outside, the cold air scraping at his face. He pulled open the door to the shed, and was immediately hit with the metallic tang of blood and raw meat.

Fletcher was standing beside the body of a stag that was hanging from its hind legs, stomach torn open, blood dripping onto a tarp beneath. Their coat was smeared red, and there was a knife in their hand. A small speaker was playing music for them to work to, and they had to raise their voice over it. 

“What’s up?”

“I just wanted to check in, um…” Tommy pulled his eyes away from the animal. “...About what you wanted me to do today?”

“Isn’t it your day off?”

“Oh, uh…” Tommy had a hard time keeping track of the days here sometimes, but if Fletcher said it was his day off, he wasn’t about to argue. “I suppose it is.”

“Unless you want to help me skin a deer.”

“Um,” Tommy swallowed. “Is it optional?”

“This time, yes,” Fletcher said. “I like to have my alone time with the blood and guts. It’s like meditation.”

The next day, everyone loaded up into the truck.

“You’re riding shotgun, Thunderbird,” Fletcher informed Tommy, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Williams complained. “So the three of us have to squeeze into the back together?”

“Three people have to squeeze in the back either way,” Fletcher said. “So suck it up.”

Tommy shrank into his designated spot as the trainees piled into the bench seat, their bags stashed in the bed of the truck.

The trees had blocked much of the snow accumulation, and the roads were plowed, so they had no problem getting to the airport. All the trainees were going home for the holidays, meaning Fletcher and Tommy would have the lodge to themselves.

“Alright, I’m not getting out of the car because I don’t want to be on camera,” Fletcher said as they pulled up to the drop off zone. “Have a nice holiday, tell your families and bosses I said hi, don’t get nabbed by airport security.”

Tommy watched through the window as they disappeared inside the building. It was somewhat daunting to be alone with Fletcher while the rest were gone, but it wasn’t like the trainees provided any sort of comfort or safety for him. If anything, it was less people to worry about. 

“We’re going out to the rez before we go home,” Fletcher said as they drove away. “I have to offload this deer hide. Maybe one day I’ll teach myself to tan but… ehh. It’s enough effort as is.”

It was a while before Fletcher pulled up outside of a house and put the truck in park. They got out without a word and went around to the back. Tommy fiddled with his seatbelt, but since Fletcher hadn’t told him to come along, he opted to remain. 

He watched Fletcher heft a duffle bag over their shoulder and knock on the door. A man with greying braids answered, and Fletcher handed off the bag. He waved Fletcher inside, but Fletcher said something and jutted their chin in the direction of the truck. The man looked at Tommy, gave a wave, and disappeared into his house. He returned a moment later and handed Fletcher a much smaller bag. Fletcher dug around the contents. They pulled out a pair of yellow gloves and felt the material between their fingers.

They said their goodbyes and Fletcher returned to the truck, tossing the bag in the backseat.

It began to snow as they drove home, small flakes dancing down from the sky.

Fletcher opened the door to the lodge and let Tommy inside. They stood outside the threshold and fiddled with their keys for a moment.

“I’m gonna be doing some stuff outside for a bit. So. Behave.”

Before Tommy could ask if they needed help, Fletcher shut the door.

Two days off in a row seemed odd, so Tommy tried to find something to do. There were a few dishes in the sink from breakfast that he washed and put away, before starting to wipe down the counter and clean the stove.

The back door opened and Fletcher walked in, carrying a sapling fir tree in a large pot. They locked eyes with Tommy, paused a moment, and set the pot down before and walking back outside, closing the door behind them.

Fletcher reappeared a couple minutes later through the front door. They kicked off their boots and walked back to retrieve the tree.

“Follow me,” they ordered.

Tommy put down the sponge and quickly wiped off his hands before following Fletcher into the living room. They placed the tree a comfortable distance from the fireplace, then picked up the bag they had gotten earlier. After pulling out the gloves and a spool of sinew, they placed the bag under the tree.

Fletcher gestured to the little setup they had created and said, “Merry Christmas.”

Tommy just stared at them.

“That’s yours,” they nodded to the bag.

“I… I didn’t-”

“Yeah, obviously you didn’t get me anything,” Fletcher cut him off. “I don’t usually do anything for Christmas. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. It’s just like a nice little thing to do, since it’s just us here together. So open your gift.”

Tommy picked up the bag. Inside was another pair of gloves, made of soft deerskin leather. Beneath that…

Tommy pulled it up slowly. A hoop wrapped in suede with a web of cord stretched across the middle, feathers hanging down from the bottom.

“Don’t worry, you can still sleep in my room sometimes,” Fletcher assured him. “I just thought it’d be nice if you had your own dreamcatcher.”

Tommy held it up to look at it in full. It was beautiful, woven with care. He touched the webbing, feeling the very slight tackiness of real sinew, no cheap plastic or dyed feathers. He stroked them gently, smoothing them into sharp points.

“Fletcher…it’s really beautiful. This is…this is very thoughtful of you.”

“Well, you know,” Fletcher shrugged. “I have a trade worked out where I give him my skins and he gives me some of the stuff he makes and I usually don’t need much, so I just asked for a couple extra things this time. No big deal. Let’s watch a movie or something. I can make hot chocolate.”

Fletcher walked off to busy themself in the kitchen.

Tommy dashed off to his room, his hands a little sweaty. He dug through his sketchbook, flipping through the poorly bound pages until he found what he was looking for. 

When he got back, he found them finishing off the hot chocolates. 

“I, um - I actually do have a little something for you. I might clean it up a little bit more, but…here.” He held out the page of his sketchbook.

Fletcher wiped a hand on their pants and took it, tilting it to the light. The page was filled with a pencil drawing of the lodge, a slightly stiff Fletcher standing in front.

