#the worst offender just had a baby so I try to cut him some slack

[zenathezee]

Usually I like my coworkers but what I do hate is when I use proper messaging etiquette and say "I have a question about this situation, here's the context, the details, where I'm confused, and what I think the answer may be" all in the original message AND THEN THEY ASK ME FOLLOW UP QUESTIONS THAT ARE ANSWERED BY THE ORIGINAL MESSAGE

Me: [thorough, all-encompassing message about the issue]

Coworker: "What's the issue?"

Me: [repeats that part of the message] "So the answer is abc?"

Coworker: "Why is this a problem?"

Me: [repeats the context part of the message] "Does abc not apply in this situation?"

Coworker: "What about xyz?"

Me: "Xyz is unrelated, this is about abc. Do I apply abc the way I would xyz?"

Coworker: "Xyz applies."

Me: [repeats the part of the message that rules out xyz] "So why would xyz apply when this is about abc?"

Coworker: [five more barely related questions that]

Me: [has literally no further information because I put everything I know in the original message so I'm paraphrasing as many ways as possible while continuingly asking for an answer because I can't do my job until I get it] "So the answer isn't abc?"

Coworker: "Oh. Yes. Abc is the right answer, do that."

WHYYYYYYYYYYYY

[bloody-bee-tea]

Goo

Jiang Cheng rapidly blinks to clear his vision, but the haze over his eyes stays where it is. It almost feels like he’s seeing double at this point, and seeing Sect Leader Yao twice does very little to improve his already poor mood, if Jiang Cheng is being honest.

While this is not Jiang Cheng’s first conference as a Sect Leader, it’s still new enough that he desperately has to try to make a good impression, and nodding off in the middle of Sect Leader Yao complaining about something or other is certainly not the way to do it.

Even though Jiang Cheng would love to do nothing more.

He’s not sure when the last time he got a full night’s sleep was, but it must be months at this point. Between caring for his infant nephew, taking over the role as Sect Leader and rebuilding Lotus Pier there is simply not enough time for him to sleep.

Not that he could even if he had the time for it, with how his nights are haunted by nightmares, but Jiang Cheng tries his best not to think of that.

Just like he’s trying very hard not to think about his shaking hands or his weak knees or how his vision keeps tilting as if he’s already falling to the side.

He cannot allow himself to show some weakness here, especially not with Jin Guangshan watching him like a hawk.

The old leech is just waiting for Jiang Cheng to make a mistake—has been since that very first meeting Jiang Cheng attended as a Sect Leader—and Jiang Cheng would rather die than play into his hands like that.

So Jiang Cheng keeps himself awake by sheer force of will for the rest of the day, and by the time Nie Mingjue puts an end to this endless farce—at least for this day—Jiang Cheng feels sluggish and slow as if he’s wading through goo instead of normal air.

He just hopes that no one else noticed it yet.

“Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang says as he sits down next to him and Jiang Cheng feels like crying.

He just wants to leave and rest his eyes for a few moments, drop the Sect Leader charade and give in to how weak he feels, but it doesn’t seem like he gets to do that yet, if Nie Huaisang wants to talk.

“What do you want?” Jiang Cheng snaps out and then winces as he realizes how unbearably rude that was.

Nie Huaisang is the beloved brother of a Sect Leader and Jiang Cheng likes to think that they are somewhat friends, and Nie Huaisang definitely deserves better than that.

“I apologize,” Jiang Cheng presses out, still way too formally, but Nie Huaisang doesn’t seem to be that offended.

At least for now.

“I guess that answers the question of how you’re doing,” Nie Huaisang muses and sends Jiang Cheng a knowing look from behind his fan.

“I’m doing just fine,” Jiang Cheng tells him, desperately trying not to burst into tears when he thinks about another day of endless talks tomorrow.

“You look like death warmed over,” Nie Huaisang shoots back and Jiang Cheng doesn’t actually have anything to say to that.

“How’s Jin Ling doing?” Nie Huaisang wants to know when Jiang Cheng stays quiet and Jiang Cheng can’t help the small smile on his face.

“He’s doing well. He’s growing so quickly,” he whispers, because Jiang Cheng still can’t believe that Jin Ling is going to turn two in a few months.

“That’s good to hear,” Nie Huaisang gives back. “It would be even better, though, if you were doing well too,” he then tacks on and Jiang Cheng flinches, before he straightens up.

“Who says I’m not?” he bites out, even though his vision is still tilting all the damn time because he’s so tired.

“You don’t look fine at all,” Nie Huaisang lowly says, and the only thing that prevents Jiang Cheng from snapping at him is the clearly worried look on Nie Huaisang’s face.

“I’m not—it’s not so bad,” Jiang Cheng whispers as he scrubs a hand over his face. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I think I do,” Nie Huaisang says, with a thoughtful look that he fails to hide behind his fan. “You need rest so you’re going to sleep.”

“Yeah, right,” Jiang Cheng scoffs, because while there is nothing he’d want to do more than go to sleep, he doubts that he can.

He can barely sleep at Lotus Pier; there is no way that he can fall asleep in a strange place, where he doesn’t feel safe.

Nie Huaisang narrows his eyes at him, and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“You can’t make me, so drop it now, Huaisang,” he tells him, but that only seems to spur Nie Huaisang on harder.

“Oh, but I know someone who can,” he says with a twinkle in his eyes and a shudder runs down Jiang Cheng’s back.

It used to be a badly hidden secret that Jiang Cheng had the worst crush on Nie Mingjue, but honestly, it’s been so long, and with everything that’s been going on recently, Jiang Cheng doesn’t think that even Nie Mingjue’s disapproval will be enough to send him to bed, no matter how much Jiang Cheng still wants to impress him.

“And would you look at that, what a coincidence, he’s just walking over here,” Nie Huaisang suddenly says, his fan hiding most of his face again and Jiang Cheng can feel a faint flush on his face.

“When the hell did you become such an insufferable schemer,” he hisses out, because this anger is always something he can fall back on even when he’s dead tired and embarrassed beyond belief, and while Nie Huaisang seems more than amused by this, Nie Mingjue’s face darkens as Jiang Cheng’s words reach him.

“He always was,” Nie Mingjue tells him with a hard glare. “Which you would know if you made any kind of effort of maintaining a friendship between the two of you.”

Jiang Cheng tenses at his tone, more than at his words. Nie Mingjue sounds honestly displeased with how Jiang Cheng has been treating Nie Huaisang, and he can’t even say anything in his defence because he has been neglecting Nie Huaisang.

There is just almost so much to do; he barely has time to eat or sleep, how the hell would he ever find time to write to Nie Huaisang when it’s not an important Sect matter? Jiang Cheng doesn’t even have time for idle chit-chat with his own people; there is no way he would find the time to sit down and put it onto paper.

“I apologize, Nie-zhongzhu. Nie-xiong,“ he then says to Nie Huaisang with a low bow. “I will take my leave.”

Jiang Cheng is already half turned away, because leaving this situation—and Nie Mingjue’s disapproving look—is the only thing on his mind right now, but then Nie Huaisang speaks up again.

“Da-ge,“Nie Huaisang whines before Jiang Cheng can run away from them. “Cut him some slack, would you?” he asks as he smacks Nie Mingjue with his fan, and Jiang Cheng thinks this is definitely the wrong way to endear Nie Mingjue towards him.

“You wouldn’t expect me to maintain non-essential friendships if I just lost you, and our entire Sect and I had to raise your baby,” Nie Huaisang says decisively and Jiang Cheng watches as the tensions drains out of Nie Mingjue at that.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he admits as he scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Jiang Wanyin.”

“There’s no need,” Jiang Cheng quickly gives back, wondering if this could be a hallucination, because Nie Mingjue is not known to apologize.

“He was just being overprotective,” Nie Huaisang says as he leans close. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah, right,” Jiang Cheng scoffs out, before he can think about it. “No one’s ever been overprotective when it comes to me,” he tacks on, voice still barely above a whisper, but Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang freeze.

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang then says, his eyes wide and pleading and Nie Mingjue nods as if he just made a decision.

Jiang Cheng can only continue to stare at them, because none of their reactions makes any sense, but then Nie Mingjue places his hand on his shoulder and it’s heavy and warm and Jiang Cheng sways under it.

“You need to sleep, Jiang Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue tells him and now Jiang Cheng feels like crying, because Nie Mingjue’s voice is soft and there is nothing in this world Jiang Cheng would like to do more, but he can’t.

“I can’t,” he whispers, finally admitting to that one weakness, and Nie Mingjue squeezes his shoulder.

“Why not?” he gently asks and Jiang Cheng hangs his head in shame.

“I mean no offence,” he starts with, because he needs to get that out of the way first, “but I don’t feel safe here. At least not enough to sleep.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Nie Huaisang starts, but Nie Mingjue cuts him off with a gesture.

“It’s not Lotus Pier,” Nie Mingjue says, and there’s understanding in his voice. “And you didn’t put up the defences of this place yourself.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng breathes out, his eyes burning again and he’s unsure if it’s because he’s so goddamn tired or if it is because someone finally understands.

“Would it help if you warded your own room?” Nie Mingjue asks, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

It would probably make him feel safe enough that he could fall asleep for a few minutes at a time, but by now Jiang Cheng knows that a few minutes are worse than no sleep at all.

“What if I sit with you?” Nie Mingjue asks next and Jiang Cheng can’t help the scoff that comes out at that suggestion.

As if Nie Mingjue really has the time to sit with him, just because Jiang Cheng cannot manage to fall asleep on his own.

“My da-ge doesn’t joke,” Nie Huaisang says, and when Jiang Cheng looks at him, he doesn’t like the look on his face at all.

It seems far too calculating for someone like Nie Huaisang.

“Come on, we should continue this talk in your own room,” Nie Huaisang says, and now even Nie Mingjue looks like he knows that Nie Huaisang is up to something, but he doesn’t say anything and instead uses the hand that is still on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder to steer him towards his assigned quarters.

The trip there is short and blessedly silent, but Jiang Cheng can’t help but to notice the hand that Nie Mingjue still keeps on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. It’s heavy with his concern and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to handle that at all.

He sees Nie Huaisang throw him some looks from the corner of his eyes, but Jiang Cheng is too tired to figure out what the hell Nie Huaisang could be thinking and so he simply allows the Nie brothers to lead the way.

When Nie Huaisang closes the door behind them, Jiang Cheng immediately gets nervous again.

“You really don’t have to,” he says before anyone else can say something but Nie Mingjue shakes his head.

“I don’t have to, but I’m offering because I want to. I don’t know if anyone told you yet, but you look like shit.”

“I did!” Nie Huaisang says immediately and Jiang Cheng sinks down on the bed.

He really doesn’t know what he got himself into when he came to this conference.

“I would be more than happy to sit with you if that helps you sleep,” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng can tell that he means it, too, but he can’t accept this.

He can’t steal that much time from Nie Mingjue.

“You need to sleep, too,” he argues because he doubts that anything else will get him somewhere.

“No offense, but I can deal with a sleepless night. You on the other hand look like you’re going to drop dead if you don’t get at least seven hours.”

“Besides, there’s still Baxia,” Nie Huaisang says, and there’s something to his voice that makes Jiang Cheng tense up.

“Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue says in warning, but Nie Huaisang isn’t paying attention to him.

“You know, da-ge’s saber? You know that she’s semi-sentient, right? Even in the off-chance that he does fall asleep, Baxia would wake him up if someone with malicious intent were to intrude on these quarters.”

“Huaisang!” Nie Mingjue snaps out, clearly not liking what Nie Huaisang just revealed, but it’s done now.

“Semi-sentient?” Jiang Cheng asks, and he can’t help but to fiddle with Zidian around his finger.

It’s a spiritual weapon, too, like Sandu is as well, but he wouldn’t describe either of them as semi-sentient.

“That’s none of your concern,” Nie Mingjue gruffly says and normally Jiang Cheng would shrink back from his tone, but he’s actually too tired for even that kind of reaction though he does make a mental note to never ask about this again.

“If you don’t believe me, you can touch her to check for yourself,” Nie Huaisang says and now Nie Mingjue turns towards him, using his full height to tower over him.

“Nie Huaisang, you will stop right this instant!”

“But da-ge, look at him! He’s going to drop dead if he doesn’t sleep and how else is he going to feel safe enough?”

“Those are Sect secrets!”

“And Jiang-xiong is not going to tell anyone else, right?” Nie Huaisang asks as he leans around his brother to look at Jiang Cheng.

“Right,” Jiang Cheng says on reflex, but then he shakes his head. “Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone about that.”

He barely believes it himself. How would he ever tell someone else about this?

There must have been something in his voice, or maybe he just makes that pitiful of a picture, because Nie Mingjue takes a deep breath and the tension visibly leaves his whole posture.

“People have been killed for talking about this,” he states matter-of-factly and Jiang Cheng immediately nods.

“I understand.”

There’s a bit of a pause, before Nie Mingjue says “You may touch her if it helps.”

Jiang Cheng’s head flies up at his words, because with how this talk was going, this is really not what he expected.

“I wouldn’t dare to,” he gets out, completely panicked at the thought that this is just another test; one he’s going to fail because there probably is no right answer to this.

“I’m offering,” Nie Mingjue says and true to his word offers Baxia to him. “Huaisang is right. Even if I fall asleep, Baxia wouldn’t allow anyone to break into here. She would wake me at the first sign that something is wrong.”

