#they had this conversation on opposite corners of the office through the dividing wall so i didn't even bother matching lighting lmao

[wrenhavenriver]

Mikhaila: A deluxe cabin! Alex must have liked you. Dayo: *Dr.* Yu did. My quarters were right next to Dr. Calvino. Mikhaila: I take it back. Maybe Alex did not like you. Dayo: I hardly think slandering one of the doctors is productive at this time--

[writingsbychlo]

smoke and fire (06)

word count; 11,884

summary; after a startling experience, you seek and receive comfort from the last person you would’ve expected to turn to.

notes; I will literally be taking the stairs for the rest of my life.

warnings; reference to injury, reference to panic attacks.

Placing your foot up on the dashboard, your body swerved to the side as Newt flung around a corner, and you cursed loudly, turning to look at him as you held onto the laces of your shoes. “You know, for an ambulance driver, you drive like you’re trying to kill me.”

“I would never.” He gasped falsely, and you continued trying to tie up your laces, before swapping over to the other foot, and doing that one too. “I promise, I would never hurt you.”

The tone in his voice made you groan, rolling your eyes at the snickering boy beside you as he chuckled away to himself, and you reached out to flick at him roughly on his side. He yelped, swerving a little as he drove, before he was chastising you for your behaviour and following the bright red fire trucks ahead of you.

“Oh, c’mon, you’re seriously going to keep pretending like something wasn’t happening there?”

“I’m not pretending, because nothing was happening!” You huffed your words out a little, placing your foot back onto the ground of the van and adjusting yourself in the seat. The inner city was beginning to grow around you, shorter buildings that formed houses growing in size and stature, towering over you now in a concrete jungle as you approached the large city building you’d been called to.

“I know my best friend, okay? And I like to think that I’m getting to know you, too.” His words held a slightly teasing air to them, woven into his tone subtly, and you sighed at him.

“You’ve been saying this for a week now, but nothing happened!” He shot you a look, taking his eyes off of the road for only a second, but one of his brows was raised, and there was a smirk on his face that made your head fall back into your seat, and you realised you were fighting a losing battle. “We were talking about the argument, and agreeing to start over, without bitching at one another, I thought you’d be happy about it!”

“So, where did holding hands factor into that equation?”

“We weren’t holding hands! We were shaking hands!” A laugh left him, disbelieving and unconvinced and he began to slow down, pulling up in front of a very professional looking building, a large logo printed across the glass of the lower few floors, all of which were blacked out and reflected the light of the sun brightly. “It was just some stupid thing we did. Like, reintroducing ourselves, or whatever. Starting again.”

“And you just happened to be backed up into the kitchen counter, huh? I have a pair of eyes in my damn head, love, I saw those longing glances and the whispered conversation, and the holding of hands between you both.” He scoffed, pulling the truck up into park, and turning to look at you for only a second, speaking his next words before hopping out of the van; “Shaking hands, my arse.”

Hopping down front heaven yourself, Newt grabbed his go-bag, swinging it onto his shoulders and so you left yours where it was, simply grabbing your jacket and pulling it up your shoulders as it got a little cooler. Taking place beside him on the pavement, you nudged Newt with your elbow, before crossing your arms. “The only things you were seeing is what you’ve made up inside your head.”

He hummed under his breath, seeming to accept the statement for now, and you watched as the teams both began to unload from the fire trucks. They grouped on the pavements, staring up at the building, not bothering with any equipment except for their coats themselves, names printed across the bottoms as you all stared up at the height of the skyscraper.

The call had stated a broken elevator shaft, three people trapped inside, and in need of rescue, and so you and Newt weren’t facing much of a task. It was simply a challenge to the teams, you and Newt would patch up a few cuts on bumped heads and be there to check for concussions, but you didn’t face much of a task.

Glancing over the group, you caught honey-brown eyes, offering the man a smile in return when his lips flicked up at the sides for you, his head tipping as he offered you a soft nod of acknowledgement. The stare lingering for only a moment longer, before he was turning to check over his team, and you turned back to your partner. Newt was already staring at you, a single brow arched and a smirk on his face. “Oh, yeah, I’m totally seeing things.”