A genuine smile grew on Fletcher’s face.

“Huh.” 

Fletcher plucked a magnet off the fridge and hung up the drawing. They picked the mugs and handed one to Tommy. 

“You can pick a movie off the shelf,” they said, giving his hair a ruffle as they walked back into the living room.

Tommy figured that was about the best it was going to get. He looked at his drawing on the fridge, and felt a sense of pride he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just cleaning, it wasn’t just being used, it wasn’t pretending to be anything he wasn’t. It was a drawing he did because he wanted to, a drawing no one else would have done quite the same way. Maybe not the greatest, but…it was his. Totally his. And that felt really good. 

He offered a few choices he liked to Fletcher, and they settled on a fun action one. The hot chocolate was rich and warm. Tommy held his new dreamcatcher in his lap while they watched, fiddling and petting it. He was excited to have something that was his, as “his” as something could be, here in the lodge. Fletcher gave him a look for it, but didn’t say anything. 

When the movie was over, Tommy was still awake, and a little restless. It was getting late, but… maybe it was the holiday, but he felt like there was something he was supposed to do. Some kind of ceremony that would make it all real. 

Tommy slowly made some tea, being methodical and slow as if the meditative practice would bring him a sense of closure to the day. As he was pulling out his tea bag, Fletcher found him. 

“Wanna see something?”

Tommy did. Probably. He followed Fletcher out the front door and onto the porch, looking out on the grounds. Snow was falling softly, dampening sound for an almost eerily quiet night. It was peaceful, the low light cast from the lodge illuminating enough that they could see out almost to the forest edge.

They watched in companionable silence, and Fletcher even accepted a sip of his tea. Tommy wasn’t sure what he had been hoping for, but this did it. This would do. 

“Merry Christmas, Fletcher. Or…you know. Atleast, a nice night.”

“Merry Christmas or at least a nice night to you too, buddy.”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[victimeyez]

https://whumpcast.zencast.website/

Introducing...WhumpCast!

@knivestothroats and I have been working on setting up this podcast, and we are finally ready to share our pilot! We lay out who we are, what we write, and how we discovered whump...er, well, we try our best.

The podcast discusses whump community trends, whump writing, and whump in popular media. Give us a listen, and let us know what you think!

What would you like to hear about? We want to talk all whump tropes, popular whump AUs, best whump moments in media, diversity in the community, and the importance of giving a murderous online stranger your address.

*Contains some non-explicit talk about noncon whump.

[fanlore-wiki]

Terminology Thursday: BOTW (Babe of the Week)

This Terminology Thursday, we’re looking at Babe of the Week, or BOTW for short. This term is primarily used for female love interests who appear in only one episode of a series and are neither seen nor mentioned again.

The main reason for these one-shot love interests was to ensure that the story’s status quo is restored by the end of the episode. This trope originated from American/UK TV series in the 60s and 70s, most notably Star Trek:TOS and The Professionals. Due to the heavily episodic nature of these series, absolute continuity between episodes was required so audiences could easily tune in at any point.

Some slash fans perceive the BOTW negatively as the character interferes with their preferred pairing or OTP, while others find that the BOTW further adds to the slashy subtexts since she ultimately goes away at the end, thus further solidifying the bond between the two (oftentimes) male leads.

Fans may also find BOTW pairings desirable and interesting, such as the Sam/Sarah pairing in the Supernatural fandom.

Want to learn more? Visit Fanlore!

-----

We value every contribution to our shared fandom history. If you’re new to editing Fanlore or wikis in general, visit our New Visitor Portal to get started or ask us questions here!

[dailypros]

[cimmerian-war-shrine]

[leona-florianova]

The Professionals (1977)

*so they are on tv yet again...

**also while looking for references I stumbled upon this [X]article about the show and..what a great read.

[signorinaclaudiacardinale]

Claudia Cardinale in "LIFE" magazine:

Italian beauty takes a desert bath on location in Nevada. /In this photo Claudia was filming "The Professionals" on July 8, 1966/

Claudia Cardinale, a wary beauty is afraid Hollywood will ruin her. Claudia Cardinale has a problem. At 26 she has become the most admitted international film star since Sophia Loren. Lusciously built along Italian lines, like Sophia, Claudia also has a special tender beauty in her face. Easy to work with, she is a director's pet. Unmarried, she has no close family worries. So what's her problem? Her problem is, now that she has finally agreed to work in Hollywood, she is afraid she will be over-glamorized and exploited-as Sophia was. Her first Hollywood movie, the recent 'Blindfold', confirms Claudia's worst fears of her. And she has two more coming up soon. Between Hollywood chores, she rushes away to make films in Italy, Spain, Brazil, anywhere but Hollywood. She gets paid less in Europe. "If I have to give up the money, I give it up," she insists, "I don't want to become a cliché."

She'd rather lose money than be a cliché In high spirits at being out of Hollywood and back in Italy, Claudia stopped her car to join villagers who had shouted "Claudia, Claudia", Then they all joined their favorite star for a picture.

Claudia likes the sun of Italy more than of Hollywood. Always rushing from one picture into another, she grabs five minutes to back on her Hotel Excelsior Lido balcony in Venice.

Anthony Quinn, who has acted with both Claudia and Sophia says: "I adore them equally But if I had to say, well, I relate easier to Claudia; Sophia creates an impression of something unobtainable but Claudia-She's not easy, still she's within reach".

Helping pick Miss Italy, Claudia lunches with each judges at Salsomaggiore. She got her own movie start by winning a rather specialized contest as "Most beautiful Italian in Tunisia". In Las Vegas, working on her next Hollywood picture, 'The Professionals'.