Jiang Cheng’s fingers go back to Zidian again and he wishes the same were true for his own spiritual tool. He definitely would sleep better if he knew that Zidian could wake him up or even act without his conscious thought.

“If you’re sure,” Jiang Cheng says after a long moment, and he only reaches out for Baxia when Nie Mingjue nods again.

Jiang Cheng’s fingertips have barely grazed the saber when another consciousness washes over him.

“Oh,” he breathes out in surprise, because he really didn’t expect Baxia to be like that but then the feeling of something other overwhelms him completely and Jiang Cheng doubles over.

He can feel rage and the ever-vigilant aura of something that doesn’t have to sleep, but beneath that there is unimaginable joy and something like recognition.

Jiang Cheng’s head is spinning with all these impressions but before he can drown in these emotions that are not his, Baxia retreats. She doesn’t vanish completely, though; Jiang Cheng can still feel her as a steady presence, and he knows she’s looking out for him now as well, but when Jiang Cheng blinks his eyes he notices that he stopped touching the saber.

He shouldn’t still be aware of Baxia like that.

“What the hell,” he whispers and he jerks when Baxia reflects amusement back at him, before she goes almost dormant.

It takes Jiang Cheng way too long to realize that she seems to be going dormant in Zidian and he jerks his head up when he finally does.

“What the hell,” he asks again, louder this time, and he holds his hand out. “Why is your semi-sentient saber in my spiritual tool?” he demands to know, a tinge of hysteria to his voice, but Nie Mingjue looks like Jiang Cheng is feeling which is completely overwhelmed and thoroughly confused.

“Thank the gods,” Nie Huaisang whispers and it takes Jiang Cheng way too long to turn his head and look at him, because Nie Mingjue is keeping his gaze and Jiang Cheng doesn’t actually want to look away.

“What is going on?” he asks Nie Huaisang when he finally manages to break eye contact with Nie Mingjue, even though it feels like one of the most difficult things Jiang Cheng has ever done.

“Congratulations, you’re soulmates,” Nie Huaisang says and he claps his hands together as if his words actually make any kind of sense.

“Huaisang, explain,” Nie Mingjue mildly says and Jiang Cheng can tell that he’s more fondly amused than really concerned and Jiang Cheng wonders how he can be this calm right now.

“Jiang-xiong, can you still feel Baxia?” Nie Huaisang asks instead of getting into an explanation and Jiang Cheng barely has to reach out for Zidian—for Baxia—before she responds to him.

“She’s like a cat that got the cream,” he says, because she radiates contented smugness and Jiang Cheng isn’t sure if he likes it or not.

He decides to go with not for as long as he doesn’t know what’s actually happening here.

“Da-ge, can you still feel Baxia?” Nie Huaisang asks next and Nie Mingjue nods as well.

“She’s—content. Happy.” There’s a bit of a pause. “Whole.”

“That’s good, that’s so good,” Nie Huaisang mutters and then he darts forward to hug Jiang Cheng. “Thank you so much for being my brother’s soulmate,” he whispers into his chest and Jiang Cheng brings his arms up around him on reflex, but it doesn’t do anything to alleviate his confusion.

“Can you explain?” he asks, too tired to come up with more words for his request and Nie Huaisang pulls back.

“There’s this really old legend,” he starts and Jiang Cheng sits down, because this might take a while and despite what just happened, he is still ready to keel over out of tiredness.

“The legend says that the saber spirits used to be whole; made up of a soul to know right and wrong and a heart to know compassion. But over the course of time, those two got split up. The soul was pushed into the sabers to cut down those that are wrong, but without their heart to know compassion and love, they went wild; crazy. They started to lash out against their wielders, causing them to go mad and to qi-deviate.”

“Like Baxia has been doing,” Nie Mingjue says, but the hand he puts on Baxia speaks of fondness, rather than anger.

“Yes,” Nie Huaisang nods. “But if the soul is reunited with the heart, they can heal. They can be whole again.”

“Say it clearly,” Jiang Cheng snaps out, because he’s too tired to understand the implications of all of it, though he does note down Nie Mingjue’s little remark.

It hurts his heart to think that Nie Mingjue was suffering because of Baxia. And going by the wave of sadness he gets from Zidian—from Baxia—she is hurting because of that, too.

“Zidian is Baxia’s heart,” Nie Huaisang says and then winces. “Well, Zidian wielded by you is Baxia’s heart. The tale turned into a legend, because not many people know of it; because it barely happens. Finding your soulmate like this is extremely rare, because not only do the soul and the heart have to be a match, the humans who wield them, must be too. Zidian has been around for ages; but now it’s drenched in your spiritual energy and that’s what makes it a fit.”

“Kind of reassuring to know that Madam Yu wouldn’t have made the cut,” Nie Mingjue mutters and Jiang Cheng can’t help himself, he bursts out with laughter.

“Can you even imagine that?” he wheezes out, and a very distant part of himself knows that he’s completely overreacting because of his sleep-deprivation, but he can’t stop.

“I don’t want to, actually,” Nie Mingjue drily says and then pushes Jiang Cheng gently down on the bed. “Sleep, Jiang Wanyin,” he whispers when Jiang Cheng goes easily.

Jiang Cheng tries to struggle, tries to gives this a bit more thought besides the warm feeling that fills him when he thinks that he might be made for Nie Mingjue, but his thoughts are sluggish and sleep is creeping up on him.

He reaches out for Baxia again, and he relaxes when he finds her awake and alert, ready to protect him should anything happen, and Nie Mingjue’s heavy, warm hand has moved to cup Jiang Cheng’s cheek, telling him that he’s still here, that he too would protect Jiang Cheng.

It’s enough for Jiang Cheng to finally close his eyes and give in to the darkness.

The last thing he hears before sleep takes him is a muttered “Sleep, my heart.”

It’s the best sleep he has gotten in ages.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[bouncyballcitadel]

Then Have Me - A Short Snippet

A few people were like “Dr. Grey x Vic”? And, I was like nah. But, then I was like hmm...And now here’s almost 1500 words of that lmao

mildly spicy

Underneath the cut. Gender neutral! Vic. 

You don’t know when you started fantasizing about Dr. Grey. You can’t pinpoint a particular moment, a particular point in time, when your view of him shifted—from mentor to…well, whatever filth your mind conjured up. All you know is, you didn’t have this problem before you became chief resident. And, now, sitting alone in your office, all you can think about is his hands on you—taking you apart.

You scowl and swivel in your chair. This is inconvenient. No, more than inconvenient. Morally untenable. Peter—no, you correct yourself, Dr. Grey—is your attending, the chief of NINO surgery, your boss. So you’re not a baby resident anymore. You’re chief. You’re almost an attending: just a year’s difference. You’re almost equals, technically, so it’s not that terrible…

You hiss in frustration and resist the urge to bang your head against your desk. Out of all the people to lust after, why him? Why the person you most admire? A man so out of your league that it’s almost pathetic, how much you want his mouth on yours (or him smiling at you, or him holding you close)—stop. 

It’s impossible. Even if it wasn’t a grey zone (ha!) ethics-wise, there’s no way he’d go for someone like you. Just look at his ex-wife. Neurosurgeon, turned admin shark. You’re…what? Just a resident, at the end of the day, whose hands still shake sometimes during surgery. Ale has always said you were a catch, but in comparison to Dr. Grey? 

Not a chance. 

You startle when you hear a knock on your door. It’s almost 11 p.m.—who could possibly want you at this hour? Who could still possibly be here in this hospital at this hour? 

“Vic?” 

Shit. 

You take a deep breath, and try to arrange your face into your most neutral expression, your I-was-not-just-thinking-about-your-tongue-down-my-throat expression, before you open the door.

Dr. Grey’s standing in front of you, as stupidly handsome as ever. He’s probably been up since five in the morning, but he wears it well: his hair tousled just so, that trace of a five o’clock shadow on his face. How is it that you have more eye bags than he does? It is decidedly unfair.

“I saw the light was still on,” Dr. Grey says. You realize belatedly that you’re blocking the doorway, and you step aside to let him in. “It’s late…you should head home.”

You shrug, keeping your voice nonchalant. “I had some work to catch up on. I’m almost done.”

I’ve also being imagining you fucking me senseless, but that’s neither here nor there.

“I see.” Dr. Grey clears his throat. It’s strange, this look on his face. He looks uncomfortable, but why? 

You run through the past week in your head. Did you fuck up during one of his cases? No. Maybe it’s something about how you’re doing as chief? But, he just praised you when you met with him last Wednesday. 

“It’s just…” Dr. Grey sighs. “I think you’ve been avoiding me. And, I was wondering why?”

You feel your cheeks flush against your will, and you turn around quickly to close the door—just so he won’t see before you can get yourself under control. So you haven’t been subtle. You thought you were, but of course Dr. Grey’s as perceptive as he is competent. How can you pretend that everything is normal around him, when you’re literally imagining the nastiest things he could do to you when you’re at home, when you’re bored in the office? It’s gross, this…this attraction you have towards him. You see his hands, and you just want them to run over your body. You see his mouth, and you just want them between your legs. 

“I haven’t,” you mutter. You walk to your desk, purposefully ignoring his gaze, and start packing up for the day. “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” You don’t need to look at him to hear the doubt in his voice. “You can tell me, if I’ve done something wrong.”

This is truly hell. Not only are you lusting after your attending, your attending thinks that he’s offended you. You want to crawl into a hole and die. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” you say between your teeth. You zip up your backpack with a sharp jerk of your hand. “It’s not you at all.”

“What is it then?” You make the mistake of looking up, and you see the worry in Dr. Grey’s eyes. 

Fuck.

“You can tell me,” Dr. Grey says gently. “I’m your mentor, aren’t I? That’s what I’m here for.”

Double fuck.

You clench your jaw, debating whether you should just leave. No, that would be rude. And—damn it, if you still don’t want to please him (in multiple ways, your traitorous mind whispers). 

“It’s not something you can fix,” you finally say. 

Tell me, Dr. Grey, how I can stop thinking about you.

“What?” Dr. Grey blinks. 

“What?” you say. Now he looks taken aback, pale even. Surely he’s not that invested in your problems? “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You…” Dr. Grey trails off, and then seems to steel himself. “You think about me?”

FUCK.

If you wanted to crawl into a hole and die before, this is a thousand times worse. You want to self-immolate. You want to crumble into dust. This is officially the worst day of your life. 

“I—” The words seem to dry in your mouth. “I…”

You stare at him. He stares at you. You realize that he’s only a foot away from you. So close. You could close the gap very easily. You could touch his face, lean in, and…

Well. As the saying goes. In for a penny.

You take a step closer. He doesn’t move. You can’t read his expression, but when your hand cups his cheek, you feel his touch on your wrist—firm. 

“What are you doing?” Dr. Grey whispers. 

“I don’t know,” you admit. You can feel the heat in your face, but you ignore it. There are a thousand rational alarm bells ringing in your head, but you ignore them too. The words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. Or, maybe, you don’t want to stop them.

“I want you,” you say softly. “You have no idea.”

His hand around your wrist, his face so close. You want to kiss him—but you know you can’t make this move. Only him. 

You feel your stomach drop when he lets go of you and steps away. Your arm falls to your side, slack. 

“I…” Dr. Grey starts, then stops, then says, “I can’t.”

“I see.” You hate how wounded you feel in this moment. “I should get going. If we could never talk about this again—”

“Vic.” His voice stops you before you can leave. You swivel around slowly…and you’re shocked by what you think is pain on Dr. Grey’s face.

“I’m your attending,” Dr. Grey says slowly. “This isn’t…it wouldn’t be…”

“Do you want me?” you say. 

The answer, when it comes, is barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

“Then have me,” you choke out. 

Dr. Grey shakes his head. “It’s not that simple. You know it’s not that simple.”

“For once, I wish you weren’t such a good guy,” you snap. You know it’s wrong, to get angry at him for doing the right thing, but you can’t help yourself. You feel humiliated, you feel dirty—you never want to show your face at Citadel again—and his arms are around you suddenly, and you realize that you are, in fact, crying, and despite everything, you drop your head on his shoulder and bury your face there. 

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Grey says. “I’m so sorry.”

“You must pity me,” you manage to say. You can’t believe you’re sobbing like some intern in a supply closet. 

“No,” Dr. Grey says. His hands are on your back, rubbing soothing circles between you’re shoulder blades. It’s so nice you want to cry even more. “I’d never pity you.”

Then, Dr. Grey says, “Just…give me some time.”

You look at him. “Time for what?”

“To think about things,” he says. The two of you are pressed so close, you can feel the heat of his body against yours. 

You shouldn’t hope. Yet.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

[thedistrictsleepsalonetonight]

Head over feet (or Jamie’s not a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, thank you very much)

There are only two reasons Bly Manor could ever be completely silent - one, that somebody had died, and two, that Owen and Jamie were fighting. Again.

(It’s sad that there was an equal chance of either of those possibilities occurring)

She looks up when Dani walks in, and watches her immediately let out a deep breath. Dani raises an eyebrow.

“He called me a manic pixie dream girl,” she explains.

Dani goes through an extremely complicated face journey in the span of ten seconds. It’s impressive to watch.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” she says, despite Hannah frantically shaking her head from where she’s sitting at the table. “He called you a what now?”

“I didn’t call her a manic pixie dream girl,” Owen clarifies, his mouth twitching in amusement. “I may have just pointed out that her entire life kind of—”

Jamie glares at him. He side-eyes her.

“—maybe—”

Jamie shifts.