“It was just a smile. Will you drop it? We’re friends.” You scoffed, and he shook his head but let it go for now, and you set off to follow the firemen as they headed into the building. Following them inside, there was already a  group of people beginning to gather, the elevator doors being pried open and pinned that way with a chair, the purpose of which, you weren’t exactly sure, because if the elevator was on the ground floor, it wasn’t exactly an emergency, and you really hoped nobody was stupid enough to stick their head inside and take a look.

As you approached, a man came forwards, an older gentleman with a receding hairline that was shining with a layer of sweat, stress you presumed, and you made a mental note to check over him as his hand trembled while he came forwards, a hand pressed over his heart, and Newt shuffled beside you, tugging his bag a little further up on his shoulder.

“Oh, God, I’m so glad you’re here.” He sighed, voice more like a wheeze, and you winced, taking another scan around the crowd and relaxing just how angry they all looked, minorly put out of their way as they were forced to take the stairs or be turned away, and there was an angry group of less formally dressed citizens around the reception desk, the phone to the room echoing front he marble floors and glass walls, and you realised they must all be being turned away for appointments.

The elevator on the other side of the lobby seemed to be working perfectly, the sign above signalling for staff only, and there was a scanner beside the door, flashing from red to green as you watched a woman in a smart pencil skirt and matching blazer swipe her ID across it, before stepping inside.

“The elevator itself is stuck at the twelfth floor.”

“It’s not a problem, we can just pry the door open and bring everyone out.” Thomas shrugged, and the man let out a sigh, shaking his head a little, and wiping a hand over his forehead, and you glanced over at your partner, your brow raising a little as you subtly dipped your head towards the panicked man who’d greeted you all, and he nodded in response, agreeing that he could do with taking a quick time out to catch his breath and take his heart rate back down. “That’s the problem, you can’t get at the elevator from the twelfth floor.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“This is a block of private offices. Only certain floors are open to the public, you have to have an ID for the elevator to get to the others, that elevator only stops and opens at certain floors.” He looked like he might collapse at any moment, and you wandered away from the group, searching for a chair around the room, and finding a row of neatly set, leather-lined seats on the opposite wall, a coffee table with magazines stacked on in a makeshift waiting room, and you picked one up.

As you made your way back over, to him, placing the chair down behind him, the firefighters were grouped up, and Newt was knelt on one knee before the man, checking over him carefully, with two fingers recessed over his wrist and the other two to his neck.

“What’s happening?”

The blond looked up at you, a frown on his lips, and he rolled them together, considering his words carefully, and glancing at the manager who was practising deep breaths and counting along upon your partner’s instructions to bring his heart rate back down. “The elevator is trapped on the twelfth floor, but the closest entrance to it is the twenty-fifth?”

“Did you just say the twenty-fifth floor?” A strike of cold fear ran through you, the math being done in your mind within an instance, and you swallowed thickly. “How far did it drop from?”

“It got stuck around about the fifteenth floor and dropped about three floors, not too bad, coulda’ been worse. The brakes kicked in, but they’re not holding up so good.” Newt stood to his feet, brushing dust from his knees, and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The firemen you worked with were already beginning to separate into groups, and Thomas was twirling an ID card in his hand anxiously,  a hand rubbing over his jaw as he continued to divide up the squad team, Gally already having headed back outside to start finding equipment.  “We should head outside, we probably want to grab some emergency stuff, a board, maybe, the stretcher for sure. Three neck braces, and a monitor.”

“We can call it in while we’re out there, just in case they need to head over to Med.”

“Okay.” You rubbed a hand over your forehead, your mind spinning a little as you hung on the situation, and you let out a sigh, shaking your mind clear and nodding. “Yeah. You’re right. Boards, stretcher, all that, let’s go.”

His eyes narrowed on you for a second, before you were following after him, trailing back out to the ambulance, and you were biting on your lower lip until it was raw once again, finding yourself getting lost in a spiral of your own thoughts once again.

Gally passed you by, a lazy wink to tease you with as he held up the ropes slung over his shoulder, and your stomach churned a little as you looked at it, knowing that he was trying to lighten the mood, but it didn’t help at all. Newt opened the back of the van, the ramp folding down and clanging against the road as he unclipped the bolts on the wheels, rolling the stretcher down towards you for you to receive, and you positioned it in front of you, turning it longways and beginning to undo the straps that held the cushioned padding down, to be able to thread on the blackboard for security too.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?”