In Brazil a waiter proposed to her by mail, posted a marriage notice in his church, and changed his name to "Mr. Cardinale".

Claudia gobbles up a pile of magazines. She reads them to improve her English and keep up on fashions.

Claudia hangs on the words of Luchino Visconti, who directed her in 'Sandra', which won a Venice Festival prize.

Claudia says: "He sees me as cat that someday will turn into a tiger."

Credits:

📷 Photographs by Howell Conant. 📰 Text taken from the magazine "Life" in 1966. 🎥 My Gifs are behind the scenes of "The Professionals" memories.

[justablah56]

I DREW THE ROBITS

I'm v happy with how they turned out ! anyways . VR LA and Maxim . in real gay love . trust me .

[lamardeuse]

One of my absolute favourite vids by the Media Cannibals (remix by Justacat)

[princessnamora]

Claudia Cardinale as Maria Grant in The Professionals (1966)

[bodhrancomedy]

Me: I do not need anymore t-shirts, I have so many I need to get rid of some because my crappy chest of drawers don’t fit very much in them.

Also me:

Hehoheha Professionals T-shirt

I also just realised I can get more duvet covers if I want to, and they can be nerdy.

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Allowances

The Professionals is a crossover of In the Woods Somewhere by me and Professional//Victim by @victimeyez In which Tommy tries to spend his allowance CW: long term captivity, unfair rules

Fletcher was cooking, rolling a pan of mixed vegetables around in a blend of butter, balsamic vinegar, and white wine. They heard Tommy carefully padding in behind them, giving him a glance before returning their focus to their work. 

“Don’t eat too much, dinner is almost ready and I made enough for you.”

“It smells really good, thank you, Fletcher,” Tommy murmured back. “Can I help?”

“No, just come back when I whistle.”

“Oh, okay, thank you.”

They could feel him hovering behind them. He didn’t leave, instead opting to clutch a few pieces of paper hands to his chest and wait awkwardly. Fletcher gave him a minute to say his piece, draining the pasta in the sink before returning it to the pan. Still, Tommy waited. They felt an itch of annoyance.

“Do you need something, or did you just think I needed supervision?”

Tommy tucked a stray curl behind his ear, giving a nervous laugh. “Ah, no, of course not. I just was thinking that maybe, well, I just was wondering if, um–”

“Spit it out.”

Tommy swallowed and forced himself to take a deep breath. He didn’t want to invoke Fletcher’s ire with his waffling. 

“Um, would it be okay for me to ask about, maybe sometime talking about my allowance…?”

Fletcher poured in ingredients purely by feel. It wasn’t an exact science, but they were comfortable in the kitchen. They stirred, taste testing as they went. 

“What about it.”

“Uh…” Tommy rubbed his arms to soothe himself, but Fletcher could tell he was anxious. Then again, “anxious” was pretty much his base state. 

“It’s been, you know, several weeks, and I was thinking about things I might be able to spend it on.”

“It must have slipped my mind. Have you finished paying me back for your music?” Fletcher had allowed Tommy to “buy” an old walkman, headphones, and some tapes from them. 

They had pressed the bundle into his hands, which Tommy received eagerly. He looked over his meager possessions with a look of awe, like he still couldn’t believe he was actually allowed to own something.

“Twenty bucks.” Tommy nodded eagerly, feeling the worn pad of one of the headphones between two fingers with reverence. “Enjoy.”

Fletcher caught the tip of his chin with one finger, pushing his face up to force eye contact. Where Buck had often challenged their gaze, Tommy avoided it, his eyes flicking side to side before nervously meeting their gaze. 

“Hey. If I call for you, and you don’t come, because you were listening to music? They’re gone. Understood?”

Tommy looked hurt by the threat, his eyes darting back down and to the side, but readily agreed. “Yes, Fletcher.” 

“Good,” they had told him, and left it at that. So far Tommy had kept to his word, often wearing the headphones askew to help keep his ears open when he was set off on his tasks. 

“Those are paid off now. By - by my calendar. Thank you, again.” Fletcher hummed a noncommittal sound of acknowledgement. 

“I was just wondering if, if you have thought about it, how that kind of system might work? Like…is it just things I can pick up on a supply run, or buy online or– or that sort of thing. Just so I know what I can maybe, save up for.”

They turned to face him, leaning against the counter and folding their arms. Tommy had settled at the table, a pencil in hand at the ready over his little stack of notes. 

“I guess I could save a little time for you to look around the grocery store next time we are on a supply run. I’ll consider online purchases, but nothing comes to the house, so you’ll have to wait for a supply run to collect it from the PO box in town. And you know the computer is off limits to you. I will allow a little time to look online, but only under supervision.” Tommy scribbled down notes as Fletcher spoke.

“You can take notes, I can appreciate wanting to keep them in mind, but just know that doesn’t mean it’s law. Everything is subject to change, of course.” Tommy nodded as he finished writing, looking back up when he was done. 

“What…kind of things am I allowed to buy?”

Fletcher returned to stirring, mostly just to make sure the last things were mixed evenly. 

“I don’t know. What do you want to buy?”

“A bike? I could just ride around the grounds a little.”

Fletcher shook their head. “So you can try to take off on me? No, no bikes.”

“Okay…” Fletcher heard him scribbling something out behind them. “How about a skateboard?”

Fletcher let out a hmph of a laugh. “What did I just say? Same problem, no wheels.”

“But – I’m really bad at skateboarding, I couldn’t go anywhere,” Tommy whined a little. 

“All the more reason not to do it. Besides, I don’t need you falling off and injuring yourself, you’re no use to me if you can’t work.” 