“—Dani, she’s threatening me,” he complains, like the giant baby that he is.

Dani walks up to her, slings an arm over her shoulders, and Jamie feels herself relax. Two cords start from where she’s being touched — one sneaks its way over her back and through her body, spreading warmth everywhere it goes; the other goes straight to her heart. It’s almost embarrassing how quick her body goes slack and boneless when Dani is around, as though it’s been reduced, simply, to something malleable in Dani’s tender hands.

“Let him talk, babe,” is whispered into her ear, and well, who is Jamie to argue against someone who happens to own her whole entire heart.

“I just called her a two-dime rom-com love interest archetype,” Owen finally manages to complete. “Because, and this you may have noticed yourself, her entire world revolves around you! And she’s constantly following you around like a puppy dog! And — and — I was bored!”

After a full minute of staring, Dani asks him what’s wrong with that, right when Jamie says that she absolutely does not. The silence that follows just sees them staring at each other, one a deer caught in the headlights of an incoming tornado, the other very offended.

“Oops,” says Owen in the background, the little shit.

*****

She knows Dani’s in the greenhouse even before she emerges from under the table.

That’s a cliché if she’s ever heard one, but the way Dani walks is so distinctive that there’s nothing else in the world like it. Nothing that even comes close to the particular brand of quick click-clack that accompanies her arrival, the way the steps fall like they’re trying to sound more confident than they are, in reality.  

She can almost see what it looks like up there: her girlfriend, probably walking with a cup of some absolutely horrible, disgusting tasting beverage that Jamie would adore regardless of its flavor. Except there’s a second, softer set of footsteps that follow, keep walking, until she raises her head a bit and sees Flora’s tiny slippers pointed right at her.

“Jamie,” Flora announces loudly, “I have come here on behalf of Miss. Clayton, to apologize for the misunderstanding caused in the morning.”

Jamie takes a deep breath so she doesn’t burst out laughing. Damn her girlfriend for using the deadliest weapon available to her.

“Flora,” she answers to no one in particular, “Could you tell Miss. Clayton that her words made Jamie feel undervalued and taken for granted and that her apology is not accepted.”

There’s a pause. “Flora,” Dani says, “Could you tell Jamie that Dani knows her words were thoughtless and while a mistake, not entirely inaccurate and—”

“Flora, could you tell Dani that her apology needs work—”

“—Flora, could you tell Jamie that she needs to let me explain before she starts grumping again—”

“I beg your pardon!” Flora declares over their combined whining. “I’m sorry, Miss Clayton, but I really can’t do this anymore. Could the both of you please, please, talk to each other yourself?

There’s some whispering back and forth, then footsteps running away. Jamie waits.

“Are you gonna come out now?”

“I came out a long time ago.”

She hears Dani sigh, very loudly, then — “You know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean. Maybe I want to stay down here and not see your face anymore. Did you ever think of that?”  

Dani’s voice turns adoring, and Jamie hates, hates (loves) the way her will bends to it. “But maybe I want to see your face, sweetheart.”

Jamie sticks her tongue out for an embarrassingly long time before she realizes it probably isn’t visible.  

“If you don’t come out of there,” Dani says, “I will get underneath it with you. Fair warning.”

Jamie smiles, waits.

“Coming in three, two, ow!”

And with that Jamie is out from under the table in a flash, leaning over Dani and that massive, red looking bump on her forehead. Her hands are on Dani before she can even think, one gently rubbing at the welt, the other on her cheek.

“Idiot,” she chides, unable to think How bad does it hurt over and over, “Why can’t you be more careful?”

“Why should I when I already have the best girlfriend in the world to do that for me?”

“Dani Clayton, sweet talker extraordinaire,” she says, pretending to swoon. Leans forward, and presses a gentle kiss to the gradually darkening bruise. “Better?”

Dani’s smile when she nods is so wide that her eyes are almost completely closed.

*****

“We don’t do things together.”

“We do plenty of things together.”

“Oh, like that time I cut your roses to make my collage and you told me it was ugly?”

“You cut up my roses to make One Direction fanart!”

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t dancing to Best Song Ever in the kitchen back when it had just come out!”

Hands balled up into fists, faces flushed. Jamie and Miles stare at each other for a minute before they simultaneously relax. Jamie rolls her eyes, passes the gloves over to him.

“You’re the worst,” she says.

“And you’re a.... wait, what was it Owen had called you? A two-dime rom-com love interest?”

She blushes, and is glad for the sun high up in the sky. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you eavesdropping is rude?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my parents must have skipped that lesson during the time they were still alive.”

“You can’t pull that card on me, remember? I’m also an orphan with major abandonment issues.”

Miles shakes his head, continues pulling up the weeds in the garden bed. He’d been supremely unimpressed when she had dragged him out for “A day of fun”, and true to form, was continuing his trend of being completely unhelpful with her mission to make him do an honest day’s work.

(Also with her mission to prove to the entire household that she could, in fact, do things not involving her girlfriend)

She tells him to suck it up when he complains about the heat. He does look frazzled, though. There’s sweat dripping off of his forehead, and his hair is weirdly plastered to his head in places. He raises his head, looks longingly at the house and Jamie follows his line of sight until she can just barely make out the outline of people moving in the kitchen.

She thinks of Dani inside, and feels such a strange wave of yearning overcome her that her knees feel weak. It’s only been a whole day since she’s talked properly to her girlfriend, but already the thought of sitting next to her, within touching distance has her considering giving up on this entire “avoiding the love of her life to prove a point to a complete dum-dum" endeavor.

“What does it feel like?”  

Jamie drags her eyes away and looks at Miles. He’s looking at her curiously, his palm held over his eyes to shield him from the sun.

“What, gardening?” she asks in response, even though she knows what he really means.

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

She thinks it over. “I’m.... not sure. I love her. Just don’t know if I can articulate it well enough for anyone to understand, let alone myself.”

“But how do you know you love her?”

“Gosh, does anyone? It’s always a toss-up. It just feels right to me, I guess. I want to know her favorite everything, to consume her favorite everything because there’s a part of her in them. I trust myself to be ugly around her. To be sad, or happy, or whatever. I trust her to still like me if I’m not the best version of myself around her. It’s.... complicated.”

He nods, not looking like he gets it entirely. “Weird.”

She reaches out to mess up his hair, laughing when he protests. “Ah, you’re young yet. You’ll get there when you do.”

He hums.

“Or — or not!” she scrambles to add. “You might not get there. Which would also be okay. Totally. Okay.”

He smiles at her. “Hopefully not,” he says, lips twitching. “I’d rather die than become a manic pixie dream girl.”

She almost regrets the soil she launches at his face. Almost.

*****

She sneaks into the chapel towards evening, and nearly scares Hannah out of her wits when she turns around.

“Goodness, Jamie,” Hannah gasps, hand on her chest, “What are you doing here?”

“I came.... to pray,” she replies, picking up a random candlestick and flipping it.

Hannah looks at her in that all-knowing way of hers. “I assure you, that’s definitely not the way to do it, then. And I didn’t know you even believed in a higher power.”

“The only higher power I believe in is the stupid woman stomping around the grounds,” she says, wistfully, sinking down onto the bench opposite to where Hannah is already seated. Then immediately pinches herself on the wrist. “Damn it, I’m not supposed to be talking about her. Or to her.”

“Wait,” Hannah says, realization dawning, “Are you avoiding Dani? Is that why you’re here?”

She throws her arms up before resting her face on the corner of the bench in front of her, feeling very much like a smitten Regency era heroine. “If I’m around her, I won’t be able to resist talking to her. Or touching her. Or just, you know, looking at her like she’s the reason the universe was chucked into existence years and years ago. Trust me, it’s easier to avoid her.”

“I am going to kill that man.”

“Eh, it’s not just Owen,” Jamie remarks, in a surprising show of grace. “I’m also afraid I’m being—”

“—what? Sweet? Romantic? Absolutely swoon-worthy?”

“Clingy,” she confesses, feeling embarrassed. “What if I am bothering her by wanting to be with her most of my time?” What if I’m the only one who wants to be with her most of my time? What does that mean? Does that mean she doesn’t love me as much? Want me as much?

Hannah sits and listens patiently. God, Jamie loves her so much. If the concept of best friends existed in her world, this woman would definitely be hers.

“My ex-husband used to think I was clingy,” she says, after a while of deliberation. “Said I never gave him any space. Would get annoyed if I wanted to spend time with him after dinner.”

Jamie lets her continue.

“Remember when I went up to the village in the evening and returned late night, a long time after all of you had eaten?” she asks, and Jamie nods. “I returned at 11, and found Owen asleep at the table, two covered plates lying beside him. The man had waited for me so we could have dinner together, so we could spend half an hour together before we had to go to bed.”

“So here’s the thing,” she goes on, “Space is definitely important in a relationship and I’m pretty sure you and Dani give each other a lot of it. But take it from me, she doesn’t think you’re clingy; she could never think you’re clingy because she’s equally, stupidly in love with you and invested in this.”

Jamie feels something inside her unclench, making it easier for her to breathe. “She loves me?”

Hannah laughs, softly. “Darling, can’t you see it yourself?”

Jamie thinks that she’s beginning to.

*****

“You cannot still be angry at me,” Owen says, after a very awkward ten minutes in the kitchen together.

“Try me,” she snarks back, although it lacks bite. Her anger is easy; it rises up like a furious hurricane within minutes and is swept away just as soon.

“Okay fine,” he admits, sitting on the chair next to her as he hands her a glass of lemonade, “Fine, you’re not a manic pixie dream—”

“—two-dime romcom love interest archetype, I believe it was—”

“—okay alright, then that too. I was just—”

“—but I was!” bursts out of her in a rush, and she slumps over the table, facedown. “I spent the entire day away from her and still couldn’t stop talking about her or thinking about her or wanting her. You know what? I know that makes me pathetic but I want to talk about my girlfriend to others! She’s perfect! She’s amazing! Ethereal! Beautiful! An angel! And I am a — a stupid love interest!”

He laughs, the asshole, and then thumps her back.

“Jamie,” he starts, “Come on. Do you think I can stop thinking about Hannah when we’re apart? Or that I don’t always want her near me? For heaven’s sake, I’m always making random snacks during the day so I can have an excuse to track her down and feed her.”

She looks at him, the embarrassment now turning to acute irritation. “Then why would you — wait, you know what — you’re a fucking asshole!”

He can’t stop laughing. Grabs her into a headlock so she can’t get up and continues laughing until she pinches at his arm.

“Are you still angry?” he inquires, after he’s done catching his breath.

“Yes!”

“Jamie, my darling,” he says, very formally, “I was just angry because we hadn’t spent time together in so damn long.”

She regards him. “What? No? We hung out just—”

He waits.

“—oh.”

“Last time we got drunk together was two weeks ago. Then, nada. I’m not saying that it’s all you. God knows I’ve done my fair share of forgetting to hang out because I was already with Hannah and it was difficult to tear myself away, I just — yeah.”

The smile that she can feel creeping up all over her face is the devil. “Owen, are you saying you miss me?”

His face darkens. “Oh fuck you.”

“Owen Sharma misses me, Owen Sharma misses me....”

“Jaime, I’m literally going to kill you.”

*****

She screams when Dani does and nearly falls off the ledge.

(Listen, in her defense, she hasn’t seen her girlfriend in over 24 hours. A show of impulse romance by climbing up the ledge right up to Dani’s room can certainly be excused)

(Also, she’s a little drunk)

“You scared me!” she says, with Dani now holding on to her.

“I scared you?” Dani exclaims. “You — I turned around and you’re suddenly at the window like a haunted owl or something.”

“Why the fuck would an owl haunt you?”

Dani opens her mouth, then closes it again. Jamie counts it as a personal victory.

She climbs over the window and lands on the inside of the room. Dani leans forward, kisses her, then draws back.

“Are you — are you drunk?”

“A little,” Jamie disentangles from her to raise her right hand with her thumb and forefinger held a tiny span apart. “Only a leetle. I was with Owen.”

“Ah, so the manic pixie dream girl and best boy have made up?” Dani teases, then quickly kisses her cheek when she protests.

“How did your experiment go?” she adds.

“Terrible. Horrible,” Jamie answers. “I kept talking about you wherever I went. It was embarrassing. If there is a lesbian equivalent of the Bechdel test, we most certainly did not pass it.”

Dani kisses at her pout until it switches to a smile, and Jamie can physically feel the elation fill her body until she guesses she’s probably floating on air by now. There’s something about being around Dani that relaxes every part of her, makes her feel so light that she thought if she could just jump hard enough, she’d float away like a heart-shaped balloon. Jamie tightens her hold on Dani, buries her face in her hair, and breathes her in until all of her senses are filled up with her.

(If wanting to hug her girlfriend like a panda all the time makes her clingy, so be it)

“If it makes you feel any better,” Dani says, still hugging her, “I couldn’t stop talking about you either. I kept bugging Hannah or Owen or whoever was nearest, asking them what you were up to. A really pretty song played on the radio and I thought — I can dance with Jamie to this. I tried watching a movie, and all I could think was, If Jamie had been here, she would definitely have hidden her face in my shoulder at this part. I was cold and lonely at night, and I thought If Jamie were here, she would have put her hand on my—”

“—Dani!” she says, scandalized.

“—back to warm me up,” Dani completes, smoothly, and then pulls back to look at her. “So we could cuddle and go to sleep. Why, what were you thinking?”

