#the wound remaining in stark red is also SUCH a great choice your brain is huge lex

[presiding]

revenge solves everything.

by @lexsnotdead commissioned for swan song, in which daud is haunted by regrets and jessamine kaldwin.

[ofwrittenlegacy]

|the legacy of glass|

Loud--er, obnoxious footsteps hit the snowy pavement and echoed in the quiet street. His black combat boots squeaked from the snow beneath the sole, dark washed jeans hanging dangerously low from his hips. His red shirt was fastened only partially, exposing only one of many scars across his chest. His windswept hair was tousled and hung in his eyes which were shaded by dark sunglasses. Rhodey wasn’t sure if it was to hide the black eye he was sporting, or take the edge off the hangover. Either way, it wasn’t nearly warm enough outside to warrant his wardrobe choices. The brisk New York winter would eat him alive.

“Tony, you’re gonna freeze to death.” James fussed, trailing behind his friend. Tony huffed out a laugh and fished around in his pocket until he pulled out a cigarette. He placed it between his lips.

“If you had just let me drive,” Tony tugged out a lighter. “You wouldn’t have to worry about me catching a little cold, now would you?”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Tough.”

He watched Tony take a long drag from the cigarette before snatching the stick from between his fingers. He dropped it into the snow and stomped it out. “Exercise is good for you. Plus, I’m not too keen on watching you get into a chase with the police.” “Again” hung heavy in the air but it went without saying because Tony had only gotten into a high speed chase only a few weeks ago. They couldn’t have forgotten something of that caliber.

“The fuck--” Tony growled. “Do you get off to pissing on my parade, Rhodey? Seriously, man! Listen! I know I'm asking the impossible from you, but for once in your life, don’t be such a goddamn narc.”

Rhodey snorted. At this point, he remained completely unphased by any and all of Tony’s tantrums. “Stop your bitching, Tones. I gotta keep you around for longer than twenty years. Happy made me the babysitter. Otherwise you wouldn’t be spending Christmas at my house.”

“No,” Tony smirked. He peeked at James over the brim of his sunglasses. “I’m staying with you to spite my father.” God, Howard Stark. A ruthless businessman who didn’t know how to be a father when it counted. Abusive in the name of greatness. He was a monster and a genius. James was familiar with the many mornings when he walked into the living room of his dorm to find Tony nursing a bottle of whiskey and watching paint dry. It typically meant he had just had a very colorful conversation with his father, if the yelling hadn’t already given that away. “And I was thinking,”

“That’s never good.”

“I was thinking,” Tony pressed. “There're eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds in a day, right? There are one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day...Around eighty-seven hundred and then some hours in a year, and you know what?”

Rhodey sighed. “What, Tony?”

“I want to spend every second, every minute, every hour making Howard’s life a shit show.” Tony laughed maniacally. While they walked, Tony subconsciously lifted a hand to his swollen cheek. It was the only evidence of the black eye that Howard had given him that wasn’t concealed by the frames.

“I want to tap dance on his grave. I’ll take a piss in the casket at his funeral! I want him to take ownership of his rightful position in hell.” The hatred was so palpable, Rhodey momentarily felt sick. Casually, Tony dug around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. He offered Rhodey a slice, who shook his head and proceeded to stuck three pieces of bright pink bubble gum into his mouth.

“Jesus, Tones. The man isn’t even dead yet.”

“Yet, but he will be after I give him the news.”

Rhodey faltered, his eyebrows rising in question. Tony broke into a wide sinister smile, reminding Rhodey briefly of the Cheshire Cat.

“I’m not going to inherit Stark Industries!” The laugh seemed to bubble out of Tony but it was more malicious than filled with mirth. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to create weapons. I want to build! I want to build my own stuff, not finish what Howard didn’t.”

“Tones--” A scream cut through the quiet street. Rhodey turned towards the high school coming up on their right. The cry had come from around the gate that fenced Midtown High School. Beside him, Tony took off. James reached out for him but missed his wrist by an inch. He sighed and took off after Tony, towards the school.

The scream shattered the silence and Tony was moving before he knew what he was doing. He knew that type of scream. It was different from a yell of defiance, or a yell of surprise, but jagged and sharp. Anguish. Someone was hurt.

What was he going to do? Bust on to school grounds and play Superman? He hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead but his day had been spectacularly bland thus far. Trespassing sounded like a fun addition to his afternoon.

Tony turned the corner, his boots skidding along the ice. There was a kid, pressed against the side of the building, clutching his jaw. There was a slightly taller boy towering him.

“What did I tell you about making me look stupid in front of the class?” The kid had jet black hair, cut short and spiked at the top. He wore a large coat, with fur around the collar. God, he looked like a dickwad. He towered the smaller kid who looked a lot like...the mouse from whatever the hell that kids movie was. Despereaux. He was scrawny, pale and freckled, with huge brown eyes that took up the majority of his face and a small upturned button nose. He looked like a walking, talking Disney character with his large ears and innocent gaze. He also seemed to be on the verge of tears, if the redness rimming his eyes served as any indication and the quivering of his busted bottom lip. God, Tony knew how much a busted lip hurt.

Despereaux flinched. “I just answered a question.”

“Yeah, after I got it wrong!” The dickwad clenched his fist. “What did I tell you about doing that? You made me look like a moron!” He swung his arm and it connected with the small boy’s stomach. Tony felt lightheaded as the kid yelped and crumpled into the pile of snow. Apparently, the jackass wasn’t done because he dropped to his knees and took the kid by his backpack straps. Tony had seen enough.

“I-I’m sorry-”

“Aye!” Both parties paused. Tony was vaguely aware of Rhodey cursing behind him and pulling out his phone, probably to call Happy to get him out of whatever trouble he was going to get himself into. “ I would ask what the fuck it is you think you're doing, but...you are a teenager. You probably can’t form an intelligible answer yet.” Tony sauntered over. He took the large kid by the fur collar and tugged him off of the mousy boy.

Surprise widened his eyes. “I’m sixteen.”

Tony ignored his dry tone. “I’m so proud that you can count that high! It's a testament to the modern American educational system. But I should probably point out that you are not the only sixteen year old here. I'm told you go to a school with a whole class of -get this- kids who are sixteen." Tony jabbed his finger at the kid.

“Um, sir, I’m fourteen.” The young boy raised his hand from where he laid in the snow.