Tommy swallowed, his answer delayed. “Oh,” was all he gave, and his voice was quieter. Fletcher didn’t really mean to call him useless, they just hadn’t phrased it right. It wouldn’t have bothered anyone else, but Tommy was so damn sensitive. They rolled their eyes.

“Let’s just say, no vehicles. Add that to your notes. What else you got?”

Tommy made some notes and crossed out another line. “How about clothes?”

“I gave you clothes,” Fletcher said bluntly.

“Yeah, I mean - I’m grateful for that, of course. Just – I don’t know, my own…style? Some of them don’t really fit…” 

“I just think you need to be practical over fashionable,” Fletcher argued. “You’re living and working in the woods; it’s not like you’re going anywhere you need to dress up or show off. Unless you’re planning on giving Buck a fashion show.” 

Tommy blanched like Fletcher had caught him doing something bad. He looked down and crossed out another line curtly. 

“Okay…well…” Tommy considered his list. Fletcher could tell he was getting frustrated, could hear a little anger in his voice in spite of his attempts to swallow it down. He could be pissed all he wanted, Fletcher would almost encourage it just to see a little spirit, but getting an allowance at all was generous. Fletcher would let him spend it when he thought of something actually worth spending it on. And with a solid paycheck of just five dollars a week, it’s not like he had many options. 

“It’s still a while away, so I could save up for it, but I’d like to get Buck something for Christmas.” Tommy seemed determined on this one. 

Fletcher groaned, finishing the last touches for dinner. “Don’t do that.”

Tommy let out an impatient huff through his nose. “Why not?”

“Buck lives out in the –” Fletcher had to stop themself from calling it the real world. “Buck is free out there, he has his own job and makes his own money. Don’t waste yours on something he could buy himself for like, a few hours of work. Besides, he already gets enough of my money, he doesn’t need any more.”

Tommy rose to his feet, shoving his chair out of his way. “What’s the fucking point of giving me an allowance if you’re never going to let me use it anyways?!” 

Fletcher turned at the commotion to find Tommy visibly seething with his notes crumpled in his hands. His eyes were dark, glaring at Fletcher with an open hostility that he’d never let slip before. 

Fletcher rolled their eyes. “Stop acting like a child.”

“Then stop treating me like one!” Tommy shouted, and with a sudden fury, he drove a fist right into the wall. The drywall swallowed his hand down to the wrist, and when he pulled it out, little chips and debris rained down from the hole in Fletcher’s kitchen wall. 

Fletcher was so surprised that Tommy had actually lashed out that they stood there, their mouth agape for a moment. Tommy retracted his fist robotically to look at it, pale with powder from the drywall. Blood was starting to ooze out of a couple split knuckles. He was shaking with anger, his shoulders moving up and down with fast, excited breaths.

“Go to your room!” Fletcher snapped back. They pinched the bridge of their nose and sighed. “Goddamn it, you make me sound like a mom. Get the fuck out of my sight, I’ll deal with you later.” 

As pissed as he was, Tommy stalked off in the direction of his room. Fletcher massaged their temples, staring at the fist-sized gape that Tommy had left. That little shit. 

“Something smells good,” Billy commented, walking into the kitchen, then, “Whoa.” He spotted the hole in the wall and looked at Fletcher, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at it. 

“Redecorating?”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[victimeyez]

Withdraw

Part 2 of the Professional//Victim + In The Woods Somewhere crossover series The Professionals

~

Tommy spent the rest of the day outside, between lying in the sun and walking laps around the property. It felt like a dream after being in the hole for so long. Well, he assumed it was long - he had no way of knowing how much time had passed since Caius took away the last of his light. 

He’d been outside for a couple of hours before he realized it might look bad to Fletcher. If they suspected he was trying to plan an escape, they might take away this freedom just as fast as they had given it. Tommy stood in front of the lodge, taking slow, even breaths to try to steel himself. 

He finally ventured inside, nervous to walk through the house alone to try to find Fletcher. Luckily, they were in the kitchen, cooking something that reminded Tommy how hungry he was. He hadn’t dared take anything, even after Fletcher said he could. It felt like a trap. 

Fletcher glanced in his direction. “What’s up?”

Oh. Tommy immediately forgot what he had prepared to say.

“I uh– I guess I just wanted to…check in. Do you need– do you want me to help with dinner? Or…anything else?..” He cringed internally, but offered Fletcher a timid smile. Please, please like me.

“Mm, no, I’m just cooking for myself right now,” Fletcher said. 

“Oh, okay. I’ve just been outside, you have really - the grounds are really beautiful.”

“I’m glad you appreciate it. Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh…no, not yet.” The idea of taking his own food sounded infinitely daunting. Caius had been very strict on that, and it felt wrong now to assume what he could eat, and when. Tommy fidgeted uncomfortably, wrapping his arms around himself like a shield.

Fletcher said nothing. They retrieved two bowls from the cabinet, filled one for themself, then dished the remainder into the second. It was smaller, but still enough to be a decent serving. They picked both up and held the smaller one towards Tommy.

Tommy looked at the food. Steaming, vibrant vegetables tossed with rice. His stomach growled loud enough he was sure Fletcher heard it. He looked up at Fletcher, trying to read them, to see if this was real. They just waited.

Slowly, hesitantly, Tommy reached for the bowl, and Fletcher pulled it back. Tommy snapped his hand back like Fletcher had tried to bite him.

“I’m being nice,” Fletcher informed him. “I told you to eat hours ago. I’m not cooking all your meals for you. I’m cutting you some slack because you’re new here. But you need to feed yourself. Understand?”

“Yes, Fletcher.” Tommy swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to… overstep.”

“I told you more than once that you can get your own food from the kitchen.”