You turned to look at your partner, realising you’d drifted again, grabbing onto the solid yellow plastic board he was holding to you, balancing it on the stretcher to create a table to place everything else on top of. “Nothing, just a bit apprehensive, I suppose.”

“For what?”

You pulled a face at him, moving to grab your own go-bag and pull it up your shoulders, making sure it was comfortably settled onto both arms this time, and beginning to unload equipment with him as you forced your mind to be occupied. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s just the abseiling down into the abyss of an elevator shaft that’s freaking me out.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t have to do it then, huh?” You paused, turning to look up at him, confusion evident on his features, and he hopped down onto the tarmac before you, hair flopping into his face for a second, before he was blowing it away, and reaching for the ramp once again. “It’s my turn, right? You took the plunge last time, so it’s only fair I go this time.”

His tone was light, making a joke out of the situation you were both looking at, but the truth was resting strong between you in a thick layer of tension as he locked up the van, hands locking on either side of the head at the top of the stretcher, ready to push it along, and waiting for you to take the feet, but you placed a hand on his forearm gently, bringing his attention back to yours. His gaze was curious, sparkling a little as he stared at you, before the gaze was softening, flickering between remorse and pity, before finally settling on acceptance.

“It’s my turn.”

He whispered the words, and you shook your head a little, your gaze flicking down, the toes of his shoes touching against yours as he turned to face you a little more, and his shoulders slumped as he looked back up. “We both know I’m the one going down there.”

“It’s not fair, it shouldn’t have to be you. My physiotherapist cleared me; I can do it.” He sighed, flexing the knee of his injured leg subconsciously, and you chuckled a little, squeezing his arm softly.

“Just because you can do it, doesn't mean you should have to. I know that it makes your leg ache when you hold heavyweights for too long, and just because you can take the pain, you shouldn't have to. I wouldn't be a very good partner, if I let you do that, would I?”

He sighed, staring at you for a moment longer, before the edges of his lips were flicking up in a smile, and he gave in, something like disappointment making itself known on his face as he tried to hide it. “You know I love you, right?”

“You’ve known me for, like, four months.”

“Ouch, the harsh sting of rejection.” He gasped, holding a hand over his heart as he faked a wound, before stepping forwards and knocking the trolley into action, prompting you to take the foot of it and guide the way. You stepped ahead of him, a hand finding the cool metal and beginning to lift it up and over the curb to the sidewalk, heading back inside of the building. There was an ache on the inside of your cheek, your teeth biting down to contain your smile, the affection shown to you by your coworker making you heart race a little, and you glanced back at him over your shoulder.

You didn’t have to say it back, you hoped it was evident simply in the actions you took, the texts you shared and the jokes that were given in hushed laughter between you both, that you did love him too. You weren’t ready to say that to anyone yet, even if it was just a friend.

Jeff was holding the door open for you both in the staff elevator, helping you to gather everything inside, and as soon as the door clicked shut, you swallowed thickly, the numbers on the panel above the door beginning to click up. It felt wrong, to be riding in a contraption that on the other side of the building was broken, and endangering the lives of three people. Your fingers messed nervously with the straps of your backpack, listening to the men behind you shuffle as they sorted through the belongings on the stretcher, and as the box dinged and the doors laid open, you were walking through them and onto solid flooring one again, a somewhat relieved breath slipping from you.

Glancing around the scene, it had all already been commandeered, and you barely had time to process it all over the noise that was being made by the bustling teams. Gally was anchoring weights into the ground, the marble flooring cracking a little as the metal was drilled into place, before he was pushing his feet against it to test the weight, and ropes were being threaded around the beams of the upper ceiling. It was impressive, it truly was, but none of it was making you feel any better.

A collection of harnesses was laid out on the floor, an even more complex pair abandoned on the floor by the doors that were being held open by a thick rod of metal, denting from the clams wrapped around them, and you sighed, nails digging into your palms from the fists you were holding just to contain the shaking of your hands.

Staring down at the straps and bondings on the floor, you were completely lost, nudging it a little with the toe of your sneakers as you took it all in, and a deep chuckle sounded in your ear, making you jump, before you were watching a familiar head of dark brown hair dip down, picking up one of the harnesses, and picking it up, showing it to you.