“Oh,” All Tony could see was father, fists clenched. “You’re picking on a kid that’s two years younger than you? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you a moron or just pathetic?” Tony seethed. Not all abuse was physical, but Tony had fallen victim to all types of it. He was shattered. This demon, this little snot rag was a pint sized Howard and if someone didn’t set him straight, someone else would have to pay for what Tony didn’t do. He began to step forward but Rhodey placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from advancing.

“I--”

“I don’t want to hear it! Picking on someone smaller than you is a dick move. You’re a little asshole and karma is gonna kick your ass so hard, I’m going to piss my shorts laughing in your face! Scram before I get you expelled.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Oh, I can't?" Tony didn't like people telling him what he could and couldn't do. Now he'd get him expelled for shits and giggles. "Does the name Tony Stark ring a bell?”

The kid burrowing into the snow seemed to light up. “The heir of Stark Industries?”

“Bingo!”

The bully paled. Now that he was facing Tony, he could see Flash was etched into his jacket. That was his name? No wonder he was a Grade A piece of shit. If Rhodey wasn’t there, he would’ve kicked the kid into next semester. He was escaping prison with a feather.

“Beat it.” Tony spat and apparently the kid had one working brain cell because he took off down the street.

James let out a breath first, removing his hand from Tony’s tense shoulders. “That could’ve gotten ugly.”

“It already was.” Tony turned back to the small kid who was sitting himself up. He kneeled and reached for the kid, who flinched. “Whoa, hey, easy. I’m not gonna hurt you.” Tony took on a tone that was saved exclusively for wounded animals and fussy babies. The kid stared up at him with the brightest brown eyes he’d ever seen. He looked at Tony like he held the stars in his hands. It made him a little anxious. He shuddered. It was cold outside.

“What’s your name, kid?” Tony scanned the kid’s face to inspect the damage. His lip was cut but the blood had already slowed. His cheek was rosy between getting punched and the cold but he didn’t seem too bad off. Prognosis: he’d live.

“P-Peter. Parker. I’m Peter Parker, sir. I’m fourteen and I’m freshman here.” Peter, apparently, stammered.

“Aye, alright Chatterbox. I asked for your name, not your social security number and your address.” Tony moved to his feet and looked at the kid. He stepped back and folded his arms over his chest, allowing Rhodey to move in and help the teenager to his feet.

“Thanks for helping me, by the way. Flash, uh, he’s always been like this. I’ve started looking forward to our afternoon dates of post-chemistry pummeling.” Peter rubbed his stomach, attempting to chase away the ache of being hit there. Tony subconsciously placed a hand on his abdomen in empathy. He’d been there.

“Peter, you should tell a teacher. Bullying is a very serious issue.” Tony snorted. Rhodey was, at his core, The Babysitter.

Peter blushed and hung his head like a chastised puppy. Rhodey looked to Tony, who looked at Rhodey, who shrugged. Neither of them had exceptional experience with children but this was Rhodey’s field. He had younger siblings. Just as Tony was going to let James take the reigns, his phone rang. James squinted at the screen. For a 23 year old, he was about as tech savvy as a 83 bingo player.

“It’s Happy,” he thrust the phone towards Tony.

“I don’t like being handed things.”

Rhodey looked unamused as he turned to take the call.

“Hey kid, do you live around these parts?”

Peter nodded eagerly. “Yeah, a few miles uptown. I always walk home because my aunt has to work most of the time.”

“I’ll take you home. It’s much too cold out here. You’ll freeze to death.” God, he thought. I've been spending too much time with Rhodey. Gross.

“Are you sure, Mr. Stark? It’s not that far. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“What did you just call me?”

Peter opened his mouth and then closed it back. “Mr. Stark,” he whispered. The kid was aging him. Mr. Stark was his father. He was Anthony. Tony, on good days.

Tony scowled but he didn’t say anything.

They stood in thick silence when James returned.

“Happy is up the street.” Rhodey relayed. “We’ll take Peter home, and then we’ll go to my house.”

Tony nodded and Peter grinned.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark and Mr.-” Peter faltered.

“Rhodes.” Tony cut in before Rhodey could tell him to just call him James. If the infant was gonna make him feel old, Rhodey could suffer right alongside him.

“Thank you, Mr. Rhodes.”

When Happy pulled up, Tony expected to get an earful about jumping into the middle of a fight at a high school but instead, he was greeted by seat warmers and silence.

“Your chauffeur’s name is Happy?” Peter whispered in Tony’s ear from where he was sandwiched between him and Rhodey.

“I’m not his chauffeur, I’m his handler.” Happy called from the front seat.

Tony snorted. “He’s a chauffeur.”

He caught Happy roll his eyes as he shut the divider.

“That’s my apartment!” Peter pointed enthusiastically after they drove a few blocks.

“I guess that’s his apartment.” Rhodey muttered.

Happy pulled the car aside and Tony got out of the car, letting Peter slide out behind him.

“I’ll be right back.” He said, sticking his head back in the door.

“Where are you--” He slammed the door in Rhodey’s face.

Peter hooked his fingers into the straps of his backpack. “This way, Mr. Stark!”

Tony nodded and followed in silence.

The building was derelict. The apartment might once have been great but not much appeal was left to it. The husk of the old building has a grimy roof with broken tiles, remnants of shattered glass in rotting wooden frames, mortar and stone crumbling, graffiti, garbage, stink of urine, and ghosts of the 70s.

But as they climbed the desolate stairs to the third floor, it got a bit nicer. At least C47 was nice. There was a decorative sign on the front door that read, “Leave your shoes and worries at the door” in colorful calligraphy. Tony snorted and watched as Peter nudged open the door.

“Aunt May?” He called into the quiet apartment. “I brought home a friend!”

“Peter, I swear on all that is Holy, if you brought home another cat, I’m going to go mad! You really need to stop doing that, by the way. You are enough to handle, without the added stress of an animal-- oh my, that’s a human boy.” Tony blinked as the woman rounded the corner. She wore jeans and raggedy sweater that was stretched from years of wear and tear. She had large round glasses perched on her face and her hair was up in a bun. She also had freckles, similar to the kid next to him. Oh, she was foxy. In a nerdy way.

He wanted to play connect the dots with all her freckles and see exactly where it led him--

“His name is Tony!” Peter bounded past Tony and ran to the woman, giving her a hug.

“Well, hello Tony. I'm May.” She laughed and scooped Peter into her embrace. She planted a kiss on his forehead and the action was so simple and domestic that he had to look away. He wondered what that was like. “I’m very happy you’re not another cat.”