They held out the bowl. Tommy haltingly reached for it again, and this time Fletcher let him take it. 

“I’m sorry… thank you,” he added timidly. The bowl was warm in his hands, and the smell was making his mouth water. 

“Do I eat at the table?”

“Sure,” Fletcher said, heading off towards the couch. “Wherever. You can eat in your room, just bring your dirty dishes back.”

Tommy absconded to his room to eat. Sitting at the table felt like too much. He snuck his dishes to the sink and sequestered himself back into his room until nightfall, just sitting at the window, trying to drink in the dream while it lasted. 

When it started to grow late, his meditation was interrupted by a knock on the door. When Fletcher entered, Tommy scrambled to his feet.

“Stand down there, soldier, I just brought you some necessities. Since apparently they sent you without anything but the clothes on your back, I put together a little pack for you.” Fletcher opened the bag and showed him - shampoo, conditioner, deodorant,  a bar of soap, a toothbrush, tooth paste, dental floss, antibiotic ointment, and a big box of bandaids.

Right. Still going to beat the shit out of me. Don’t get too comfy, Tommy chided himself, but accepted the pack gratefully. 

“I don’t – I don’t know what to say, thank you,” he told Fletcher, hugging the bag to his chest. 

“There’s some clothes in the dresser. Should fit you, sort of.” 

Tommy nodded, thanking them again. Fletcher made a vague grunt of acknowledgement and left. He found a pair of gym shorts and a soft tee to sleep in, both baggy on him, but good enough. Fletcher didn’t lock the door to Tommy’s bedroom when they left, or even after he showered and brushed his teeth. Tommy couldn’t bear to turn the lights off, so he sat in bed with them on, anxiously waiting to see if Fletcher would lock his door. He was still waiting for the sound of that click when he finally fell asleep.

~

He woke up early on his own. It took him a minute to remember where he was, all that had transpired yesterday. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep without a heavy dose of meds from Sam. He wished he had some now, a thought that had occurred to him numerous times while he had sat vigilant the night before. He wasn’t in any real pain, other than the usual aches he had from things that never healed quite right. The meds still offered comfort, the best break he could get from his reality. 

Through the window, he saw the grounds illuminated in a dull blue light. Sunrise hadn’t broken yet. Maybe it was the new surroundings, maybe it was a hanging fear of Caius coming for him – whatever it was, Tommy felt sick to his stomach with anxiety. He decided to get up and make his way downstairs to get a jump on the day. If he showed Fletcher that he was useful, then maybe they would maintain their mercy on him for a little longer.

It felt good – or, at least, better – to do something. He found an assortment of cleaning supplies in the cabinet under the sink, and got to work. Without knowing Fletcher’s schedule yet, he wasn’t sure how long he would have, but he was hellbent on doing the most thorough job he could. Everything was wiped down twice, every corner and crease scrubbed to perfection. Tommy was still furiously wiping at the grouting between the shower tiles when the door to the bathroom swung open. 

“Uh…okay.” He recognized the trainee at the door, the only woman he’d seen around the lodge. Her hair was tied in a bun that more resembled a rat’s nest on top of her head, and she still had sleep in her eyes. She stepped back out the door, turning her head to call out–

“Fletcher! Your boy is taking up the bathroom!”

Tommy’s eyes went wide, still clutching the sponge when he raised his hands in a supplicant gesture. “No, wait, please don’t get–”

Fletcher appeared in the doorway, eyeing the disheveled Tommy standing in the bathtub. They looked over the bathroom he had already cleaned with a charming look of utter boredom.

“You. Let them use the bathroom.”

“Of course– I mean, yes Fletcher,” Tommy stumbled over himself, rushing to wipe the bleach from his hands and fleeing the bathroom while they waited. 

“You can finish it later, it’s a bloodbath trying to get in there in the mornings. Go put some proper clothes on and get breakfast, I have tasks for you today.” 

Tommy nodded eagerly and retreated to his room. He was already sweating, did Fletcher turn the heat on in the night or something? But when he wiped the sweat away, his skin felt clammy. He did his best to clean himself up a little, giving the dresser a quick rummage for clothes. 

He settled on a pair of jeans and an old shirt with a car on it, boasting the Ford brand. While Tommy was not loyal to any particular car manufacturer, it felt like a little link to his home back in Detroit. Maybe that made it a lucky shirt – and he could really use whatever luck he could get for his first full day with Fletcher. Everything was still big on him, but he found a belt in the bottom drawer that helped. He took a deep breath before heading to the kitchen, scared to keep Fletcher waiting too long. 

Having options to choose from for breakfast was a little overwhelming. He settled on a bowl of cereal and an apple. Sitting at the table with Fletcher helped a little - there had been very few times in the last five years that Tommy had eaten a meal without Caius’s supervision. Still, he bounced his leg under the table, and his anxiety nagged at him. 

Am I chewing too loud? What does Fletcher want me to do? Are they unhappy with how I was cleaning the bathroom? Sweat dewed on his forehead while he struggled to get his meal down, even though everything tasted good. Fletcher even let him drink coffee, which he immediately burned his tongue on, eager as he was to get to drink it again.

Afterwards, Fletcher presented him with a list. 

“Clean up the kitchen. Anything that doesn’t fit in the dishwasher needs to be hand washed, and don’t forget to wipe down the counters. Then start on the list. The order doesn’t matter, other than doing the dusting before you do the floors. I don’t care when you break for lunch, just don’t let me catch you slacking off for too long. I expect everything to be finished before dinner. If you have any questions, come find me, I’ll be with the students. Capiche?”