Jamie tries, she really does. However, only five seconds later, she’s kissing her stupid, annoying, idiotic girlfriend again.

“Let’s never do that, okay?” she says. “I kept tossing and turning all night.”

“You’re telling me,” Dani deadpans. “I slept on the floor on a mattress because the bed was just too damn empty without you there.”

“The drama,” Jamie says, although she’s smiling too wide for it to register. “Well, hopefully, you wouldn’t have to sleep without your angsty, brooding love interest ever again.”

“Oh,” Dani quirks an eyebrow, tilts her head. “Does that mean this is our happy ending?”

Jamie kisses her again, feels her smile and is more inclined to think they’re in the wonderful, beautiful, middle forever.

[petersasteria]

The Forces of Nature || Ch.12

Pairing: Peter Parker x Superhero!Reader

Summary: “There’s this kid out there that can control the wind or something. I think she’s a great addition to the team. Let’s recruit her.”

SERIES MASTERLIST  ||  PP MASTERLIST

"...𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧." - Jordan Harbinger

Just when Peter and Y/N thought everything was alright between them, it went back to normal. Y/N didn't know what happened, she didn't know what she did to somehow offend Peter. Heck, she didn't even know she offended him. She was clueless. She tried to make things better, but Peter ended up hating her even more. She wasn't giving up, though.

On Peter's side, he knew full well why he started acting up again. Ever since the first training, all he could hear were praises. Not to or for him. Oh, no. How he wished all their praises were dedicated to him. Instead, they were all for Y/N. It was always Y/N this, Y/N that. Peter was getting sick of it.

It wasn't just the Avengers, though. It was also the people at school.

"Hey Y/N! I need help in rehearsing for the graduation song." Ned nicely asked. Peter cleared his throat and said, "I can help you!"

"Thanks, Peter! But this is Y/N's expertise." Ned said and turned to Y/N, waiting for her answer. Peter gave a tight-lipped smile and broke his pencil with one hand in anger and bitterness. Y/N saw this and quickly took a pencil from her bag.

"Here you go, Peter. You can have it. I have so many pencils at home." Y/N said kindly as she handed him the pencil. Peter just looked at it, though. So, she left it near Peter and started helping Ned.

"Jealous, Parker?" MJ asked with a smirk.

"No." He answered quickly. "Anything she can do, I can do better. I'm the best!"

"Ned and I will be the judge of that." MJ said and turned back to her book.

Later that day, it was training again at the compound. Y/N and Peter were training with Steve and Natasha. Since they were training in the same room, Steve and Peter could see Natasha and Y/N training on the other side of the room.

"You're getting better at this, Y/N!" Natasha smiled after Y/N basically tackled her down. She helped Natasha up with happiness flowing through her.

"Thank you! I try my best." Y/N shrugged.

"I agree with Nat." Steve said from across the room. "You're a natural, Y/N. You really do belong here."

Peter was jealous. How come she got praise for everything she was doing? After all, they're quite similar. They're both geniuses, they're both great at training sessions, they're kind and sweet. He knew that he was being sort of ridiculous, but in his point of view, his feelings were valid.

To make things worse, Tony was hanging out with Y/N now. Peter felt extreme jealousy and anger bubbling inside of him. It was like a real family situation.

Tony, Peter's father-figure and mentor, suddenly favored the other kid aka Y/N over him. It was all so sudden. She was just new and everyone loved her. Even Sam and Bucky loved her. Peter was still in the 'we only tolerate you' level with Bucky and Sam, so how come Y/N isn't on the same level as him?

Sometimes, he felt as if Y/N was mocking him. Peter would screw up sometimes and then Y/N would somehow be there right behind him to help and fix it.

"Call me when you need me, Pete. I'd be glad to help!"

"Do you need anything?"

"No wonder you couldn't get it right. You're doing it the wrong way, Peter!"

He was tired of it. He was officially done with her and done with everyone. If everyone thought that Y/N was the best, then he'd make sure that he was the worst.

"Hey, Y/N/N! Have you seen Peter? He was supposed to be here two hours ago." Steve asked and looked at his watch.

"I don't know, actually. I thought he was already here. I didn't see him after school because I had glee club practice." Y/N frowned and pulled out her phone. As she was about to type a text, Peter walked in with a relaxed smile on his face.

"Where the hell have you been, kid?" Steve asked. As angry as he was, he kept his composure. Y/N lifted her phone a bit and said, "I was just about to text you. Where were you?"

"At home." Peter shrugged. "I took a nap after school."

"...So, you didn't patrol?" Y/N asked.

"Nope." Peter said, popping the 'p'.

"Why not?" She frowned. "You love patrolling and you're great at that."

"Yeah? Well, if you're so better than me like everyone else has been saying, why don't YOU patrol?" Peter snapped. Y/N stayed quiet and Steve was shocked at his outburst. He's never heard Peter lash out like that before. It was new and different. It was so foreign to him.

The next day at school, Peter was assigned to be the group leader in English class. When he saw that Y/N was his group mate, he called the teacher's attention.

"Yes, Mr. Parker?"

"I don't want to be the leader of this group. I'd like to be a member instead and I want Y/N to be the leader." Peter faked a smile. "You see, she's really smart and she could do anything."

Y/N looked at Peter and quickly shook her head. She didn't want to be the group leader. Peter just smirked and his smirk grew wider when the teacher allowed it.

"Congrats on your leader position, Y/N! I'm sure you'll do just fine. You can do anything, right?" Peter said and leaned back on his chair, waiting for Y/N give out orders on what to do.

Y/N didn't know why Peter was acting that way. She truly wanted to ask, but she was scared. She was hurt, annoyed, mad, and confused. How can Peter's attitude just shift like that?

-

"Hey, kid! Can you help me in the lab? I have a few modifica-"

"No." Peter answered shortly and ate his chips while watching tv on the couch. He grabbed the remote and changed the channel.

Tony looked at him as if Peter grew another head, "W-What do you mean 'no'?"

"No means no, Mr. Stark." Peter answered.

"I get that, but you don't usually say 'no' to me. Besides, you might like what we're going to do in the lab. It's for a new-"

"Nah. Count me out of that shit." Peter chuckled.

"Is this all a joke to you, Parker?" Tony asked.

Normally, Peter would be scared and he'd drop the act. Alas, he kept going. Nothing will stop him in keeping his act together.

"No, it's not a joke to me. You asked and I answered. Where the hell is the joke in that?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "Besides, you can ask your new pet, Y/N. She's around here somewhere- oH, RIGHT! She's out patrolling like I told her to."

"Isn't that your job?!"

"Yes, but since everyone here claims that she's better than everyone else, I gave her my job so that she has something to do."

"And what'll you do?" Tony crossed his arms.

"Something I've never done before."

"And that is-?"

"Relaxing." Peter smiled and laid down on the couch as he continued to switch channels and eat a family-sized bag of chips. Tony frowned at his protégé before going back to the lab.

-

"Any ideas on how to defeat the swine flu guy?" Rhodey asked as his eyes wandered around the room filled with Avengers.

"We could strategize a plan on how to attack him! Villains in movies usually have a pattern or something when they kill so that people would know that it was them. All we have to do is search through the whereabouts of the swine guy and-"

"You do it then if you're so clever." Peter piped up and drank his water.

"Excuse me?" Y/N said.

"You're just wasting your time on telling us how to do shit, so why don't you just do it yourself?" Peter shrugged. He looked at everyone and chuckled, "We have ourselves a prodigy of some sort in our midst. We'll have to use her talent and brains."

"What the hell, Peter." Natasha said and Peter could only shrug.

"She could do it on her own because she's so powerful. She's the most powerful person in this room because she can control everything! So, let's cut some slack and let her do all the work. She's just new, anyway. She has to learn a thing or two." Peter said as he got up from his chair.

"Where do you think you're going?!" Sam asked.

"Home, duh." Peter said and grabbed his back pack. "Have fun with your new task, Y/N!" With that, he smiled and left.

"I know this is so out of character, but I miss the old Peter." Bucky said after a moment of silence.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but same." Sam sighed. "Something isn't right with that kid."

"Definitely." Y/N nodded her head in agreement. Whatever Peter was feeling, she didn't care about it anymore. She just wanted the old Peter back until then, she's allowed to get super annoyed and angry at the new Peter.

* * * *

IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG SKSKS I LEGIT DIDNT KNOW HOW TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @blueleatherbag​ @harryismysunflower @buckys-little-hoe @justanothermarvelmaniac​ @itstaskeen @sandystoriess @heeeyitskay @slytherin-chaser @quaksonhehe @yaya4302 @lil-mellow-bunbun @starlight-starks @swiftmind​ @alexx-stancati​ @sovereignparker​ @nerdyandproudofitsstuff​ @pearce14​ @xfirstfemale-marauderx​ @cherthegoddess​ @chewymoustachio​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @parkerlovebot​

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @marvelousell @justasmisunderstoodasloki @rubberducky-jrr @petersholland @osterfieldnholland @miraclesoflove @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @perspectiveparker @parker-potters @itstaskeen @call-me-baby-gir1 @the-panwitch @iamaunicorn4704 @chloecreatesfictions @holland-styles @halfblood-princess-505 @spidey-reids-2003 @herbatkazmiloscia @whatthefuckimbisexual​ @justanothermarvelmaniac​ @unsaidholland​ @musicalkeys​ @lost-in-the-stars03​ @hufflepuffprincess24​ @hollanddolanfangirl​ @parkerpeter24​ @bellelittleoff

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Jenny’s  Belated Live Blogging - 23rd September 2019

- yep...that was as dull as the live blogging made it seem. Haha. But no creepy Nate and lack of motivation Moira so yes...silver linings. 

- The thing with the Home Farm drama is that it’s just so silly and pointless. And so clunkily set up with the whole horse thing. And all to make Graham relevant and give them all something to do?? I don’t know why they keep trying to do something with Graham. He’s been less than useless since Joe left and he wasn’t even good for most of that either. 

- They’ve totally messed up with Jamie’s character. They brought him in as an eager young vet student who needed a job. They had him living with Rhona and not wanting to be associated with Kim because he didn’t want to be like her. They had this interesting relationship between him and Rhona and Kim with Rhona being sort of the go between and sympathetic to both sides. Jamie was sympathizing with the Dingles and hanging out with Belle. It all made a lot of sense. I still don’t think he was the most interesting character at the start but he could have been a decent village character and a nice guy for Belle to date post Lachlan. But then they burdened him with a wife he has no chemistry with and a daughter that has aged him like 20 years. They again tried to make Graham relevant by having him have paid Andrea to ‘look after’ Jamie. But then that just got forgiven really quick so what was the point. And then they moved them all up to Home Farm and turned him into some anti private school, anti Kim for pointless reasons, whiny jerk and I just...don’t get it. Blech. 

- Graham should just be Millie’s father. Andrea and Jamie should break up. Jamie should leave the village in shame. Andrea can move to the village and just be Leyla’s business partner. Millie can be the psycho child she was born to be and murder Graham for taking away her dad from her and then Kim can just be even more ruthless in taking over the village until Andrea, in her grief over Millie going to young offenders at age 5 (can that happen?), can lead the charge to depose Kim and then Aaron...mid post Robert spiral can burn Home Farm down with the rest of the village. #HireMe

- Anyway...Bear is also the worst and I can’t believe this kiss plot is still going on. At least I can sort of see how it would actually affect Belle but it’s still dumb. She’s nearly 21, surely she can understand that it was a mistake and that nothing has happened since. It all just seems really forced. Surely if they wanted to set up her struggling with college, they could have gone almost any other route. Hell, Zak could have actually had a real thing with Faith. At least then this would all be worth it and maybe I would have to endure less of Bear. 

- I enjoy Mandy kind of purely for seeing her and Chas spar with each other because I’ve missed this Chas. Her and Paddy still make no sense to me as a couple. Even less than they used to. She just seems soooo disinterested in him. They haven’t had any scenes to themselves since she’s been back and they’re going to have a baby in like a month. So it just seems odd to me. I would barely even realize they were together if I just started watching. 

- I do like the Jai and Archie and Rishi stuff. Although I wish Jai would cut Rishi some slack on the chocolate thing. At least they used it today to show that he was down about not connecting with Archie. And the little moment in the cafe with Rishi and Archie and the chocolate was cute. 

[catbowserauthor]

A few more Hobbit thoughts, mainly Bilbo and Thorin, and a small snippet of a probable story

So, I'm working on my next few pieces for my Hobbit AU and something popped up that I have been thinking about a while. Now, don't get me wrong, I love to see awkward Thorin. It's adorable. Seeing a King put out of his element is great...

Having said that though, something I see a lot in fanfiction is that Thorin is utterly clueless when it comes to children, especially a little Frodo whereas Bilbo takes to it like a fish to water. Again, I like these stories because they always have some awesome cute and bonding moments.

But honestly? I think it would be reversed.

Thorin, at least by most fan (and the movie's backdrop, possibly the book's) standards helped to raise Fili and Kili. Several of the actors stated that Thorin has developed a "father-like" relationship with his nephews. Given that dwarves appear to age slower than Men or Hobbits (at least by most fan interpretations as we have no canon on how they actually age, save they live to be around 250) and value the children they do have like gold, Thorin should probably be old hat at this. I'd imagine a Hobbit child would be much easier than a Dwarf child.