“Huh,” Tony huffed out laugh. “Yeah, aren’t we all? Uh, I’m Tony, like the squirt here said. Um, I caught some asshol--” Tony cleared his throat ���--jerk, beating up on your kid. I scared him off and I thought you might want Pietro here returned in one piece.”

Peter scrunched his nose. “Peter.”

“Whatever.”

May was silent for a while, watching Tony. Tony looked around the apartment, taking in the old couch, the small box tv, the tiny kitchen to his left. This was the size of his bedroom alone. He wasn’t judging...just curious. He looked over and caught May’s gaze. It bore into him, knocking through the solid wall around his soul and taking a gander through his deepest fears and darkest secrets. He shivered. Something about the way she looked at him made him know that she saw through everything. She saw through his sunglasses, expensive jewelry, the fast cars and the fifteen credit cards. She saw through him and saw Tony. She saw him.

“Thank you so much, Tony.”

Tony flinched at the sound of his name. He cleared his throat and moved to the coffee table. He sketched down his number on a spare piece of mail laying there. A bill, most likely.

“Hey kid, call me if you ever need anything. Anything at all.”

Peter reddened. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Don’t mention it, Pablo.” He winked at May and quickly vacated the room.

He didn’t release the breathe he was holding until he was in the hallway. They were an interesting group of people. He thought about Aunt May all the way back to the car.

“Is the kid okay?" Rhodey shifted so Tony could slide in next to him. "Why are you making that face? You’re making your sexy face. Why are you making your sexy face? You’re not trying to bone the poor boy’s parents are you?”

“Nah, nah, I’m not a monster.” Tony snorted. “I’m trying to bone his aunt. “

“You’re going to hell.”

“And I’m taking you with me.”

“Ninety percent of intelligence is knowing when to shut up.”

The corners of his mouth tipped up. “I’m fifty percent money, eighty percent genius and seventy percent caffeine.”

“That’s…” Tony watched Rhodey do the mental math. “That’s two hundred percent.”

He slid his sunglasses off. “Exactly.”

Tony leaned back, his eyes closing and let Queens disappear around him as they drove towards his own personal hell.

[witchymarvelspacecase]

Want and Need

Summary: Pietro x Reader (My first Pietro... so let me know how I did please!)

Reader is a vital part of the Avengers, but just how vital leaves her feeling drained, and unhappy.

Word Count: 2906

Warnings: depression symptoms, crying, angst, fluff???

A/N: A million thank yous to @writingwithadinosaur for Beta reading EVERYTHING I spit out of my computer, and still speaking to me, and being AMAZING! And to @ashleypence, who was actually the one who gave me the inspiration to write this (if it sounds like a convo we had in the car... it is very much based off that)

BTWs I used Slovak for Sokovian (and it’s google translate, so I am VERY sorry if it’s wrong)

Posted: 7/6/17

“I’m just a little tired, that’s all, I’ll be back a little later.” You plastered a fake smile on your face as you backed out of the common room. Nat and Steve looked like they didn’t believe you, but they let you go. Sam on the other hand…

“C’mon Y/N! You say that every time. I need your help or I’ll never win!”

“It’s Smash Bros. Sam, not the end of the world.” Even at video games, Sam couldn’t beat Steve. Which seemed unfair given that Sam should have had an advantage, so you usually took pity on him. But not today.

Sam pouted, but you left, escaping to your room and locking the door.

When the Avengers had gotten back together after their giant fight over the Accords, Tony and Steve had decided that they needed a new player; someone who had no part in the fight, who had no preconceived notions about the team’s decisions. Thor and Dr. Banner were still off earth, so Tony had gone searching for a new Avenger; he’d found you.

Your powers, teleportation and electrical manipulation, made you an asset on missions. But it was your personality that really helped the team. You were a natural counselor, at least that’s what Sam had said. You listened to the team, genuinely cared about each and every member, and helped them to repair their broken relationships. Hell, you’d even gotten Bucky and Tony on speaking terms, although you claimed no credit for it. It was nice to feel helpful, to feel useful.

What wasn’t so great was the exhausted feeling you were dragging around with you like a stubborn puppy learning how to use a leash. You were so tired all the time, but you didn’t want to miss anything important. The team needed you…

Needed. Maybe that was the problem. It was always need. Even today, Sam had said he needed you to play. Not that he wanted you to play, but that he needed you.

You sighed as you fell back on your bed, staring at the ceiling as if it could tell you what to do. You growled, pulled a pillow from behind your head, and pressed it over your face.

You’d been taking a lot of breaks lately. Not from missions or training, but from team outings, parties, and downtime activities; the things you weren’t needed for. You just didn’t have the energy to spend time with your teammates anymore. They were your friends, your family, but they made you so tired. They had gotten so used to you being around to hear them out, and let them vent to you that they’d just never stopped. You didn’t think they meant anything malicious by it, but you’d become more their therapist than their teammate, friend, or sister. And you’d never gotten a say in it at all. Of course you wanted to help, but now, now you felt like you couldn’t go back to just being their friend.

Exhausted, frustrated tears welled up in your eyes, and you struggled to keep the sobs from passing your lips as they fell.

Meanwhile, back in the common room…

Sam had, in fact, lost to Steve, and was now sulking in the corner. Wanda and Pietro had just returned from their trip to the museum. Pietro hadn’t enjoyed the trip nearly as much as Wanda had, but he’d kept a lid on his fidgeting and anxious behaviors so she could have fun. By the time they’d returned, he was pretty high-strung and was looking for his best friend: you.

Tony, and Helen Cho, had worked to bring Pietro back just 6 months ago. With help from Vision and some of Dr. Banner’s notes, they’d succeeded in healing the bullet wounds and restarting his vital organs. Wanda hadn’t known that Tony had Pietro in cryostasis. Tony Stark, who had been blamed for the Maximoff’s deaths, and had taken that blame to heart, had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t let Wanda lose anyone else. That no matter how long it took, he’d bring her brother back to her. That was part of why he’d tried to keep her in the compound during the accords fight, he wanted her to be safe, but he’d gone about that the wrong way entirely. Luckily for everyone, it had worked out, an Pietro came back as himself, not as some weird killer zombie.

You had been at Wanda’s side the whole time. Helping her through her grief, and hope, letting her scream, cry, and share her fear that her brother may not come back as he was. But he had. Wanda had her brother back, and after 6 months. Although they both still had nightmares, they were inseparable again. Clint had gotten very close to Pietro and Wanda as well. He was like the uncle they’d never had, or wanted really. But the three of them had a very tight relationship now.