Tommy read through the list. Dust, scrub the floors, weed the crops, lunch, water everything in the greenhouse, clean the bathrooms on the middle floor and upstairs, clean up after dinner. It sounded doable - though the weeding could take a long time, depending on how bad it was. He tried to remember if he had seen many when he looked at the gardens yesterday – it couldn’t have been bad, he probably would have noticed that. Right?

He worked through the kitchen, trying to do as thorough a job as possible, as fast as possible. He upended the toaster over the sink, giving the bottom a few slaps to empty the crumbs out before wiping it down and replacing it. Dishes were rinsed with hot water before being loaded into the dishwasher, and he managed to slip the broom underneath the fridge while he was sweeping. There was an overflow of dishes from a day or two of neglect, so he was left with a lot of handwashes, which he polished dry. After a lot of rummaging in the cabinets, he eventually found where each thing went, or at least an approximation. 

Dusting next, afterwards floors, by then the bathrooms should be mostly clear - and he had a head start on one. He dusted furiously, straining on the tips of his toes to reach the top of the ceiling fan blades. Everything got a once over with the duster, and then again by hand with a paper towel, spraying any surface that could take it with cleaner. It was odd using real cleaners again - he’d been long banned from most anything other than vinegar and baking soda. Nothing that could put him out permanently if he drank it. 

He was soaked with sweat already before he moved down to the floor to scrub. No mop, just crawling around on his hands and knees to polish the wooden floors. The fumes from the lemon cleaner stung his eyes. With only a fitful night of sleep, his weariness was quickly catching up to him. At the same time, he was fervently anxious, buzzing with nervous energy. Jittery and exhausted, always a winning combo.

Tommy finished the main living room, his arms sore and knees aching already. He flexed his hands open and closed, trying to regain feeling. He kneeled on the floor and looked at the scrubber, and back up at all the flooring he still had to do, and a frustration welled up inside of him.

What stupid motherfucker buys a big fancy cabin they don’t even take their boots off in, and doesn’t own a mop. Invest in a goddamn Swiffer. How useless do you have to be to not even keep the bare minimum of cleaning supplies? Is that going to be my role here, being a housewife to replace your mommy doing everything for you?!

The moment passed, and he was a little taken aback by himself. Fletcher obviously wasn’t…whatever that was. They raised all of those crops, for fuck’s sake. 

Pace yourself better. We just need a little - a super quick break. Grab some water. 

Tommy set his supplies to the side and slipped into the kitchen. Unfortunately, he was not alone there, as a student was helping themselves to a late morning snack. Tommy had seen him yesterday, but steered clear. He was tall with a little bit of bulk, the poster boy of frat bros who’d recently gotten really into crossfit. His wavy hair was long on top, buzzed into a severe fade to the nape of his neck.

And he was making a goddamn mess.

A knife handle smeared with jelly stuck out of a jar of peanut butter on the counter, crumbs decorating the counter Tommy had just worked so hard to polish. He had a plate out, but opted to eat leaning against the counter instead, letting crumbs and drips of jam fall where they may on the newly cleaned floor. 

Tommy stared at him for a moment in disbelief. Here was some real, shameless laziness to be mad about, but what could he say? He considered turning and leaving to drink from a bathroom faucet, but the trainee had spotted him. Nervously, Tommy made his way to the fridge to find a pitcher of filtered water he’d spotted earlier. 

The trainee watched him with open curiosity as Tommy approached the refrigerator with the tribulation of a tightrope walker. When he extracted the pitcher, victorious, he peered inside to find it had been fridged empty. Tommy stared at it, dumbfounded, before raising his gaze to the sink, only a few feet from the other resident. 

It was with a dramatic resignation that Tommy approached to refill it. His hands trembled holding it under the tap, wrists tired, already sore.

“I’m Billy,” the student offered. Tommy gave his general direction a curt nod, a thin smile. 

“So uh…you live here now?”

Tommy set the pitcher on the counter, waiting for it to trickle through the filter.

“Yeah, um, I guess.”

Billy munched at his sandwich. There was a smear of peanut butter in his short beard.

“Why are you wearing a collar?”

Tommy froze, a deer in the headlights. He had assumed Fletcher had offered some form of explanation to the trainees. Or maybe they did, and Billy was trying to fuck with him. The familiar weight of his collar around his neck suddenly felt heavy, sweaty, conspicuous. The barbed tines inside itched.

“If it’s a sex thing, you can just say so. You look like you’re into some freaky shit.” Billy wasn’t subtle about checking him out, his eyes sweeping over Tommy with a lurid gaze. Maybe Tommy could have fielded it, if he was still under Caius, but what Fletcher expected from him remained an enigma. Should he ignore it? Dispute it? Agree with it? Excuse himself? Fletcher hadn’t said anything about how Tommy was supposed to treat the students.

“Jesus dude, chill. I was just asking.” Tommy hadn’t realized he was breathing hard until Billy raised his hands innocently.

“I’m – I’m sorry, I don’t think – I’m not sure if Fletcher…” Billy raised an eyebrow, waiting for Tommy to form a complete thought. Tommy waited for one, too. The awkward pause only grew more awkward. 

“I just – came here for some water.” Tommy ended weakly. He snatched a glass from where he’d put them away earlier and poured some water in with shaky hands, spilling some on the counter. He wiped it up hastily with a towel, cursing under his breath. 

“You look crazy tense. When’s the last time you got laid?”

“No,” Tommy snapped. Simple, but an unconscionable protest. He slapped a hand over his mouth and retreated, beelining for the bathroom. He enjoyed his hard-earned glass of water sitting in the half-cleaned tub, behind the curtain, hiding from the world as best he could behind a door with no lock.