Then, we have Bilbo, who while an awesome character is the definition of a major introvert. Heck, in the books, he states that he uses his magic ring to avoid social situations. It doesn't look like he has much interactions with other Hobbits before his adventure, let alone Hobbit children. By the time Frodo is orphaned originally, he has developed some skills but I still stand by the fact that he would be a novice at best!

I'd love to see more stories where it's Thorin showing Bilbo the ropes.

Dabbled in it a bit....

***

All of this had been planned so well. Bilbo had made plans for Thorin’s arrival, taking into account the Dwarf King’s horrific (or non-existent) sense of direction. By all accounts, Frodo should have been back with Primula and Drogo a whole day before his old friend arrived.

  That was not what had happened.

  For probably the first and only time in his life, Thorin had arrived early and with nary a bit of trouble locating Bag End. Per his explanation, he had seen no reason to stop one eve, given he was quite energetic and pursued onward through the night, cutting almost two days from his journey. It had resulted in him arriving late in the evening, not two hours after Primula had dropped off Frodo.

  So much for Bilbo’s well-laid plans.

  Yes, yes, he had been looking forward to this visit but now he was very much tempted to strangle his old friend with his own braids. The infernal dwarf was laughing at him. He was! Standing in the shadow of the doorframe, watching his struggle with a twinkle in his eyes, a rumbling chest and occasionally taking a drag from his pipe. Even in his sleeping slacks and night tunic, the blasted dwarf managed to look intimidating and Bilbo Baggins did not appreciate being laughed at. Not one bit.

  Snarling, if just a bit, Bilbo countered “Well, Mister-Informed, feel free to try your hand at this!”

  Putting out his pipe and laying it on the table, Thorin remarked, surprisingly, “Alright.”

  The Hobbit was forced to admit that he had not anticipated this response. However, he was willing to relent and let his friend try. Perhaps then he would stop this laughter! Let’s see how the dwarf felt when he was the one on the receiving end of the faunt’s protests. Everyone knew it was far easier to criticize than correct! While still keeping a hand on the baby’s chest to prevent him from falling, Bilbo gave a simple nod to his friend as he approached. The blasted dwarf wasn’t even looking at him or the baby! He was looking around the room as if an answer to the predicament would appear.

  Thorin knelt, scooping up something from the bag Primula had left and approached, dropping to one knee to make the process easier. His large hand replaced Bilbo’s and he inquired in that deep voice “His name is Frodo, yes?”

  Nodding in response, Bilbo stepped back and he was rather astounded at what followed.

  Thorin Oakenshield had always been a rather gruff and stern figure but as he looked down at the infant faunt that was barely as large as his hand, the King Under the Mountain smiled and it was a smile that spread through his face and up to his eyes. His gravelly voice softened significantly and one finger gently poked Frodo in the nose, “Ah, little Frodo, I know this is hardly fun for any of us…” he paused, dropped his voice and oh, was that…yes, that…he was heightening it! “But, would you look here?” The Dwarf King twirled his fingers, producing the small brightly colored plush flower he had retrieved from Primula’s bag. “Look at that, just for you, my lad!”

  With the colored plush less than an inch from his face, Frodo’s eyes lit up. His attention was focused and little gummy hands reached up and grasped the stuffed item, immediately bringing it to his mouth, intent on exploring it with his gums. With the faunt’s attention occupied, his squirming ceased.

  Thorin, with far more precision than Bilbo was aware any being possessed, let alone a dwarf with such large hands, took this opportunity to wipe the little faunt down with a dampened cloth that Bilbo had laid by the table, dry him, and then with nary a pause in his procedure, wrap the lad within new layers of cloth. All of this was done within a few seconds and then the chuckling king was scooping the child up and settling him in Bilbo’s astounded arms. He cleaned up the table, again with such detailed precision, before heading towards the washroom.

  Bilbo, the now quiet faunt happily chewing on his toy, still in his arms, followed.

  “Thorin…” He inquired, softly. “I…when…since when do you know such about infants?”

  Loud, boisterous laughter greeted him as Thorin rubbed his hands down with soap and water. “Oh, you know little, Bilbo Baggins. That is hardly the first nappy I’ve changed in my life nor is little Frodo the worst. I’d wager that Fili was far worse. Kicked and screamed as though you were killing him, he would. I also suspect that when my Kili finally settles on his one and sires the children he wants so desperately, I will be showing him the same tricks.”

  Eyes wide, the gentlehobbit of Bag End inquired “I…did not know dwarven men took such a hand on rearing their young.” He rubbed his neck nervously, hoping he had not offended him. Much as they knew one another and as well as they got along, there were still aspects of one another’s culture that were alien. “Among hobbits, while we certainly love our little ones so, it is primarily the women that tend the child-bearing tasks, especially these kinds of matters. My father was much more an educator and potential playmate.”

  “Dwarf children are very rare, Mister Baggins,” Thorin provided as answer, “When we are blessed with some, it would hardly be appropriate to place the majority of the burden on our dwarrowdams.” Pausing, he added “Though, yes, our ones usually do take over such tasks as nursing and bathing and the like.”

  Raising a brow, Bilbo asked “But not you, Thorin?”

  Smiling that warm smile of his again, the dwarf shook his head, stepping out to stand by his friend and smile at the contented faunt. “Aye, not me, Mister Baggins. I decided early on, back when my sister first announced she carried a babe within her, that whether her husband was involved or not, I would be.”

[adorkablephil]

Fic: The Roles We Play (6)

Title: The Roles We Play Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester work together as voice actors for BBC radio dramas in the late 1930s, but slowly begin to develop “inappropriate” feelings for each other Rating: G Word Count: 6,941 (this chapter) Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Historical AU, 1930s, BBC, Radio, Actors AU, Slow Burn, Love Letters, Past Character Death, Grief, Angst Author’s Note: This fic was inspired by the @phanfichallenge 20k History Challenge. A bazillion thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, India! This chapter, in particular, gave me some trouble (due to rl stress), and India was my total hero.

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[ All Chapters Masterlist ]

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8 January 1939

Dan arrived at rehearsal the next day only to find Phil unexpectedly absent. He waited and waited, watching the door, because he and Phil usually chatted a bit before the rehearsal started, but that tall, slim form never appeared.

“Mr. Lester has been called away on urgent business,” Drury announced at the start of the rehearsal, making Dan start. He looked around in hope of some explanation. “It is regrettable, of course, since he plays one of our most important roles in this production, but Mr. Joseph Walker will be reading his part during the rehearsals until Mr. Lester is able to return. He fully expects to return before we broadcast on 18 January, but if he is unable to be present by that time, or if he is unable to attend enough of the rehearsals, then Mr. Walker will read the role of Jack in his place.”

Dan had great difficulty focusing on the rehearsal and flubbed his lines several times. Drury grew increasingly impatient with him until finally he simply cut the rehearsal short, sniffing disapprovingly, “I hope we shall all find ourselves more fully present and focused tomorrow.”

Unsure what to do, Dan went home and phoned Phil’s house. Gemma answered the phone, sounding coolly polite as she informed him that Mr. Lester was with family at present and might be away for some time. When Dan pressed for more information, she simply told him that Phil had given her no estimated date of his return and that there was not, to the best of her knowledge, any family tragedy involved.

Phil had simply decided he must spend some time with his family.

He’d said nothing about this the previous night when they’d been chatting after dinner, so something must have come up quite suddenly. And Dan did not understand why Gemma seemed so much less friendly. Was it perhaps that her easy, teasing demeanor depended on Phil’s presence? Or was it something so simple as feeling more formal on the telephone than in person? Whatever the reason, it made Dan uneasy. He had been looking for reassurance in phoning Phil’s home, but had received none. He knew it would be inappropriate to request the phone number of the Lester family residence, so he did not ask, no matter how much he longed to do so.

Had the baby suddenly fallen ill? Dan hoped dearly that young Steven was safe and healthy. Or Mrs. Lester? He thought of the woman gently kissing him on the cheek at Christmas. He thought of each of Phil’s family members in turn and fervently wished them all well.

Most of all, he hoped that Phil himself was well. Why had he not phoned? Why had he sent Dan no message whatsoever? Why had he simply left without a word?

Dan changed out of his suit and into a comfortable pair of slacks and the oatmeal-colored jumper Mrs. Lester had knitted for him. He curled up on the sofa in his lounge under a thick blanket and sent all his anxious good wishes winging toward the north.

******

13 January 1939

After what seemed an interminable length of time, Phil reappeared at rehearsal one morning, and Dan immediately ran to him. “Is everyone well? Is young Steven in good health? Are your parents well?” he asked in a torrent of words, voicing all his worries of the past week.

Phil smiled a little, though he looked rather more pale than usual and a little sad. Phil did not reach out to rest his hand on Dan’s shoulder or arm as he had so often done in the past, but just looked down at the floor and then back into Dan’s eyes. Dan braced himself for the worst.

“I’m sorry I left you with such uncertainty,” Phil apologized, but he seemed distant. He had been gone from London for days, but the tone of his words now made him seem even further away than he had been yesterday, despite their now being in the same room. “I just … needed to be with my family for a time. But they are all well. You needn’t have worried.”

Dan frowned. “But of course I worried! You left without a word, and all I knew was that you had returned to the north to be with your family. You’ve never done such a thing before, so I assumed something serious must have happened.”

“As I said, I apologize for worrying you. They are all well, and … send you greetings.”

Dan felt terribly confused. “Are you quite well, Phil? You seem … different.”

But Drury called the rehearsal to order, and Dan never got a real answer to his question.

When rehearsal had finished, Phil left abruptly without bidding Dan farewell.

Dan spent another evening on his sofa, wearing the oatmeal-colored jumper for comfort, trying to remember the happiness he had felt with Phil and his family at Christmastime, only a few weeks ago. He heated a tin of soup for dinner and went to bed quite early, though he lay awake, unable to fall asleep, for a very long while.

He did not understand what had gone wrong.

******

14 January 1939

When Phil arrived at rehearsal the following day, his smile seemed a bit more natural, less forced, and he chatted with Dan both before and afterward as was their usual habit, though he did still seem slightly subdued. He did not suggest that they go to the pub or otherwise spend time together that evening and simply took his leave after some polite chat.

Dan stared after him, feeling lost.

******

18 January 1939

Drury decided that Phil had been gone for enough of the rehearsal time that it would be best to have Joseph Walker play the role of Jack. Phil graciously acquiesced, but Dan himself felt quite put out. Phil had been so excited to perform this particular play, and he himself had so looked forward to their characters’ lively banter … playing opposite Joseph Walker was a tremendous disappointment.

When he heard Joseph Walker’s aristocratic voice speak the line, “Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward to,” he wanted to weep. At least previously he’d had a beautiful friendship with Phil, even though he knew it could never be anything more than that.

Now it seemed he had lost even the friendship. Had he done something to offend Phil? And, if so, why did Phil not simply tell him what he had done, so that they might clear it up? Surely they were good enough friends to weather a storm or two?

At least, Dan had thought they were.

******

24 January 1939

“Would you like to stop by the pub for a drink before heading home?” Phil asked after the repertory company’s business meeting to discuss upcoming productions and potential casting.

Dan looked at his friend in surprise. This was the first time since the dinner at Phil’s house, more than two weeks ago, that Phil had initiated any social interaction beyond a polite chat at the BBC. Dan had tried to suggest that they spend time together once or twice, but Phil’s apparent lack of interest had discouraged him. Always a bit in awe of Phil, even after they had become more comfortable with each other, Dan had been hesitant to continue asking after being rebuffed.

So Phil’s invitation to the pub felt like rain in the desert. “Yes,” Dan agreed eagerly. “Yes, I would love to have a drink with you. I’ve missed our time together.” He bit his lip, worried that he had said too much, but Phil smiled faintly.

Phil’s cheeks looked a bit pink when he admitted, “I have missed you, as well.”

They went to the pub across the road, as they had done on previous occasions, and Phil ordered his usual sweet cocktail. Dan ordered an old fashioned.

“Old fashioned again,” Phil commented for no apparent reason.

“Yes,” Dan replied. “I rather like them.” He took a sip.

“I’ve never been much of an old fashioned man,” Phil said, and then took a sip of his sweet concoction. His face looked surprisingly melancholy for such a banal conversation.

“How are your family doing?” Dan asked, still puzzled about what had happened with all that.

Phil smiled. “They’re fine. You can stop worrying, Dan. I’ve already apologized for alarming you. I just … I needed to be with them for a while. But I’m back now.” His eyes still looked troubled. “I would not want anything to adversely affect our friendship,” he said seriously. “Your regard means a great deal to me, and I’ve come to enjoy our time together very much.”

“Of course nothing would affect our friendship,” Dan replied, concerned. “Why should it? Is something the matter? Did I … was it me? Did I do something?” This was the question he’d most feared to ask, afraid of what Phil might say, but Phil only shook his head, looking down into his drink and stirring it absently.

“No.” He glanced at Dan and then away. “No, of course not. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He met Dan’s eyes, and Dan could not read his expression, but it certainly was not a happy one. “You’re a good man.”

Dan raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t go that far!” he joked.

Phil smiled at him and reached out to rest a hand on Dan’s shoulder for the first time in weeks. “I would.”

******

27 January 1939

They were doing Shakespeare again: Hamlet, this time. Phil, as one of the BBC’s most enduring stars, had the title role. Dan had been assigned the role of Horatio. Drury seemed to like Dan and Phil’s easy camaraderie and so had taken to quite often giving them roles as characters who were friends. Horatio was a plum role for Dan, probably more prestigious than any other role he had played in the repertory company thus far, so he was quite excited. His character appeared in almost every scene, as did Phil’s, so they would be spending a great deal of time together in rehearsal, and Phil would be able to indulge his love of puns again. Despite being a tragedy, Hamlet was chock full of wordplay.