Pietro looked around the room, the smile on his face that he’d come home with, turned into a frown when he noticed your absence. You’d been the only person, aside from Bucky and Sam, who hadn’t known him before. You were the only one who didn’t seem to be watching him carefully for any signs that he may be changing into something… abnormal. You’d been his first friend. The first person he went to when he had something to share, good or bad. He looked forward to seeing you everyday, and grumped around the tower when he couldn’t. His sister teased him about his behavior; told him he had a crush on you. He didn’t deny it, but he also didn’t tell you.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked, sitting on the couch to watch Natasha play against Tony.

“She said she was tired,” Steve explained as Tony beat Natasha and began crowing in victory.

“Yeah, too tired to help me,” Sam groused, “she knows I lose if she doesn’t play.”

“It’s a game, bird-brain,” Bucky admonished.

“Yeah, but it’s the principle, ya dick,” Sam snorted.

“Whatever dude. She’s tired, let her rest. Her life doesn’t revolve around making sure your delicate ego doesn’t get bruised,” Clint shouted from the kitchen where he was grabbing a beer.

Pietro’s eyes narrowed as he looked over his shoulder at the hallway that lead to your room.

“She’s tired a lot lately,” he muttered, looking to his sister and meeting her gaze as she nodded at him, he rose and headed for your door.

...

“Y/N?” someone was knocking on your door. You didn’t move to answer it though. You knew your face was red and puffy, and that there were tear tracks down your cheeks. You couldn’t muster up enough energy to care.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there. Wanda checked. If you don’t open the door, I’m coming in.” It was Pietro’s voice. You sighed before curling into a tighter ball on your bed, hugging your pillow to your chest.

“It’s not locked,” you replied quietly. The door handle turned and you looked away, knowing he’d notice your state and question you, but you didn’t have the energy to do anything other than hide.

The door closed and you felt your bed dip as Pietro sat down right in front of you.

“What’s wrong, moja láska (my love)?” His voice was quiet and he made no move to touch you, although he usually would. He didn’t know how to approach this sad, and tired looking version of the person he loved; he didn’t know what to do.

As if your body was waiting for him to ask, your face crumpled and fresh tears began to fall; your body shaking slightly from the effort of trying to muffle your sobs.

“Oh, milovať (love),” Pietro’s face fell as he leaned forward and pulled you onto his lap, holding you to his chest and tucking your head under his chin. He still wasn’t sure how to help you, but he couldn’t not hold you when you looked so broken.

“I just… I’m just so tired, Piet. I’m tired. All the time. Everything makes me tired. I can’t even hang out with the team anymore without…” you sniffled. You didn’t want to cry anymore, your head was aching.

You told Pietro how you felt like everyone needed you, how you couldn’t miss a mission or training; they were too important. But even when it came to menial things, people said they needed you. You couldn’t take a break. You were running on fumes, and it was killing you.

“I guess I just want to be wanted. Like I know I’m needed; I just wish sometimes people would just want me around. Not need anything from me, just want my presence… its stupid, I know-”

“Y/N,” Pietro cut in. He hadn’t spoken a word since you started talking, but now he stopped you, “it's not stupid to talk about what you need and want.”

“I know, I know,” you shook your head, wiping away the remains of the tears from your face with a sleeve, “it’s just not important.” You cleared your throat, pulled away from Pietro slightly, took a deep breath and looked up at his face.

His brow was furrowed, he could almost feel you pulling back into yourself like it was a physical action. Now he saw the constant happiness you’d been wearing for what it was: a mask.

“You don’t understand,” he thought. “You don’t understand how your words cut me. You feel necessary but unwanted. Like training? Necessary to keep your skills and conditioning up, but given the choice, you’d rather be doing almost anything else.” He couldn’t understand how you felt this way, and  he wanted so badly to fix it for you. But here you were, exhausted, crying, and telling him that your feelings were “stupid”. “Nope, that’s not going to fly.”

“Y/N, why don’t you tell the others? They’re your friends, they wouldn’t want you to feel like this…”

“That’s why I don’t,” you sighed, disentangling yourself from Pietro and climbing from his lap. “I don’t want to burden them. They have so many more important things to worry about; they don’t need my whining added on top.” You walked to your bathroom and splashed water on your face, bracing your hands on either side of the sink and leaning there for a minute, eyes closed.

...

Pietro couldn’t believe how easily you discounted your feelings and needs. When you’d pulled away from him moments ago, it had physically hurt him to see you so closed off to him. You’d never talked like this to anyone. And as much as he felt special for being the one you opened up to, it killed him to see it. He knew he needed to do something, but what? Pietro chewed his bottom lip while you stayed at your sink.

Then you took another deep breath, opened your eyes, smiled a tiny, brittle smile and said, “maybe I just need some sleep.”

“Of course, Y/N. You sleep, and I’ll tell the others you’re taking an early night.” He stood up from your bed as you made your way back to it.

“Thank you, Pietro,” you sighed as he hugged you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head; a plan forming in his mind.

The next day…

You woke up to the sound of someone knocking on your door. Odd… Usually the alarm woke you long before your teammates would need you. When you looked at the clock, it was several hours after the alarm should have gone off. Your eyes shot wide open and your heart raced as the knock came again.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice. You jumped out of bed and shot to the door, opening it wide, an apology prepared on your lips, but that apology died quickly.

Wanda was standing outside your room in PJs with two cups of coffee and a bag of pastries. A smile on her face as she lifted her offerings.

“Breakfast in bed?” she laughed a little before motioning you back so she could enter your room. She walked over to your bed, grabbed the TV remote, and turned on Netflix before you moved.

Cautiously, you sat next to her, “What’s all this for?”

“Steve said we could all have the day off. So F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned off everyone’s alarms. And I wanted to hang out with you, so I brought bribes.” She smiled and handed you your favorite pastry.

Still skeptical, you accepted the pastry. The two of you watched “Friends” for a few hours before Natasha came in and inserted herself on your other side. The three of you planned a shopping day, and started getting dressed as soon as you finished your coffee. Both women “helped” you get dressed and do your makeup, at which point Nat became dismayed at your lack of appropriate products and declared that the makeup counter was your first stop. You rolled your eyes at their antics, but agreed to go.

The trip was really fun. You’d walked around malls, trying on the most ridiculous looking clothes, and went to Sephora and let the makeup artists play with your face. Nat and Wanda had insisted that you needed everything the artists had used, you’d balked at the price that accompanied the pile of makeup, but Nat winked at you and pulled out one of Tony’s credit cards, paying for the pile before you could stop her.