“You’re gonna’ want to lose the backpack, for now, we’re wearing full-body harnesses.”

It made more sense, there hadn't been nearly this many clips and straps on the one you'd worn last time, and you let your bag slide down your arms clattering on the floor loudly. Picking it up and mimicking the way the lieutenant before you was holding it, he crouched won, spreading it out on the ground before himself, waiting for you to mimic the actions, and it began to look less like a pile of fabric scars and more like something slightly reassuring the more you adjusted it.

Four circles became evident, adjustable straps on them, and a belt that would clip around your waist with a set of match straps that would all connect elsewhere over your body. He stepped into the first two, and you took a deep breath, every action taking you closer into literally throwing yourself down into an elevator shaft with nothing but a rope to keep you alive.

Matching him, you placed your feet inside of the circles, before reaching down to the ground behind yourself to find the other two circles, holding onto them tightly and beginning to inch the contraception up your body The gem of your trousers caught for a second, and you shook your leg, adjusting it all back down comfortably, before you were hooking your first arm through the strap, the band on your right coming up to sit on your shoulder, and the buttons of your shirt were catching on the fabric, stiff and uncomfortable work shirt, and you cursed a little under your breath at the restriction of movement that ti wall offered you.

Dropping the edge of the harness, it hung loosely at your waist, and you were thankful that you’d chosen to wear more than just a tank top under your shirt today, the chill in your apartment having promoted a long sleeve shirt, and you undid the buttons on your uniform shirt, dropping the crisp material to the ground, and trying again to adjust the harness on your arms.

Once it was on both, it was hanging limply on your body, unadjusted and unfastened, but the thick strap of material running up your back and pressed between your shoulder blades did feel strong, and make you feel a little more secure, and you tried to let your worries go, watching Thomas’ fingers fly smoothly over his front as he did up all of the clips and straps, no struggle as he was trained to do the equipment up, and you lifted each side of the belt, clipping it over your stomach, and struggling to tug the loose material through to tighten it around your waist to hold tight and secure.

“Struggling a little, there?”

“Just a bit.” You mumbled, and he grinned, lifting a hand up to take a hold of the straps on your shoulders, adjusting it better on your arms to sit comfortably and not dig into you, yet holding snugly to your skin as he fastened it all up, fingers flying over the bolts to tighten them. Hands smoothed down over your sides, checking each point of weakness, and your breath hitched a little in your throat as he did, before the backs of his fingers were smoothing over your hips, downs the fronts of your thighs, and he took a hold of each strap, the final material sitting loosely.

Gripping one in each hand, he tugged harshly, your body jerking forwards a little closer to him, a gasp as you did, before the material was tight along your thighs, and he smirked a little, eyes finding yours as his gaze trailed along the harness to make sure it was all done up correctly. “Tight enough?”

“Mhm..” You swallowed thickly, head nodding on a second’s delay, and he grinned, taking a step away from you as he reached away for the first rope. Looping or through both of the hooks on the front of your body, sealed over your ribs as he brought it all together, hooking it into the carabiner and screwing the clip up tightly. Giving it a test tug for security, you huffed a little as your body was jerked forwards towards him again, and you glared up at him weakly as he simply grinned in response to you tripping over your feet, a cheeky look on his features. “You did that on purpose.”

“What can I say? You’re just falling for me already.”

“I think I want to go back to hating you.” You grouched, and he laughed a little, doing up his own ropes, and firemen around you were putting their kit on. You knew he was distracting you, and you appreciated it, but as he pulled on a piece of headgear and adjusted the torch on top, it only made it all a little more real. Nearing the edge of the elevator shaft, you peered inside, unable to even see the box that had fallen, it was so far down, and you let out a shaky breath. “I’m not feeling so good about this whole height thing.”

“You’ve already down this once, you’ve got it this time, too.”

It was supposed to be reassuring, and you felt him come up to stand beside you, but you only scoffed, shaking your head. “Thomas, that was, like, fifteen feet down. This is more like one hundred feet.”

“It’s one hundred and thirty, actually.” You turned to look at him, a grimace passing over his features as pale skin over his cheeks turned a little pink, and he shook his head at himself. “I don’t know why I said that, it didn’t help, at all.