The role assignment meeting drew to a close, and everyone stood up from the table. Dan walked to Phil’s side and asked casually, “Care for a drink at the pub?”

“Er … I’m going to a film this evening, actually.” Phil flushed and looked away in apparent embarrassment. “Nothing that would interest you, but I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Oh,” Dan tried not to let his disappointment show. “Going with some friends?”

Phil’s flush deepened a bit. “Despite what you may think, I don’t have a large number of friends. And I’m not acquainted with anyone who shares my interest in horror films, so I’m attending the film showing alone.” He tilted his chin up a bit, as if feeling defensive. “There is nothing wrong with a man going to the cinema on his own.”

Dan raised his hands in surrender. “No, of course not! There’s nothing wrong with attending a film showing alone. Unless, perhaps, a friend might like to join you?” He smiled tentatively. It seemed a risk to invite himself along so brazenly, but he and Phil had been carefully finding their footing again, returning slowly to the easy comfort of their friendship, and so he was willing to take the chance.

“You wouldn’t like it,” Phil protested immediately. “It’s nothing intellectual or philosophical. Nothing intellectually challenging at all. Just a frivolous bit of something frightening, for you know I love a good horror story.”

“I do know that,” Dan replied. “And while my reading tastes may differ from yours, I must admit to enjoying a good horror film. Not all my tastes are so fussily pretentious, you know.” He grinned at Phil.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were pretentious!” Phil gasped in denial.

“Of course not,” Dan’s grin grew wider. “That’s why you were going to invite me to come with you to see … what is the film you’re seeing this evening?”

“It’s called The Face at the Window,” Phil replied, sounding very unsure of himself. “Are you certain you would want to go to a horror film?”

“It will not be the first, nor that last, that I watch with pleasure. I love a good scare! Having your company will only make it all the better.”

After a long hesitation, Phil eventually suggested, “Well, if you are certain, let us get a taxi. We may get dinner near the cinema, if you like.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Dan replied honestly, and he felt as if everything in his world had fallen back into place.

******

10 February 1939

Despite Phil’s extensive social connections, it had taken him some time to find a new club that suited him. “You must come,” he insisted to Dan. They’d gotten over their mysterious awkwardness entirely now and were as close as ever. “They have an actual gaming room which allows non-members! They’re much less snobbish than my previous club. I don’t know why I ever tolerated that place—it must have been the popcorn.” Phil tapped a finger against his chin. “Perhaps I shall be able to persuade the new club to forgo the cucumber sandwiches.” Dan laughed.

Phil��s new club had two rooms in which non-members were permitted: a quiet lounge similar to the one at Phil’s previous club, and a gaming room complete with a billiards table. The gaming room was noisier than the lounge, since men played games in pairs or small groups, but everyone still kept their voices low.

Dan and Phil played a game of billiards—primarily for the novelty, as they’d never played the game together before—but then returned to their favorites: chess and goofspiel. They played a round of each, chatting quietly over their games, until Phil made some remark that made Dan laugh inappropriately loudly. He clapped a hand over his mouth, then made a silent grimace of apology, but Phil told him, “I love how you throw your head back when you laugh with your entire being. Few people appreciate life enough to show that kind of joy. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Let them look.”

“I don’t really think of myself as a joyous person,” Dan objected.

Phil shook his head. “But when you laugh like that, the truth shows through. There’s joy in your heart. There may be sadness there, too—and you may not see it yourself—but the joy is there.” Phil’s blue eyes shone with intensity.

The heart Phil spoke of beat faster. As he had told Phil upon their first meeting, Dan did not think of himself as a particularly cheerful or happy person, but he had experienced more happiness since meeting Phil than he had any other time in his life.

“It’s because of you,” he told Phil honestly. “I’ve never had a friend like you, never known anyone who made me laugh the way you do. So thank you. Thank you for bringing more joy to my life.”

Phil looked down and blushed. Dan became aware of the intimacy and sentimentality of their conversation and glanced around self-consciously at the men scattered around the room playing chess, billiards, bridge, and other card games.

“Have you discovered yet whether they serve popcorn at this club?” he asked to dispel the seriousness of their interaction.

“Alas, they do not,” Phil replied, looking up again, having regained his composure. “But I simply cannot tolerate an establishment that excludes my most valued acquaintances, regardless of how fine the snacks they offer.” They both chuckled. “I shall simply have to ask my own cook to learn how to make it.”

At that precise moment, a servant appeared at Phil’s elbow and spoke quietly into his ear. Phil’s eyebrows rose, and he nodded with a smile. After the servant had left, Dan asked, “What did he ask you?”

“You shall see,” Phil responded mysteriously. But only a moment later, the servant returned with tea service and a bowl of popcorn, all of which he placed to the side of their table so it would not interfere with their games. Phil explained, “Apparently, when I inquired about it at my first visit, the club considered my request and decided to add popcorn to their menu. I like this club better and better!”

“And no cucumber sandwiches,” Dan pointed out with a chuckle.

“No cucumber sandwiches!” Phil exclaimed, making other men turn their heads to look at them.

Dan smirked and said, “This time it was you who were too loud.”

“Somehow,” Phil replied, “I get the feeling that this club will not be so quick to evict us. I think less and less of that previous club. What a bunch of stiff-necked prigs! I’m so glad you exposed their true nature. Why, I might have continued quietly among their company indefinitely if you had not discomposed them with your utterly inappropriate, raucous behavior.” He giggled, his tongue showing at the corner of his mouth.

Dan looked at his friend, at the beauty and elegance of his features even as he delighted in life like a child, and thought, Oh no. No. I cannot feel this way. Not for him. I must not lose his friendship, but I know such would surely happen if he were ever to know. I cannot feel this way. I must not feel this way. He shuffled the cards so that he had a reason to look away from Phil’s face. He watched his hands for a long moment as they manipulated the deck of cards.

“Are you quite all right?” Phil asked, sounding concerned.

Dan looked up, forcing himself to look at his good friend’s face with a bland expression, and replied, “Of course.” He forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He looked down to shuffle the cards a few more times, though they were no doubt thoroughly mixed by now. He hoped Phil did not notice how his hands shook. He looked for something to say, anything except what he was thinking. Something proper. Something appropriate. Something a man in his position was expected to say. And then he remembered. “Dora will be arriving in London in two weeks to visit her aunt. She’ll be in town for a month, so we should be able to arrange that dinner soon. I know she looks forward to meeting you.”

With his eyes so determinedly focused on his hands and the cards, Dan missed the shadow that passed across Phil’s face as he cleared his throat and replied stiffly, “Of course. Of course. I’m sure it will be lovely to meet her.”

******

28 February 1939

Even with Dora in town, Dan did not see her often, and still spent much of his free time with Phil. He called on her at her aunt’s home three times during the first week, however, to make sure that he did not seem inattentive or unappreciative of her presence, even if their engagement was primarily just a convenience for both of them. They just did not have a great deal in common and spent much of their time together discussing old school friends in Wokingham. Dora still saw them all often, as few of them had moved away as Dan had done, and so she told him all the news about their lives.

Dan had never been close friends with any of them, and many of the men she spoke of so happily were those who had bullied him when they were boys, but he pretended interest.

Dan had never been close friends with anyone before Phil.

Eventually the scheduled evening came when Dora prepared dinner for them and Phil came to visit. Dora was all aflutter as they waited for Phil to arrive, smoothing her carefully waved blonde hair and applying fresh lipstick. She kept repeating how excited she was to meet a true radio celebrity, which Dan found hurt his feelings a bit. He now appeared on the radio as often as Phil, often as his co-star in their dramatic productions on the BBC, but Dora did not consider him as worthy of regard?

No one in Wokingham ever had considered him worthy of much regard. That was why he had left. One of the reasons.

Phil arrived at the door looking handsome and elegant in his well-fitting but not-quite-fashionable suit and hat. Dan took his hat and overcoat, hung them up, and then turned to introduce him to Dora, who hovered nervously in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Dora, allow me to introduce you to my friend, Philip Lester. Phil, allow me to introduce my fiancée, Dora Williams.” Phil bowed to Dora and smiled.

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Williams,” Phil said with a friendly smile. Not the smile Dan usually saw, not the smile reserved for him, but the smile Phil showed to strangers and work acquaintances. Dan felt surprise that he could so easily differentiate between Phil’s different smiles. Then he tried to focus on the social situation rather than aspects of Phil’s face.

Dora nervously plucked at the skirt of her flowered dress and smiled at Phil so that her dimples showed. Many in Wokingham had called Dora and him a matched pair because of their dimples. Did Phil find dimples attractive? Would he find Dora pretty, with her pale hair and bright blue eyes? Dan’s stomach turned at the thought.

Dora seemed uncharacteristically quiet, probably too anxious to speak, so Dan guided them into the lounge. “I’m afraid my flat compares very poorly to your lovely home,” Dan told Phil. He explained to Dora, “Phil’s house includes, among other things, a solarium full of beautiful plants.”

She turned to look at Phil with wide eyes. “I do love flowers,” she remarked brightly.

Dan hoped that Phil would not take this as an implied request for an invitation to Phil’s home, because that would seem quite rude, so he hurried to interject, “I would give you a tour of the flat, but I’m afraid there isn’t much to see.”

Phil walked to the piano in the corner of the lounge and ran a hand along its lid. “This was what I was most interested in seeing, in any case. I do hope you’ll play for us after dinner?”

Dan felt his face grow hot, but nodded. “Of course. I know we have spoken of it often, so I perhaps owe it to you after all this time.”

Dora exclaimed, “Have you never heard him play? Oh, he plays so wonderfully!”

“No!” Dan replied quickly. “I do not play very well at all. Dora is too kind. Please do not develop unrealistic expectations.”

“I’m sure Miss Williams is quite honest in her admiration for your playing,” Phil replied with a kind smile to the young woman. “But please do not feel anxious that you must impress us. I have looked forward to hearing you play for so long that you might simply smash your head into the keyboard a few times, and I would no doubt be pleased to listen.”

Dan laughed, but Dora looked confused. Not everyone appreciated Phil’s sense of humor. When she heard Dan laugh, though, and saw the good humor on Phil’s face, she gave a small, self-conscious giggle.

Dora had made a roast for them, and Phil complimented her cooking in glowing terms, though Dan knew Phil flattered her more than she perhaps deserved, as the Yorkshire pudding was rather soggy and the vegetables undercooked. Dora cooked tolerably well, but even her own family teased her about her lack of prowess. They often joked that it was the reason Dan had not yet married her.

And at that moment, Dan found the topic suddenly brought up in conversation as if conjured by his thoughts. “How long have you and Dan been engaged?” Phil asked Dora politely.

“Oh,” Dora blushed under Phil’s attention. “We’ve been betrothed since we were 18.”

Phil’s eyebrows flew up, and he glanced at Dan questioningly.

“Yes,” Dan verified with some embarrassment. “It has just … never seemed like … quite the right time.”

“My friends tease me,” Dora admitted with an amused smile, “because we have been engaged so many years, when so many of them have long since married and have children, but I know that it will happen when we are ready.”

Dan felt a twinge of guilt at Dora’s words. He knew that they should marry, that he should have a family and live the life his parents had planned for him, but he just had not felt able to do so. Not yet. And Dora had never seemed overeager, either, so it just … never happened.

After dinner had been cleared away, Dan played piano for them in the lounge. Though Dora had seated herself on the sofa, Phil chose an armchair some distance from her. Dan hoped nothing was wrong there.

He first played for them Beethoven’s "Für Elise,” explaining that he had heard the piece as a child, and that it had been the originating source of his lifelong interest in the piano.

“You never told me that,” marveled Dora, and Dan realized that he had not discussed the piano very much with her. Despite the enthusiasm she had shown in her conversation with Phil, he had not played often for her, either, because she had shown little interest.

When he finished the piece, he told Phil, “I always longed for piano lessons, but never had them. I cannot read music, and I’m afraid I learn only by ear.” He supposed he spoke to both of them, really, but he only saw Phil.

“But that is a great talent!” Phil insisted. “Playing a piece of music after only having heard it is impressive indeed!”

Dan blushed and looked down at his fingers still resting on the piano keyboard. “Shall I play you some Rachmaninoff next?”

Phil and Dora both nodded eagerly, and so he began playing the composer’s “Piano Concerto No. 2.” He realized quickly his mistake, however, for it was an intensely romantic piece, and he thought only of Phil as his fingers moved across the keys. He was a cad. To play this piece, thinking of Phil, when the woman he had sworn to marry sat in the same room, was unforgivable.

Of course, it was wrong to play this piece while thinking of Phil at all.

When he had finished, he sat with his head downcast, his hands resting in his lap, while Phil and Dora both exclaimed about how beautifully he had played. “I made a great many mistakes,” Dan said quietly, but they persisted in their praise. Phil’s pleasure seemed genuine, but Dan guessed that Dora merely followed his example. She had no great love or understanding of music.

Without another word, without any warning, Dan began playing a ragtime piece. He could not remember the name or the composer, but the lively rhythm served well to break his melancholy mood. When he had finished the song, he looked up to see Dora looking quite shocked and Phil delighted. “I’m unfamiliar with that tune, and even that style of music, but it was wonderfully cheerful and lively,” Phil declared with a smile that lit a fire in Dan’s heart.