Neither of the girls complained or gossiped. You all just shared funny memories and stories, and laughed. When you got back home, you were tired, but a good tired; not emotional or mental, just physical.

Tony declared movie night, and after everyone had changed into comfy clothes, he popped in “Clue”, one of your favorite movies. You should have been suspicious, but you were too busy enjoying your favorite snack and teasing Sam, who was wearing Iron Man sleep pants. You’d cuddled into a corner of the sofa with Pietro on your side. Though you’d started the movie leaning against the armrest, halfway through you’d migrated over so you were curled into Pietro’s side, with his arm around your shoulder.

When you’d fallen asleep, Pietro looked to his sister, who met his gaze, smiled and nodded; he had helped. 

Pietro had explained, at least a little of your predicament to the rest of the team. He’d told them you felt burnt out and a little unwanted. Everyone had been shocked, they hadn’t realized they’d been taking such advantage of you; you’d never expressed these feelings to them, just said that you were tired.

They’d all made a conscious effort to keep positive vibes around you, not to expect you to listen to their issues, and to just enjoy their time with you while making sure you enjoyed yourself too.

Bucky had gone out early and gotten pastries from the bakery you liked. Steve had cancelled training. Wanda had made you coffee and taken it to you, Sam had found the movie you’d told him about a few weeks ago. Natasha remembered how you’d coveted a lipstick she had, and suggested a shopping trip, and Tony volunteered his credit card for you. You didn’t know it, but all of your friends had done things just for you today. They may not have been big things, but they were done just to make you happy. Pietro smiled as he stood, picked you up, and carried you to your room.

You woke as he placed you on your bed and grabbed his arm before he could leave.

“Thank you, Piet,” you mumbled, sleepy eyes meeting his.

“For what, miláčik (darling)?”

“Everything,” you smiled, pulling his arm so he’d come closer. He complied, climbing onto the bed and laying on his side, facing you.

“I did nothing that needs thanking,” he said quietly, brushing stray hairs out of your face gently.

You caught the hand he’d used to move your hair and held it. Looking him in the eye, you said, “You may not think so, but I do. It means a lot to me that you came looking for me yesterday, that you listened to me.”

“Ľúbim ťa, Y/N. I will always come looking for you. I will always listen to you. (I love you)” His hand moved out of your hold to stroke your hair.

“Wanda’s been teaching me Sokovian you know,” you said after a short pause, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Mission accomplished,” Pietro had thought he had avoided confrontation by speaking in his native tongue.

“Tiež ťa milujem, Pietro. (I love you too)” You nuzzled into his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist. After less than a second, he reciprocated. Warmth spreading through his chest, not only were you happy, not only had you learned Sokovian just to surprise him, but on top of everything, you loved him back.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head before closing his eyes, all tension leaving his body.

“Si moje slnko, Y/N. Milujem ťa toľko, (you are my sunshine Y/N, I love you so much)” he mumbled into your hair.

“You’re a sap,” you giggled, “ale aj ja ťa milujem (but I love you too).”

Pietro chuckled, and tightened his arms around you. And that’s how the two of you fell asleep that night, and would for many nights after.

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[dememarquette]

Vitalis Ex Maria

1311, France

The Rhône river had a way of dragging stragglers upstream.

It’s newest arrivals came in a pair that washed in with the tide every year. After a three month tour cruising the Mediterranean, it was a feat to have frittered away all their earnings in a matter of 48 hours. A personal record, actually. They just didn’t see it that way.

“Don’t start- you’re the one who blew it all.”

“Me?!” Osalm drew back, offended. “You can’t even cook. Why’d you let that merchant scalp you for spices?”

“They are the biggest thing on the market right now. It’ll pay off.”

“You’re a moron.”

“And you love me.”

“If I have to.”

She snorted.

It was completely normal to resort to begging between voyages. In the nicer towns, it’d work until people began recognizing their faces. At that point they became too disheveled for the populace to make eye contact with, anyways. This early on, they still had a chance.

A shadow turned the corner. Somebody was coming. Though she wasn’t talking, Osalm hissed a terse ‘Shut up’ before shoving her into the veranda of a tailor’s shop. If she hadn’t seen a vegetable in two weeks, the injustice would have resulted in a beatdown. But since she hadn’t, and they were running on empty, she remained quiet and radiated attitude around the corner.

Osalm shook his cup. It jangled, despite nothing of worth inside. A pebble, just enough to make one feel bad that other people paid a due to society’s less fortunate before passing them by. Proving the rule, the approaching figure paused.

Maria palmed the blade in her skirt, preparing for the worst. The stranger was not looking the friendliest. Of all people, he picked a hooded figure to panhandle. Nonchalant, her brother reached for his, too. And the stranger: his coin purse. As he did, the metal of his crucifix caught the light. Suddenly, the equation changed.

While Osalm wiggled excitedly at the sheen of silver from his bag, Maria stepped into plain view. “Stop- don’t.” “What are you doing?!”

“You know the buzzard is just going to spend it on booze, right?”

“What?!” Osalm punched her calf. “She’s lying! She wants me to starve to death.”

“C’mon Os. Don’t steal from a priest!”

She never considered herself a lamb of God, but other people out there were. And those other people had grander schemes in life than to swindle the system probably deserved it more. Guilt was apparently a recessive gene, because her brother seemed to disagree.

“It’s not stealing!” Osalm tucked the charity under his bottom. “It’s called ask and ye shall receive, it’s in their playbook, read up. They love doing this.”

“You’re awful!”

The priest smiled at that. While could always indulge in a good debate on morality, he was finished with their squabble. Osalm counted his score while his sister berated him. It wasn’t until she had a handful of the bronze (and his hair) that she noticed the priest missing, already halfway down the alley.

“Wait, wait, wait! Hold up!” She pried herself from her brother’s grip. His hold on her ankles relinquished with a well-placed kick to the ribs. Throw in a little twisting, and she broke to cover the distance.

“Maria!”

She ignored him to catch up, barefoot padding the ground until her abrupt stop at his heels. “Look- look, that’s way too much.” She panted. “If you’re going to give us that, you have to enjoy it with us.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” The priest kept walking, diligent. “But if you’d need more assistance, I’d be happy to help in the morning.”

“Are you sure? Leaving now would be enabling.” She sounded sarcastic, but accentuated her seriousness in a pause. “Isn’t that a sin?”