“No, it didn’t.”

“I admire you, though.” He turns you around, the two of you standing only a couple of metres away from the gap, backs to the gap as you watched the team finally be prepared, and while you knew only a few minutes had passed in this whole amount of time, with your stress, it somehow managed to feel like both seconds and hours all in one. “I know you’re scared, and you’re doing this for Newt to save him the pain. I think that’s really brave.”

“I suppose so..” Your words were whispered, and he nodded his head, adjusting your hands on the rope attached to your waist as it no longer lay slack on the ground. Brenda was anchored to the ground before you, holding onto your rope as she wore her own harness, feet pressing to the metal on the ground as she took a seat. Behind her was Gally the two offering you and Thomas a nod, and Minho and Fry took up place on his side, the signal telling you that it was time to go. You grabbed your bag, lifting it onto your shoulder as Thomas pulled on his backpack, and with that, you were holding the breath your lungs as nerves took over.

“They won’t let anything happen to you, alright?” Your attention was drawn back to Thomas, and as you looked up at him, he offered a smile. “Just keep your eyes on me, alright? We’re just going to walk backwards slowly, keep your eyes on me, and as we go over the edge, keep your feet on the ground.”

You nodded your head, nothing but honesty and compassion in his eyes as he made you a silent promise to keep you safe, and your hand twitched a little as you felt fingers smooth over your palm. His hand took yours, squeezing tightly as his fingers wrapped over the back of your hand, and you held onto him tightly, before following his guidance, and taking a step back.

You did as told, keeping your eyes locked with his, slow and cautious steps, and your breathing only picked up in rent as the feeling dragging your body down changed.

Your feet were teetering on the precipice of the shaft, wobbling a little, and you snapped back to look at Brenda, everything suddenly feeling unsafe again, and you froze up. “Hey, hey, c’mon! Look at me, eyes on me, remember?”

You choked up, feeling the squeezing around our hand, and you looked down, fingers wrapped warmly around your hand, and you wondered if he could feel how hard your blood was pumping through your veins and how fast your heart was racing right now. Looking back up to him, honey-coloured eyes were fixed on you, and he squeezed again, nodding his head.

“Just look at me, okay? You’ve got this.”

His brows raised a little, and you force yourself to take a breath, following after him and lifting one foot, placing it at an unusual angle as your leg bent, foot pressing flat to the wall on the inside of the elevator shaft, and as your other followed, you let out a soft sound, something between fear and relief at taking the first step.

“You’re doing so good.” His words were whispered, a few more steps being taken as you began to inch your way down into the darkness, slowly gaining a pace as you began to gain confidence in your movements.

The further down you got, the darker it got, surrounding you as you began to lose your vision. Slowly, it all faded away, until you could barely even see the rope in front of your face, and you couldn't hold the gaze of the man beside you anymore, the darkness shrouded around you. The elevator shaft above you that was the only thing that now connected you to everyone else was simply a sliver of light, and the temperature had dropped rapidly within the cold metal tunnel, making you shiver a little as only your undershirt remained on your body.

The hand wrapped around yours loosened, and you held on for a second, before he was tugging it back, your movements coming to a halt for a second as you hesitated, before releasing him, and your hands fumbled to find the rope in front of your body, wobbling a little bit as you searched for something else to hold onto, your breath hitching in your throat as your food scraped a little against the wall, and you fell forward.

Catching yourself against the wall before you smashed into it too solidly, you grunted, a slight spark of pain running along your wrist, and you winced as bright light filled your vision, Thomas messing with the head torch on his forehead, lighting up the small bubble of air around the two of you.

“Whoa, whoa, relax. It’s alright, just needed some light.” The radio on his shoulder crackled, checking whether he was okay as the two ropes stopped lowering you both down, and he looked below himself, the metal of the elevator reflecting back to you, only thirty feet or so from you now, and he looked back up, raising his brows. “Look how close we are, you’ve come so far, look at that.”

You swallowed thickly, not daring to look down, shaking your head adamantly as you hung in the air, gripping onto the rope, lips pursed and blood running cold. The radio crackled again, and he lifted his hand, pressing the button on the side to continue lowering you down slowly, and you opened your mouth to protest, fear washing over your once again as the ropes jerked, but you were being shushed slowly.