“Er … yes,” Dora said hesitantly. “It was very … different. I’ve never heard you play anything like that before.”

“I like a great many different kinds of music,” Dan explained. “I thought perhaps we could use something a bit more upbeat.”

Phil walked to the piano and stood beside it, gazing at Dan. “I enjoyed it very much. Thank you for playing for us.” He clapped a hand to Dan’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I do believe this was the highlight of my week!” Then he released Dan’s shoulder and turned to look at Dora. “Please do excuse my familiarity,” he apologized with some apparent embarrassment. “Dan and I have become quite close friends these past few months, but I did not intend…”

“No, of course, it’s fine,” Dora said. She glanced between Phil and Dan as if wondering why Phil had apologized. Dan found himself wondering, as well, for Phil hadn’t done anything untoward.

Dan played the piano for them a bit more, and they all engaged in idle conversation, until eventually the evening naturally wound down.

Dora left before Phil, as her aunt would certainly not consider it appropriate for her to be alone at Dan’s flat without any others present. “It was really so wonderful to meet you!” she gushed to Phil.

Phil took her hand and pressed it gently between both of his, saying, “It was lovely to meet you, as well, Miss Williams. I hope we shall meet again often.” For a moment Dan actually felt jealous, though he was confused about his reasons. Was he jealous that Dora seemed attracted to Phil? Or that Phil seemed attracted to Dora? The twisting in his belly told him the answer, but he tried to keep a friendly expression on his face as they all said their farewells.

At the door, Dora held her face up for Dan to kiss her cheek, which he dutifully did, and she gave Phil a last beatific smile before running outside to get into her taxi.

“Why did you say all that to her?” Dan asked abruptly as soon as he and Phil were alone.

Phil looked confused. “What do you mean? What did I say wrong?”

“All that stuff about how you hope you’ll see her again often. Are you … were you flirting with my own fiancée right in front of me? In my own flat?” Dan demanded.

Phil just stared at him in obvious incomprehension for a long moment. Then he let out a small laugh, but it didn’t sound amused at all. He lifted a hand to rub pale fingers against his forehead as if trying to smooth the furrows that had appeared there.

“Dan, you are my closest and dearest friend, and I hope to have a long friendship with you for many years to come.” He spoke slowly and patiently, sounding somehow sad. Dan’s emotions still roiled within him, though, and he waited for Phil to say something that actually addressed the issue at hand: to wit, Phil flirting with Dora right in front of him.

Phil looked into Dan’s eyes, and his emotions showed openly on his face. Dan had hurt him with the accusation, and he suddenly felt a rush of shame. “Dan, this woman will be your wife—she will be by your side for as long as you live—so it is important to me that she approve of me as your companion. I hope I impressed her favorably this evening, for her good opinion matters to me a great deal. I would hate for her to develop a dislike of me that might someday lead you to end our friendship.”

“That could never happen,” Dan insisted immediately. He would never abandon his friendship with Phil, no matter what anyone else said or thought about him. Dora could harangue him for the rest of his life without convincing him to set Phil aside.

“Dan,” Phil said gently, waiting until Dan met his eyes. “She’s going to be your wife. She’ll come before everyone else in your heart, and so even if she were not a perfectly sweet girl, I must yet court her good opinion out of fear. I hope she liked me this evening.”

“How could anyone not like you?” Dan asked, though despair swamped him for no good reason he could name.

Phil sighed. “I hope you will allow me to meet her again before she leaves town so that I can… Dan, surely you must see the situation I’m in. I am at her mercy. If she chooses to dislike me, then I may lose your friendship forever. I cannot let that happen.” He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes in apparent weariness or some other emotion Dan could not identify, then put them back on. “Please, allow me to make a friend of her, so that I may keep a friend in you.”

******

3 March 1939

Though Dan vigorously denied the necessity of it, Phil insisted that he would very much like to take Dan and Dora to the cinema before she left town. At length, Dan reluctantly arranged it, and the three met to attend a showing of Errol Flynn’s The Adventures of Robin Hood. It was not quite the sort of film that Dan or Phil would have chosen on their own, but neither did they find it objectionable … and Dora was quite excited to see the film.

Dan enjoyed the film more than he had expected, as he found the action sequences engaging and the humor occasionally clever. Phil, too, seemed quite cheerful as they left the theatre, though Phil tended toward cheerful in the general case. Dora was bubbling over with delight.

Phil suggested, “Shall we have a brief drink before we part, so that we might discuss the film a bit? It may be that I shan’t see Miss Williams again before her departure. I know of a quaint pub nearby that would suit admirably.”

Dora giggled girlishly and said, “Yes, that would be lovely!” before Dan even had a chance to say anything. He felt excluded by their interaction and his mood began to darken.

They walked the short distance to the pub and found seats at a table together. Phil asked Dan, “What did you think of the film?” But Dan merely shrugged sullenly. Phil gave him a concerned look, but Dan pretended great interest in their surroundings. The pub was well-lit and attractive—the sort of place a gentleman might entertain a lady after a date at the cinema. Dan looked back at Phil and Dora and scowled.

“You know, Phil, I think you quite resemble Errol Flynn in his role as Robin Hood!” Dora gushed.

When had Phil invited Dora to call him by his first name? Dan could not remember, but it seemed overly familiar and inappropriate behavior between a single man and another fellow’s betrothed.

“I’m sure you are wrong, Miss Williams,” Phil replied. He put a slight stress on her name, which led Dan to conclude that perhaps Phil had not invited Dora’s familiarity. If that were true … Dan wondered if he should be embarrassed by Dora’s behavior. “If anything, Dan himself looks more like the hero of the film, with his wavy brown hair and pronounced dimples.” Phil smiled at him, and Dan felt his sulk recede a bit. Phil had noticed his dimples? And found his hair attractive?

“Oh, no!” Dora insisted, sipping daintily at her bright pink beverage. She’d been relatively quiet the first time she’d met Phil. What had caused this difference? Dan thought back to how he had told her that Phil wished to spend time with her again before she left town and wondered if perhaps she had misunderstood. Had Dan given her the wrong impression? “You look much more the romantic hero,” she told Phil. “The aquiline nose, the high cheekbones, the engaging smile!”

Phil blanched, looking to Dan in a helpless plea for assistance. He clearly had no idea what to say in response to Dora’s indecorous flirting. Dan gazed back at him and smirked, shrugging a shoulder as if to say, “What can I do?”

Interesting that he had been so upset when he believed Phil to be flirting with Dora, when he found the opposite only amusing. It was rather fun to watch Phil squirm.

“I assure you, Miss Williams, I am no hero. If faced with danger, I would no doubt run away as fast as my clumsy feet could take me! And I would most likely trip during my flight!” He grinned, obviously hoping that Dora would go along with his self-mockery. “Not to mention the fact that Robin Hood rode horses throughout the film, and I am deathly afraid of the beasts. I’m sure Dan is much braver than I. Do you enjoy riding horses, Dan?”

Dan saw how Phil had tried to shift the conversation, and he felt much less cross now. He felt as if he were watching a game, observing Phil’s desperate attempts to extricate himself from a socially awkward situation.

Before Dan could even answer the question about horses—which he did not, in fact, know how to ride, though he had no particular fear of them—Dora reached hesitantly toward Phil’s face and asked, “May I remove your spectacles? I believe your eyes are much more beautiful than Errol Flynn’s, but I can’t see them properly behind the glass.”

Phil jerked his head back, looking extremely uncomfortable, and shot Dan another look pleading for help. Dan realized that Dora was making a fool of herself, and that he had been allowing his friend to suffer simply to assuage his own jealousy. He felt quite a cad for abandoning Phil to such an awkward situation when he knew such social niceties could make his friend anxious. Phil had often told him that it was why he preferred the quiet at the club, and why he valued his friendship with Dan. Though he felt confident in professional situations such as at the BBC, he often felt quite nervous in less formal social situations. He’d told Dan he’d never felt so comfortable with someone else socially, so at ease, with so little anxiety.

And here Dan had been enjoying watching his friend struggle with those very problems, because of his own petty jealousy.

“Dora!” Dan chided. “You barely know Mr. Lester.” Though Dan himself always called Phil by his first name, he chose to be more formal in this case to point out to Dora her own inappropriate behavior. “I know you mean no harm, but manners are somewhat different in town than in the country.”

Dora lowered her hands away from their reach toward Phil’s face, and her lower lip protruded in an unattractive pout. “I do apologize, Mr. Lester, if I overstepped.” She sounded like a sulking child.

Dan felt ashamed on various levels. He felt embarrassed by Dora’s inappropriate behavior, but more importantly he felt tremendous guilt at subjecting Phil to her advances without offering any rescue.

Phil’s shoulders relaxed, though Dan had not even noticed them growing tense, and he smiled hesitantly at Dora. “No harm done, Miss Williams. I hope we can still be good friends?”

Dora smiled, but looked unhappily chastened. “I do believe I’m ready to return to my aunt’s home. Could you fetch me a taxi, love?” she asked Dan. She rarely called him such pet names, and he wondered if she was just trying to pretend that she hadn’t been nearly throwing herself at someone else in his presence. But he simply nodded and stood. He glanced at Phil, uncertain about leaving him alone with Dora at this point, but Phil smiled and gave just the slightest inclination of his head to let Dan know that everything was all right. Dan returned the smile and went to the bar to request that a taxi be called.

Once Dora had left with barely a glance at either of them, Dan and Phil sat quietly at their table for a long moment before they both began to speak at the same time.

“I’m so sorry…” Dan began.

“I’m so sorry…” Phil also said.

They looked at each other and couldn’t help but laugh. “You have nothing to apologize for,” Dan assured Phil firmly. “Dora behaved abominably, and I should not have let it go on so long. I’m sorry for allowing her to make you so uncomfortable.”

Phil shrugged awkwardly. “I hope I did not offend her. I do still wish for her to have a good opinion of me.”

“Oh, I think she has a very good opinion of you,” Dan joked.

Phil frowned. “Dan, this is no laughing matter. If I’ve given offense…”

Dan rested a hand on Phil’s arm and insisted, “You have done nothing wrong. And nothing Dora could ever say to me will ever change my mind about my regard for you and for our friendship. I promise you that.”

Phil still seemed to fret, but he did so silently. Dan tried to distract him with discussion of the film, including mockery of some of the more ridiculous stunts, and soon Phil was laughing with him, quite relaxed and apparently happy. They spent another hour together in the pub, and Dan found that it was by far the most enjoyable portion of the evening.

When they parted, Phil reached out to embrace him briefly with a grateful smile. They hadn’t touched each other thus very often, but they had done so a few times before, such as at Christmastime and when they had not seen each other for several days.

Dan allowed himself to soak in the warmth of Phil’s arms around him, however brief the embrace. And then they broke apart, and went into their separate taxis with the understanding that they would see each other again at the BBC on the morrow.

And so Dan went home to his silent flat where he lay alone in bed that night, trying very hard not to let his thoughts linger on the scent of Phil’s skin, the texture of Phil’s wool overcoat, and every other detail of their affectionate farewell.

******

[ Continue to Chapter 7 ]

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Ruination (3/6)

Title: Ruination

Author: gldngrl7

Started: January 5, 2017

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 6

Chapter: 3/6

                You know just how to make

                          My heart beat faster

                                   Emotional earthquake

                                             Bring on disaster

              --Hailee Steinfeld/Gray – “Starving”

  Her skin is hypersensitive to the slightest touch and Supergirl’s suit hugs her like a second skin in most places, leaving her overheated and tingling to the point of generating static electricity.  Two seconds after pulling on her tights, she tears them off, unable to tolerate the tightness encasing her legs.  Kara opts to simply wear the red boy-shorts beneath her skirt. Between the length of her skirt and the over-the-knee height of her red-leather boots, it’s unlikely anyone will notice her lack of tights.

It’s unlikely anyone has ever noticed that she wears them at all.

Kara flies to the DEO, landing in the main foyer on the floor of the building, just before Alex was about to call her.

“You’re late,” Alex accuses, though her tone lacks and sort of sting or reprimand.

“I’m sorry,” she replies.  “I’m sorry.  Did something happen?”  Kara’s eyes dart about the room, people bustle about the Command Information Center, but she involuntarily seeks a certain welcoming grin.

“No I was just worried,” Alex answers.

“There’s no need to be worried,” Kara reassures, mechanically, as though she’d said the words a million times before.

“Oh my God,” Alex realizes, shock blooming on her face.  “You’re looking for him, aren’t you?”

Kara slumps, caught in the act.  “I just wanted to talk to him about…things.  Have you seen him?”

“He checked out an hour ago, something about offering to help M’gann at the bar.  Since he’s immune to the Medusa virus now, he’s one of the few people that can help with the Hazardous Materials protocols.  Obviously the US government isn’t exactly keen on providing a HazMat team for the bar, but the entire place has to be decontaminated from top to bottom, every nook and cranny, before they can re-open.  It’s also a bonus that he can use his super speed, so maybe the bar will be able to re-open in days instead of weeks.  She even offered to pay him for his help.”

“That’s great!” Kara gushes.  She’s truly happy for him, that he’s found a way to make some money, at least in the short term.  And she’s proud of him for stepping up to help a person in need.  But a part of her is disappointed that he’s not here for her. She needs to see him, to feel his hands on her, to ease this ache throbbing in her skin.

“Are you okay, Kara?” Alex asks, her countenance shifting to concern. “Your face is flushed.”