“No...Not really.” He glanced at her waist. The cloth hung loosely, advertising a more fortuitous time. “I am trusting you to spend it on more worthwhile things. You should take care of yourself.”

“I see...” 

The woman was seemingly on the same page up until she whirled to her brother. “Osalm! He says you can spend it all on booze and hookers!”

“Great!” He propped two thumbs up.

The priest was mortified.

“What- no, no no-” His hands lifted in protest but it was too late.  She caught them.

He’d remember that wildfire grin all night.

- - -

It should be stated that the Descoteaux siblings had a laundry list of petty crime under their belts. Trespassing, vandalism, coincidental piracy- it goes on. Never anything absolutely malicious in nature- albeit, kidnapping was new.

Osalm watched her drag the priest back in a headlock. Oh, he blinked. She meant it. “Maria, you’re scaring him.”

“I am not!”

“I can undress myself?!” The priest cried. He didn’t know why she felt the need to claw off his clothes but they were entirely hers if she asked!

“It’s for her rituals.” Osalm elaborated, gravely.

“That’s not even funny!” She pulled the robes from over his head. Couldn’t they see it was for his own good?

The priest scrambled back, bare in his tunic and shifts. Having agreed to none of this, he was ready to bolt the second the two inevitably got into another tiff. He’d been dragged down the street, and only on the patio did it occur to him exactly what he was in for. The tavern reeked of old alcohol and bad choices. “I can’t go in there,” He gasped.

“Sure you can!”

“Underwear is not a disguise, Maria.”

“Hey, he was running around in a hood before!” She pointed out. “No one will know.”

A shame too, she thought. She kind of liked the blonde, blue-eyed angel look if only for the stark contrast it provided when he turned beat-red. Much like the present.

“What’s it going to be? I’m not giving your robe back until you join.”

“Charity is a no-go, but extortion is fine, noted.”

She rolled her eyes. Opting for better company, she pulled him to the bar. Osalm’s smartass remark also happened to result in the loss of choice on the priest’s part. Before he knew it, he was parked in a bar stool with a drought of ale put in front of him. It went without saying she wouldn’t let him leave without sampling it, nor was she satisfied there.

The ransom for these things began with one sip. It graduated to half the mug, and then into more personal things, like his name and where he was from. Obviously he couldn’t introduce himself as Father Marquette here, so Vitalis it was.

She learned he was a native of the town, but unlike most of the clergy, he didn’t seek the power that comes with rooting oneself in a solitary community. He liked to travel. And through this discussion, he learned she was from the coast. A pilgrim in her own right, preferring sails to horseback, and had a freckle for every city she’s terrorized. She lived with only enough foresight to survive the next day and that’s how she liked it, too.

She picked his brain until he stopped keeping track of how much he was draining, only seeking to wet his tongue for more. At the end of the night, she paid with a flourish. Every coin she’d earned (well, he earned) was slapped on the table, paying for them both.

The bartender wasn’t amused. “That pays for the first five.”

“That’s all we’ve had!”

“And?” He nodded his head. Across the bar, her brother was being- quite literally- swept out of the building.

“But that makes it nine...”

“My point.”

That was a problem. She scavenged her bags despite knowing the answer. She had nothing, and no amount of digging was going to change that. The woman blushed, suddenly meek. Demure wasn’t a color she wore well.  “...You don’t happen to accept payment in spices, do you?”

He scowled. The look said it all.

The vagrant groaned. If she had to, she supposed she could let Osalm spend another night in lock-up. Only until she had the funds-!

The priest picked his head up from the bar. “I’ll...work for the remainder,” He offered.

Maria paused. Accepting the proposal without another beat, the bartender handed him a mop.

The mission that night: clean up after everyone else. This included his new acquaintance drooling vomit all over the welcome mat. The labor was quite the steal for what remained on their tab, and it was almost as if it was his business model to wait for someone to offer.

Maria shrugged. Well, that worked out. She patted her new friend heartily on the shoulder. “I guesss I’ll leave you to your work!”

He never quite understood ‘No good deed goes unpunished’ before that night.

- - -

‘Community service’ lasted well into the evening. He was drunk off his ass but better off than some of his neighbors. With difficulty, he managed to help several sloshed patrons upstairs. Fluffing their pillows, and covering them up was overkill, but no one was complaining about five star hospitality at a one star price.

When finished, he muttered his thanks to the owner, and swayed onto the streets.

Maria was waiting patiently outside. His robes, and her brother’s unconscious head rested in her lap. The two had ample time to make their way back to the inn, but guilt had dangerously wound itself up in her stomach. Not enough to help, per-say, but enough to feel bad about how things turned out.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

The priest was lumbering somewhere but not anywhere she could discern. The chapel was the other way.

“I can’t go back…inebriated.” He dragged. With no money, and no home, the cleaner of the darkest alleys were starting to look awfully friendly. He had no problem taking that vow of poverty at face value, only if the neighborhood felines wouldn’t mind. “I’ll be fine…” He waved her off.

“Wait!”

Osalm’s head hit the wood paneling with a dull ‘thunk.’ She caught up to the priest quicker this time like she’d prepared for the sprint. Her brother’s spare key was already stolen. Pre-gaming was involved, and she didn’t want to be bothered...

“I just wanted to say that I…” She held her hand out for his. An offer instead of full-on abduction. “...Know where you can stay.”

His heart raced. The priest found himself powerless being lead away.

- - -

Living at sea made her a deep sleeper.

Nothing like the jerk of the water, and the raucous energy of idiots to orient one to sleep like the dead. Alcohol helped. When it didn’t, wearing herself down until rest was no longer a conscious volition did.

But by some miracle, a whisper that rused her. An unoffending noise, completely out of its element where glass broke habitually and feral cats had a perpetual turf war. She rolled over on her side- noting that she was sharing the bed with no one. Usually she was the culprit for bailing first, but go figure a clergyman to be gone before the sun except-

The rhythm continued. Down below, like a private song. It baited her to the edge on her elbows. There he was. Her secret rendezvous, unknowing conspirator in her ‘Wouldn’t-it-be-funny-if’ midnight tryst. He knelt on the cold stone, head bowed.

Smirking, she watched him, bemused before understanding hit her like a brick. Her own sense of virtues could be outré, but wow. “Are you really repenting after sex?!”

He peeked an eye.

“Good morning.” He said. “And sorry...”

“For what?”

The priest cringed. Well, if he could admit it to God, why not own up?  “I shouldn’t...have done that.”

“Done what? Me?”

He chuckled, as if he hadn’t followed her to her bedroom like death row. Apologizing twice would just be repetitive.