His frantic compulsion to please Fletcher forced him out after only a brief break. He washed his face in the sink, sweat beading on his brow almost instantly. His head felt foggy, and a throbbing headache was blossoming in his skull. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes for a moment, before wringing his hands out as if to banish his shakes. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Fletcher was waiting for him.

Fletcher looked like they were about to say something, but stopped when they saw Tommy’s face. It was pale and sweaty, dark curls sticking to his forehead, deep shadows under his eyes. Not a huge difference from his usual demeanor, but enough to give them some pause.

“You good, dude?”

“Yes,” Tommy said quickly. Then, “Um, actually, I just have a headache. I was wondering if I could maybe get some painkillers, please?”

“Yeah, sure,” Fletcher said, still eyeing Tommy skeptically. 

They led him back to the kitchen. Billy was gone, but his mess remained behind. Tommy could feel his heart racing. Should he tell Fletcher that he had cleaned the kitchen and Billy had messed it up again? Or would they get mad that he was blaming one of their trainees?

Fletcher glanced around but made no comment. They opened up a cabinet and fished out a bottle of ibuprofen, dumping two small red pills in Tommy’s hand.

Ibuprofen was not exactly what Tommy had hoped for. They may as well have stuck a bandaid on his forehead for all the good it was going to do him.

“Thank you,” Tommy murmured, staring down at the pills in his palm.

“You need water?”

“Oh...right. I got it.” 

Tommy picked up the pitcher on the counter and shakily refilled his glass. He tossed the pills into his mouth and drank them down. He forced a smile to Fletcher.

“All good. Thanks.”

Everything went blurry, then sideways. The ground hit him hard.

Tommy laid on the floor staring up at the starburst of the ceiling light. Fletcher appeared over him, lightly slapping his cheek.

“Hey, hey, you with me?”

“Uh… uh-huh,” Tommy managed. 

He started to stand up, but the room swam, and he fell back with a groan. He felt feverish, his short break hadn’t helped the sweating at all. His head pounded like a hammer to his temples. He felt so weak he could barely move, yet he trembled uncontrollably. 

Tommy couldn’t deny it any longer. He’d tried to dismiss it, tried to power through, but he knew this feeling - it was unmistakable. It didn’t always happen when Caius took his pain meds away, depending on where in the healing cycle he was, if he’d been tapered off slowly - but when they cut him off cold-turkey, things got bad fast. He just wanted so badly to prove to Fletcher that he was worth keeping around. Instead, he was twitching uselessly at their feet on the kitchen floor, a junkie going through withdrawals.

Fletcher sighed, kneeling down over him. “Alright, alright, c’mere.” They pulled Tommy by his arms to sit up, hunched over his lap limply like a ragdoll. With a surprising swiftness, Fletcher pulled him over their shoulder and lifted him up in a fireman’s carry. Tommy squeaked, dizzied from the rapid shift, and swallowed back nausea as Fletcher carried him off. He was deposited unceremoniously into his bed with a bounce and a yelp.

“Bag, please, bag-” Tommy stammered, but he only lasted long enough to crawl to the edge of the bed before retching onto the floor. 

“Great,” Fletcher mused dryly, and walked out, shutting the door behind them.

They only left Tommy to wallow a few minutes before they returned with paper towels and a cleaner Tommy had left in the living room.

“I’ll clean it up,” Tommy mewled, but when he reached for the paper towels, Fletcher slapped his hands away easily. Chastised, he curled his hands against his chest, whimpering in distress when Fletcher did a quick clean up. 

Oh, they’re going to leave me to die in the woods for sure now - it should never be their duty to clean up after me. Fletcher’s aid had immediately iced Tommy’s agitation, leaving him feeling remorseful and meek. 

“‘M so sorry,” he slurred miserably. Fletcher didn’t answer, just removed the soiled paper towels from the room without a word.

They returned a few minutes later with a water bottle, a sleeve of crackers, and a small garbage can that they placed beside his bed. 

“Here, just, stay hydrated. I can make some ginger tea or something if you still feel… nauseous…” The end of Fletcher’s sentence trailed as they looked Tommy over. “You’re shaking real hard.”

Tommy wrapped his arms around himself as if he could hold himself still.

“Sorry,” he forced out through a clenched jaw. He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Being too sick to work?

Fletcher placed their hand against his forehead. 

“When did you start feeling sick?”

“This… morning.”

“Hm.” 

Fletcher stood there watching him for a moment, then sighed and sat down at the foot of the bed, drawing their phone from their pocket and dialing a number. There was a moment while they waited for an answer, then Tommy heard one half of their conversation.

“Hey, I got a guy here who got really sick all of a sudden. He just got here yesterday and seemed fine then. Feels like he’s running a fever, definitely sweaty, shaking, throwing up, headache, passed out for a second, looked like. Seems kinda out of it. He’s not like sneezing or coughing, though. Hey, anything else?”

Fletcher poked Tommy in the leg to signify they were talking to him.

“Um…” Tommy tried to take stock. He tried to remember the symptoms Fletcher had already said. “Hurts.”

“Hurts?”

Tommy nodded. The motion made his head swim.

“Okay, uh, body aches I guess,” Fletcher added to the person on the phone. 

Fletcher pulled one of Tommy’s arms toward them and pressed their fingers to his wrist. After a moment they said, “It’s elevated.”

Fletcher listened to the person on the other end, then reached over and pulled Tommy’s eyelids open, looking closely.

“Yeah, I think so.”

They released, and Tommy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, Fletcher was pinching the bridge of their nose.

“Yeah, I was worried you would say that.” Fletcher moved the phone away from their mouth and spoke to Tommy. “You on drugs?”