“Pfffft,” Kara waves her off. “I’m fine,” she says, downplaying her sister’s concern.  “I’m just excited that Mon-El is helping M’gann, that’s all.  It could be the start of something good,” Kara says hopefully.

“Or it could be because the alien bar is the only place that serves alcohol that can actually get him drunk,” Alex counters.  Kara pins her with a glare that has her wondering if she’s on the menu at a barbecue.  “All right,” Alex says, holding up her hand.  “I’m sorry.  I’ll try to give him the benefit of the doubt.  For you.”

“Thank you,” Kara nods.  “If you expect the worst of people, Alex, they’ll rise or fall just enough to meet your expectations.”

“Dad used to say that,” Alex bows her head, eyes suddenly drawn to the tips of her combat boots.

“I know.” After a moment of consideration, Kara tells Alex, “I can’t push him to be some perfect vision of a hero that I want him to be, so instead I think I’ll let him be a man who lost his whole world and is now trying to find his own way in this one.  Eliza and Jeremiah—and you—gave me the space and the time to work through all that when I first arrived.  At the very least, Mon-El deserves the same understanding.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” Alex says.  Perhaps instead of judging her sister’s paramour based on some of his less savory actions, she should re-examine the fact that some of his decisions were made with the mind of a person who had experienced unimaginable trauma.

“He smiles and jokes, and to look at him you would think he didn’t have a care in the world,” she informs her sister.  “But there’s nothing left of everything that he used to know, and that can’t be easy.  Just maybe cut him some slack.”

“I will,” she decides.  “But only for as long as it looks like he’s making an effort.”

“Fair enough,” Kara agrees.  “Now where is this group of trainees I’m supposed to be pummeling?”

“Training room,” Alex replies.

“I hope this is as fun as training Team Arrow and the Legends.” Kara’s shoulders shrug upwards and she grins in a show of excitement, her hands rubbing together in anticipation. “Good times.”

“They’re baby agents, Kara.  Try not to kill them.”

“Me?” she asks, faux offended.  “I would never.  Just going to blow off a little steam is all.”  With a sharp pivot on her heels, Kara turns away, heading in the direction of the training room, and practically skips away.  Alex watches her go, shaking her head with an endearing chuckle.

An hour later the training room floor is littered with the bodies of groaning agents in training, while Supergirl stands over them, arms akimbo. “Raise your hand if you’re really injured.”

“I think my arm is broken,” comes a muffled voice from a prone body near the wall.

“Ooh…Sorry,” Kara winces and apologizes while a supervising agent helps the man to his feet.

“It’s okay, Supergirl,” the injured man replies, his voice strained with pain.  “It’s not your fault I didn’t stick the landing.”

“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” the supervising agent proposes.

“Good idea,” the trainee nods. Kara notices that he’s limping as well.

“Who wants to go again?” she asks the room.  In unison, the trainees respond with a groan that she thinks is a negative answer.  Just as she’s about to ramp up a rousing speech about not giving up and how the villains will never go as easy on them as she does, Kara’s super hearing detects a commotion at the CIC.  “Be right back guys,” she says, distracted by the hustle and bustle down the hall. “Feel free to take five.”

“Yea,” an anonymous voice from somewhere near her feet groans.

Before she can even reach the control room, she’s met by Alex who is rushing to retrieve her.  Before Kara can even ask what the commotion is about Alex is laying out the situation.

“A few moments ago a LifeFlight chopper suffered catastrophic engine failure and lost altitude on approach to the Carl Ferris Memorial Children’s Hospital.  We assume the chopper crew is a total loss.  But it slammed into the hospital’s long term care wing, and there have been at least two secondary explosions in the aftermath.  Kara…just so you know…there will be casualties.  Fire and Rescue will meet you there.”  

Kara nods, her mind already conjuring the carnage that can be caused by an air-to-ground collision, and sends a prayer to Rao that she can save as many people as possible.  Alex hands her a comms device, which she places into her ear.  

In the air before her sister can say anything more, she flies at top speed to the burning hospital, arriving only moments after departing the DEO. Only one firetruck from a station at the other end of the block has arrived, but has yet to hook their hoses into a water source.

Before she can greet the Fire Chief she’s distracted by an all too familiar voice.  “Supergirl!”

Her stomach does an extended series of flip flops and double back layouts before she even turns in his direction.  Surprised by his presence, Kara changes her direction and floats to the ground, landing softly in front of him. “Mon-El, what are you doing here?” she asks.

“I was at the bar and I heard the crash,” he replies.  “It’s just a mile away.  Where do you want me?” he asks, his eyes on the raging fireball engulfing four of the hospital’s twelve stories.

“What?” she asks, momentarily taken aback by his question.

“What can I do?” he rephrases.

“Oh, right!  Uhhh…I’ll start with the fire.  Can you…help evacuate?”

Mon-El nods sharply.  “I’ll check the hot zone first, see if there’s anyone that needs rescuing.” With that, he is gone, zipping away and leaping the seven floors to the hot zone, and for a moment all Kara can do is stare

Already pouring out of the hospital, some evacuees carry gowned patients, while others push wheelchairs and even a few gurneys.  Her ears tell her that more fire engines and ambulances are only moments away.  She turns to the Fire Chief before he can reach her and orders, “Start a triage!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.

Kara takes a deep breath, filling the substantial capacity of her lung before taking flight.  She hovers near the raging flames, burning hot from the choppers diesel fuel and spewing forth thick, choking black smoke.  Gathering her strength, she focuses and releases the icy breath from her lungs directly into the heart of the flames.

It takes several attempts to douse the hot blaze completely, and when the fire is out, Kara is better able to see the crater left behind by the chopper’s crash.  Alex had been right when she’d said there would be casualties, and it wasn’t just the flight crew.

When she’d said the chopper struck the long term care wing, she meant children in comas, children on life support, and children with special needs so intense they couldn’t live outside of a hospital.  The smell strikes her like a wave from a Kryptonite blaster and she has to fight to keep from going to her knees.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, tears streaming down her face, before he’s lifting her off her feet, slipping one arm under her knees and the other around her back to carry her from the charred room.  Kara places her arms around his neck and tucks her head into his shoulder.  Mon-El carries her far away from the crater, avoiding other people so that no one can witness her weakness.  She’s shaking when he sets her down in an abandoned waiting room in another wing of the hospital, her legs wobbling beneath her.

“Supergirl,” he says, at first, before dropping his voice to a more intimate tone.  “Kara. You’re okay.”

“But those…,” her breath catches and her throat clamps open and shut. She swallows to gain control, but still has to fight her heaving breath.  “Those babies….”

“Were gone in an instant,” he tells her.  His words are pragmatic, but his eyes are filled with compassion and empathy.  “They felt no pain.  And there was nothing anyone can do.  They were gone before we even got here.  You know that, right?  Look at me and tell me you know that.”

She gazes into his eyes, as his thumbs swipe away that tears that fall from hers.  “I know that,” she croaks with an almost imperceptible nod.

“Good girl,” he says, half of his mouth lifting into a crooked, joyless smile.  He pulls her into his arms, stroking down her back until her breathing begins to normalize.

It’s then that she realizes he isn’t wearing a shirt and she pulls back to look at him.  The fire had burned off his t-shirt and jacket, but left his jeans mostly intact with the exception of the bottom half of one leg.  “What happened your clothes?” she asks, though she already knows.

“Yeah,” he scoffs as though reading her mind.  “I stood up to the fire just fine. My clothes, however, did not.”

“But you’re okay?”

“Right as houses,” he answers, eliciting a quirked eyebrow from her. “Or is it safe as rain?  I can never get those right.”  After a moment, an unabashed grin spreads across his face.

Despite the tragedy on the other side of the building, laughter bubbles up inside of her and spills out before she can stop it.  She covers her mouth, but can’t take her eyes off him.

“There’s my sunshine,” he whispers.

Her breath catches her chest and her laughter dies a quick death.  His wistful smile disappears as well, as he wonders if he has overstepped.  The words slipped out before he even had a chance to realize they were on the tip of his tongue.

He has little time to worry about the ramifications of his slip-of-the-tongue, because the next thing he knows her mouth is on his, her arms wrapping around tightly his neck.  Unlike most of their previous kisses, this one is confident and sure, without the tentative hesitation he’d seen before.  In the past, she’d let him lead, needed him to lead, but now she’s taking his lesson to heart and demanding what she needs – which seems to be her tongue in his mouth.

“Mmmm,” he moans, giving as good as he gets.  Blindly, his hands find her hips and pull her closer together wraps his arms around her waist, under her cape and pulls her body closer to his, heating up the space between them.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his mouth when she retreats for her breath.

“For what?” he asks.

“For being here.  For me.”

“No place I’d rather be,” he confesses, swooping back in for a kiss.

“Hey guys!  Could you knock it off?  You’re still on comms.” Alex’s voice filters through Kara’s earpiece.  Considering his proximity to Kara, Mon-El has no difficulty hearing Alex’s stern command, flavored with a small amount of perturbation.

Like a flash of lightening, a mortified Kara is tearing her comms device from her ear like it’s a hot ember and turning it off, practically crushing it in the process.  “Oh my God!” she cries, dropping her head into her palm.

Disappointed by the end of the kiss, Mon-El thinks it’s for the best, because there’s still work for Supergirl to do here.  And he knows that, as much as he’d like to, he can’t allow this relationship (is it a relationship?) to move forward until he tells her the truth about what he discovered the night before.

“The floors affected by the fire have been cleared, including four people trapped in an elevator,” he apprises her.  “I loaded kids up on hospital beds and jumped them to ground.”

“Seriously?” she asks, not too sure about his methodology.

“They enjoyed the ride,” he shrugs, modestly.  “I was careful and they were too excited about the evacuation to be worried about the fire.  Kept begging me for another go.”

“They’ll never forget you now.”

“Yeah, well,” he begins, but looks away.  He doesn’t know where to take the conversation from there.  It was exciting saving lives, but this was just a fire which is something he can handle, even if his clothing can’t.  But going up against another villain like Parasite, is not an idea he relishes.  “I did what I could.”

“Yes, you did,” she praises.  “And today it was exactly what I needed.”

Her choice of words has his head snapping up, his gray eyes gazing into her blue.  He’s hopeful when sees a spark of pride there.  Mon-El gaze drops down to her lips and more than anything he wants to kiss her again, but knows that wouldn’t be the best idea.  “Just glad I could help,” he says.  “You should let the Rescue team know it’s safe to enter the building.”

“I will,” she nods.  The tug her body feels towards his is visceral and overpowering, the way a positive charge is drawn to a negative.  It’s magnetic.  She knows that if she steps any closer to him she’ll be drawn inexorably into his gravity, and now isn’t the time or the place for that.

“If you don’t need me for anything else…I’ll head back to the bar. There’s still a lot of work to be done.”

“Okay,” she responds, wishing she had an excuse to keep him near her. “You should change into something…more. Try the laundry room, they’re usually in the basement.  Hospitals usually keep extra scrubs around for…clothing emergencies.”  It occurs to her suddenly that he might not be familiar with the term and opens her mouth to explain.

“I know that term!” he says, before she can explain.  “From the show with all the doctors having sex.  Thanks for the advice.  You’re sure they won’t mind?

 “I’m sure they’ll consider it the least they could do.”  He lingers before leaving, as though not quite ready to part from her yet.  Kara interprets this as a good sign and decides to jump on the opportunity before he’s gone.  “Will I see you later?”

What she wants to ask is ‘will we have sex later?’, but she’s not quite courageous enough for that.  She doesn’t want to appear over-eager like one of those girls so clingy the guy practically has to peel her off of him, all while rolling his eyes in disgust. Her insides hit the pause button while she waits for his answer.

Mon-El wracks his brain debating what to say to her.  Without a doubt, he wants to see her later, but there’s the small matter of the obstacle in his way, namely the serious discussion about her future sex life, or lack thereof.  It’s a discussion they need to have sooner rather than later, and for her sake, it should be down away from the prying eyes and ears of the DEO.

“Hey…do you like ice cream?” Mon-El asks.

“I love ice cream.”’ she gushes. “Who doesn’t?  I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!”

She’s effervescent, he thinks, like that first fizzy taste of Champagne when the fine bubbles dance on your tongue and up your nostrils just before the flavor hits.  Her everyday joy is the anchor that keeps him together, keeps him from exploding into the cosmos like infinite particles of stardust.  He doesn’t know how it happened so quickly, but it would kill him to lose her.

“There’s an ice cream shop on Becker, across from the park close to the DEO…”

“I know the place,” she nods, her smile suddenly shy again.  

Kara wipes her palm against the skirt of her suit and Mon-El notices for the first time that she’s not wearing her usual darkly opaque tights. She’s just bare skin between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boots.  His body reacts to the realization in an entirely inappropriate manner.

“I should be done for the day around 5.  Would you meet me there?”

“Yeah,” she replies, breathily and almost too quickly.  Then she corrects herself with the more formal and certain, “Yes!  I’d like that.  It’s a date.”

“See you there…sunshine.”

A knot in her chest releases then, unfurling like a flower in spring, as if she’d been holding on to that tightness since the first time he called her that.  “Can’t wait.”

The breeze of his departure wafts through her hair and her body instantly feels the void of his presence.  He had held her up when she had teetered on the edge of a full breakdown. Coaxed a smile when the darkness around them promised to swamp her.  

He had told her everything was okay and, somehow, his presence had made that true.

TBC