Not that there was a market for it. She could handle being a regret, but being in audience of a priest tattling on himself was a bit much. “What makes you think God has any place in here? Do you think he cares?”

“It’s not about Him. It’s about myself.”

“Yourself?” She rejected that just as haughtily. “Don’t lie, you had fun.”

A delicate pink seeped into his cheeks, no booze to blame it on now.  “It was a lack of self control. If I can be that easily...distracted, I have no business here.”

Maria’s eyes rolled, threatening to disappear into her skull. ‘Distraction.’ What a sad euphemism. “That sounds like a load of horse shit.”

“You think?”

He stood from his altar at her bed while she gathered her things. The vagrant was comfortable to leave it on that. Never to see him again, like a black smudge rubbed away from his good name. She figured it’s what he wanted, and living life on the road meant you could oblige the people you use in little ways. But as she shoved what little possessions she had into her arms, it got her thinking. A morbid curiosity that stopped her at the door.

“Did that...thing of yours mean you prayed for me too?”

Her question was posed like a set-up for ridicule, but his years as a career empath could decipher sardonicism from sincerity.

“Would you like me to?”

- - -

Osalm lost it.

She never explicitly explained, but her brother had been hungover across the street. He was in perfect view of the lovers’ walk of shame, and found it hilarious. Maria left like a champ but the priest lacked in such a practiced subtlety.

“Look at you, dragging holy men to hell” He cackled, regardless if Vitalis was still in earshot. He was. “Did you see his face?”

“Shut up, Os.” She said, pitching a breakfast roll with little care in terms of aim.

It didn’t hit bullseye, evident by a flawless catch. “Áve María ♪~” He sang.

Her eyes narrowed. “At least I didn’t have to pay him!”

That ended that.

He was right about one thing, though. Vitalis was a new breed.

The priest’s business usually kept to the upper state area. The Avignon papacy was the newest and best thing to hit the city, currently in full swing. It acted like a beacon to the clerical staff looking to broaden their horizons. Furthering education was one thing, prestige another, but learning of the nation’s biggest priorities was what he was there for. People there liked to talk about what needed done. Vitalis preferred to act.

He was a bleeding heart. A day without changing someone’s life was a waste. He didn’t see himself fit spreading the Lord’s name if he had nothing concrete to show for it like a time card. The most selfish thing about the man was his steadfast belief he was put on this planet for a higher purpose. He’d never admit it, but it was implied when he’d reject officiating your wedding to go get projectile vomited on by a possessed toddler out in Montpellier.

Vitalis was all about lasting impact. Dealing with the upper echelon’s of Avignon was his daytime job, and a means to an end. By night he’d be back in the backwater to get the outskirts of the city with the program. Children on the streets were his weakness. Also adults. Really, anyone down on their luck but that didn’t encompass it. This is a man who’d chew your food if you had a toothache.

He never shied away from Maria’s company, though. Rather- surprising the two of them, even himself- he embraced it. He was a victim of his own vices, while leading her away from hers. An odd cultural change where both found worth in benefiting the other, without seeing the trade at all.

Their relationship was secret, naturally, but calling it star-crossed would be painting it melodramatic. She respected him as a priest and a human, and he learned to accept he was capable of wanting more out of life than a pat on the back when it came to a sharp-tongued brunette, kissed by the sun.

It didn’t stop the repenting, though. After the third time, she threw a shoe at him, and he finished the prayer before saying ‘Ow.’

- - -

With Summer came good news..

A captain had made berth at Saintes Maries desperately seeking abled bodies. Osalm left early in the morning to seal the deal, leaving his sister behind to take care of the last minute details. One of which was a certain priest.

She caught him by the chapel.

“I’m leaving soon.”

“Oh?” He perked. “Where to?”

“Italy, I hear. Ossy found us solid work for a couple months.”

“That’s great news. I adore Italy. I’m sure you will too.”

“What about you? Where are you heading?

“Bourges. They are constructing a cathedral out there, and could use the extra hand. Consulting, planning and all.”

He left out the part where he had already delayed the trip two weeks. Their fling was never meant to last forever, but he always seemed to find little things he could do around Avignon before making the trek across the country.

“It sounds boring.”

“Not when you see what it does to the community. It blossoms when it all comes together. People help people...”

“You sound like a fortune cookie.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

- - -

She finished packing. A little later in the afternoon than she would have liked considering the circumstances, but hardly an issue. Her brother would be waiting at the port with their newest job description.

“Here you go.” She tossed him a bag.

His body rocked with the weight, but he regained his balance quickly when it came time to block her passage. His arm flew up, stopping her on the gangway. “Ah-ah-ah! Where do you think you’re going?”

She attempted to sidestep to no avail. “What?”

“Not this time, little miss.”

“You’re kidding, right? You couldn’t make it anywhere without me.”

She tried to pass once more, and the two spun around like a swinging door only to end up in the exact same spots.

“And that-” He prodded her stomach. “Won’t either.”

Her eyes widened. Face hot, she wrapped another layer over her stomach, defiant. She’d been so careful. The priest had been her crutch the past couple weeks more often than she’d seen him, and she easily explained away the morning sickness as hangovers. Unfortunately, Osalm wasn’t a complete idiot. The signs had been there.

“So what? You’re abandoning me?!”

“Well yeah. Can’t have you popping on the ship. That’d be gross.”

“Grow up!”

Osalm’s ever-present smirked dimmed. He had wanted to be jovial, but the decision had been weighing on him, too. “It’s no life for a kid, Maria.”

“No life for me either.” She gritted. He held her shoulders.

“...I’m sorry.”

- - -

That night, his caravel was seized before leaving harbour.

A routine check from the coast’s navy turned violent. A concerned citizen reported suspicious behavior an hour before the ship was set to sail. The vessel’s storage of untaxed contraband was uncovered disguised as caskets of the dead, wishing to be buried overseas. Osalm knew better than to scuffle with the authorities, but that didn’t change his fate.

For first time offenders, the charge was steep. You’d be marked, fined, and ousted from the city as a public disgrace..

Anything past that, the law was less lenient. Upon hearing news at the church, Vitalis borrowed a horse and bolted to the border. Hours later, he was able to garner access to the cells under the improvised title of a prison chaplain.

Osalm recognized him instantly. “Look who it is.”

Vitalis glanced around. The elder Descoteaux wasn’t alone, but his sister wasn’t to be found.

“Where is she?”

“She wasn’t onboard. She’s safe, somewhere in the city.”