Tommy’s mouth flapped like a fish out of water. They said on drugs like someone in a DARE psa, and he didn’t want to get in trouble so quickly. But it would be worse if he lied. It was obvious now, so he should just cooperate. Maybe… maybe Fletcher would get him what he needed if he was forthright about it.

Tommy nodded an affirmative.

“What were you on?”

“I, uh, I don’t know, exactly,” Tommy responded sheepishly. “Mostly, painkillers and sedatives. Sometimes….some coke, to wake me up. I just took whatever they gave me, I don’t - I didn’t ask questions. I think… I think the doctor started, um, overdosing me on purpose.”

Fletcher stared at Tommy a moment before speaking into the phone.

“I’m gonna have to call you back.”

Fletcher ended the call. They began dialing a new number, walking out of the room as they did so. They didn’t particularly want a chat with Caius, but it seemed to be in order. 

“Tommy’s not giving you trouble, is he?” A silky voice asked when he picked up the call. Caius oozed charisma - an insufferable tryhard at his best.

“Well, he was perfectly well behaved before he started going through fucking withdrawals,” Fletcher said as they shut the door to their office behind them. “I need to know what drugs he was taking since you and your associates conveniently forgot to mention this.”

“Oh, well, we have a doctor on staff who provides cutting edge medical care-”

“What. Fucking. Drugs,” Fletcher cut him off.

“I’m saying,” Caius sounded annoyed, “that I didn’t administer the medications myself beyond some basic painkillers.”

Fletcher took a breath through their nose. “Then put me in contact with the doctor.”

“I’m not at liberty to be giving out the personal information of-”

“I will come to your fucking house!” Fletcher yelled through the phone. “Meadowview Community. Only house in an abandoned neighborhood development, props on pulling that off. You sold me a defective product. Don’t fuck around with me right now.”

“...One moment.”

There was shuffling and muttering on the other line before a new voice spoke into the receiver.

“This is Dr. Sam Snow, how can I help you?”

Fletcher blinked. “Were you fucking sitting next to Caius this whole time?”

“Well-”

“Put the phone on speaker. I want a list.”

Sam sighed, and Fletcher could hear him shifting in his seat on the other end.

“I make customized blends and dosages to fit the specific needs of-”

“Of what?” Fletcher interrupted again. “I don’t need the sales pitch, I need names of drugs.”

“Some of them are pre-market, the names wouldn’t be of any use to you. What do you need them for? Maybe I can help if I know what you’re looking for.”

“Yeah, the guy you sold me is going through withdrawals, so I need to know what he was taking.”

There was some muttering on the other end, muffled like a hand was held over the microphone. 

“Mostly opioids, some SSRI’s, and then some stimulants and depressants to keep the yoyo going. Give him some methadone to wean him off, he’ll be fine. How bad off is he?”

“Shaking, passing out, throwing up, running a fever,” Fletcher rattled off the symptoms. “You said he was on SSRI’s?”

Caius said something unintelligible, and they both giggled. 

“Uh, yeah, just to keep him from, you know. Kermiting-the-frog suicide. You might want to watch out for that.”

Fletcher blew out a long breath. “Okay. Methadone. Anything else I should know? How often was he taking stimulants - are those going to be a concern?”

“Eh, probably not. Towards the end there, we were kinda just keeping him in storage, so he’s just been doped down.”

“Right. Well. If there’s anything else I should know, you should tell me now. You don’t want me to have to call you again.”

Fletcher balanced their tone between civil and threatening. There was a long pause on the other end.

“...Like, about drugs?”

“About anything! If I need to know something, tell me now.”

“Ehh….not really? If you ever want some more though, I know all of Tommy’s favorites.”

“Did Tommy ask about me?” Caius spoke up, his voice carefully dry. He could play casual all he wanted, Fletcher wasn’t fooled.

“Why, did you want him to?”

Whatever Caius might have said, Sam interrupted. “We don’t care. Did you need anything else?” 

“That’s all.” In the interest of being diplomatic, they forced out a, “Thanks,” before ending the call. 

They called Estrada back.

“Do you have any methadone?”

~

Fletcher slipped back into Tommy’s room, looking something akin to apologetic. It set off alarm bells in Tommy’s head. If his heart wasn’t already racing from the withdrawals, it would be now.

“So… here’s the thing,” Fletcher began. “I can’t get you methadone until tomorrow at the earliest. So we’re just gonna have to tough this out together.”

It took a moment for Tommy to process what they were telling him, trying to think through a haze. 

“Can I have something else? Just, a tiny bit to get me through, until then? Please?”

“Thing is, I don’t know what exactly you were taking, so I don’t really want to give you anything else. I don’t know what’s in your system right now - it’d be better to just flush everything and get a clean start.”

There was a terrible dread in Tommy’s expression for just a moment, before he reflexively masked himself with a poker face. He curled up on his side, looking up at the window, his throat too thick to reply.

“Alright, well, I’ll check up on you. Drink water, try to sleep it off for now. I’ll be back around for the thick of it.”

Before Fletcher could head for the door, Tommy pushed himself to sit up.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

Fletcher hesitated.

“What do I have to do?”

“You’re gonna just have to let it run its course-”

“No, no - to get the drugs,” Tommy stammered out. “What do you want me to do?”

Fletcher stared at him. “What did I just say?”

Tommy looked down at his hands, fidgeting. 

“I know,” his voice broke. “But… you could get them. If you wanted. So… just tell me what you want and I’ll-” he swallowed uncomfortably. “-I won’t fight.”

Fletcher looked down at him. “You would do anything?”

“Yes,” Tommy breathed.

“That’s why you need to detox.”

Before Tommy could beg, bargain, or argue, Fletcher left the room.

~

~

~

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