The priest’s chest fell. The breath he’d been holding escaped him but the next would be productive. “I’ll try to talk to the officials. Perhaps I could negotiate a pardon.”

“No point.”

Osalm rolled up his sleeve. He exposed the scar that damned him. It was a brand- raised, slick and pink. A perfect twin of the one the priest would trace on Maria’s forearm. “They already know I’m no-good~”

“You could pay your debt.” He insisted. “Surely they’d be willing to negotiate.”

“With what money? It was bound to happen. I was just hoping it’d be cooler.” He sighed. “Tell Maria it was cooler. That I fell overboard- a monolithic beast dragged me to the depths before they caught me.”

Vitalis found no humor in that. “She’ll be devastated.”

“Of course she will. I’m sure she already knows. But she’ll move on. I’d say take care of her for me but I haven’t been doing too good of a job at that on my own.” He leaned against the bars. “How about this: do a better job.”

Vitalis frowned, suspicious. “She is her own woman.”

“I know, I know. But what I mean is don’t let her name the kid after me, okay? I know she’ll want to but don’t.”

Understanding fell into place like a deadbolt.

“...I promise.”

- - -

He found her on the edge of the brook.

She hadn’t attended the hanging. Without living protest, the body was cut down from the noose and cast into an unmarked grave, nameless in a sea of the others. Vitalis had committed its spot into memory should she change her mind, though her brother had seemed less than convinced that’d happen.

“She lives in the present.” He said, sometime after mocking the priest’s stuffy final rites. “Hell will freeze over before she cares.”

Maria sat on the edge of the water, skipping stones. There was no change in her eyes when the rock leapt across the surface, or sank. She’d just throw another, tepid and controlled like repetitive motion was her purpose in life. The footsteps coming up from behind were background noise, ignored as much as the crickets. He could have stood there all night and the results wouldn’t have changed, but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said.

“Thanks.” She replied simply, throwing another.

“I ensured the burial was proper. I-...I did all I could.”

“You’re too kind.” Her voice clipped before the hitch in her breath threatened her controlled monotone.

He sat down beside her.

It became...uncomfortable. Tensions were as thick as the lump in his throat, but they needed to aired. Their futures both depended on it.

“What did he mean by kid?” He asked.

“Does it matter? You’re leaving tonight.”

“I don’t have to. I can stay.”

“Don’t. I can do without your pity.”

“It can wait.” He said, softly. “It’s not pity, it’s responsibility, and it’s mine.”

For the first time, she dared look at him. He was a man brimming with sincerity, but he didn’t mean this. She saw it in his posture, the dip of his eyes. His word was honest to God, but not what he was cut out for. It was a waste of his energy. Why save two, when he could save hundreds? Thousands?

It’s something she’d been wrestling with all day. Being alone would be hard, but she’d be damned before she’d be an obligation. That was even worse.

He continued. In that calming hum of his, he spun a tale about their future life together. How he’d leave the clergy, how he’d find work in town, how they’d make it work…

She stopped listening minutes prior, eying the dagger poised by her side.

“-We could start anew...married, if you’d like...”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious. I don’t need-”

He flinched.

Her blade slid through his coin purse. Modest bronze pieces spilled to the ground- a week’s worth of meals at best that he’d collected for his journey. Vitalis watched the coins fall, sympathy plaguing him. “Maria…”

“I will be there.”

The edge of her knife pointed. His focus followed to a property overlooking the sea. It plunged upward from the woods- too distant from town for convenience, and too high from the water to merit the trouble.

His brows creased, “Maria. That isn’t enough to-”

“I. will. be. there.” She reaffirmed, words bleeding with contempt. “I’ll leave you to your work. Return when you are done.”

- - -

An honest living was the goddamn hardest thing she’s ever had to do.

It didn’t seem possible at first. Her brother and herself had managed on their own on the road. There, it was easy. Mooch here, be a menace there, side job across town, and leave on a boat after they’d stirred up too much trouble. They were adventure exemplar, not built for stagnancy.

Land came first. Cheap, due to its inconvenience. With it, self-sufficiency. The farm came after. She beat the ground until it yielded. Her son turned up somewhere in the middle. Balance was never easy and naturally there were rumors. On a good day, she’d claim to be a soldier’s widow. And on a bad, she’d chase you off the property with the same pitchfork she deterred pests. The same passion, too.

After some time, she didn’t visit town anymore, but her son was Rognac cliff’s personal ambassador. A precocious sprite, who treasured the company of absolutely anyone outside of his mom and the hens. Isolation gifted him with an endless fascination with people. When he expressed enough competence to handle grocery trips on his own at age seven, she let him. It was that loose-leash parenting that earned her a fair share of criticism. It takes a village to raise a child, but the village seemed to think it was doing all the work.

The two of them knew differently.

He grew up as an equal. A roommate, earning his keep as soon as he was walking. Motherly instincts were never a ‘thing’ that came to her, but she knew how to survive. In turn, he learned too.

But apart from his platinum head, the boy was nothing like his father until he came home with the Old Testament in hand. Vitalis’ occupation had only been nuanced to spare his image (her son, she learned, tended to be a huge fucking blabbermouth), but for the boy it was like a final clue, a riddle he’d cracked. This mystical job where he could travel abroad for a living, anywhere his heart desired, and people just went with it. He couldn’t get enough. Although Maria could care less about where God’s plan mingled with the mess she called life, she encouraged him. If only to see a glimpse of Vitalis.

Her son would read to her at night after the chickens were tucked away. She’d listen until he put himself to sleep with his own bedtime story.

Afterwards, she’d quiet her mind outside, dreaming of the sea.

- - -

1320

“MOM, there’s a weird man...”

Her head shot up.

In one smooth stroke, she abandoned dinner she was preparing to unsheath an iron rod from the fireplace. Nothing good came of people that hiked this far. Maria stalked to the front door; armed but not ready for who was there.

On the porch, a man crouched in front of her son. Their golden heads identical, only separated by years.

“And who was eaten by the whale?” He asked.

“Jonah.”

The grip on her weapon tightened, turning her knuckles bone white, before it dropped.

“Very good! You’re so smart.”

The boy pouted, rejecting the praise with a scrunched face. “That’s not even hard.”

He laughed. “Want another?”

“How about I ask you some?”

“Go right ahead!”

She opened the door. Years had hardened her up, but he’d recognize that fierce spirit anywhere. There was no trace of animosity, only a toothy grin inviting him in.

Their son could play outside for a bit.