“Do you remember what you said to me the day you ran into that burning building?”

“Not really. I remember a lot of yelling, that's about it.” You mumbled, a tremor in your voice, and Thomas chuckled, his hands finding your ankles and lifting them up, placing your feet flat against the wall, and forcing you to take the proper stance once again.

“Well, I remember. I was yelling at you, being scary, and you told me that we saved a life. You didn't take any of my shit, and then you called me out on it all, but you made me look past our actions to the life we saved. Sometimes I forget to do that, and you made me realise.” You huffed, the joke he’d slipped in there making you roll your eyes, and you took a step with one foot, regaining your momentum again as one of his hands smoothed over your clasped palms, holding onto your hands tightly as he used one on his own rope. “We’re going to go and save some lives, you’re going to save some lives, and I’m just here to help you. You need to be brave for me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, the sparkle in his eyes coming back as you dared to look up at him, catching his gaze in the brought light for only a second, before he was nodding his head. “When we get down there, it’s going to be a little scary again, alright? I need you to stand on the top of the box while I open the hatch, and I’ll go down first. I’ll help you inside, but the rope is going to go slack, because they’re going to give you enough space to move around. You think you can handle that?”

“I can do it. I’ll be okay.” You took a deep breath, not quite having faith in yourself yet, but forcing your heart rate to calm down with every deep breath to steady your nerves, before you were finally beginning to trust yourself. The elevator became clearer, the staining on the wall of an old set of numbers, a faded ‘12’ on the wall, before you were stretching your legs out underneath yourself and finding the metal of the elevator to land on.

Just as Thomas promised, he gave your hands a final squeeze, before he was stepping back and tugging on the rope to let them know that you’d both landed. Just like that, the pressure of the pull holding you up went slack, extra rope pooling around your feet, and it only looked to be around ten foot worth of material.

“Not a lot to work with.”

He glanced up, looking at the rope that had gone spare as you were suddenly dependent on your own two feet without support, and he indeed his head. “Ropes are one hundred and fifty feet, but they need at least ten foot of rope to work with up there, and we’re close to a hundred and fifty feet down.”

You shuddered a little, that fact along bringing panic surging back, and your arms wrapped around yourself. The torchlight was overwhelmed by the flickering light on the inside of the elevator when the hatch came loose, the panicked crying of a young girl and the shushing from her mother sounding out, before Thomas was switching off his headlight.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s alright. We’re going to get you out of here, okay?” You watched, the ay her face peeled back form recessed into her mother’s shoulder, tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, but the badge on Thomas’ uniform and the smile on his face made her trust him, the soft nod she gave him being enough to get them to step back towards the edges as he lowered his feet inside.

The cage shook as he landed, a sharp intake of breath that made your head spin as you panicked for just a second, before Thomas was calling out to you, and you were taking tentative steps over to the edge of the hatch. The lieutenant was staring up at you, nodding his head, and reaching up to tap at the edge of the hatch.

“Legs first, I’ve got you, just drop down.”

Choking down the lump in your throat, you tried to blink away the thin line of tears you held, knowing you needed to be brave for the people on the inside of the elevator. This was your job, you were saving lives, you were inspiring a young girl, and you were damn well going to be proud of yourself for it.

Taking a seat carefully, your legs swung over the edge, shuffling a little until your hands were pressed to the opposite side, and his hands were wrapping gently around your calves, stopping your legs from the swinging motions they’d been taking. You focused on that, on the touch of his fingertips into your muscle instead, the way he was holding onto you tightly, reassurance, instead of the way you were risking dropping down into a metal deathtrap over a hundred feet down from where you were being held up by just two people and a metal anchor.

Inching forwards again, you lowered yourself over as the metal under yourself slipped away, those same hands smoothing a little further up your body, until you were lowering yourself down by your upper arms. Smoothing over your hips, his hands found your waist, burning hot through the thin material of your shirt, and lowering you down until your feet found the ground, a small sigh slipping from you as you took a minute to control your fears.

“I told you, I got you.”

Your eyes cracked open, looking up to find honey-brown eyes fixed on you, and you offered him a small smile, taking a deep and calming breath, before turning to face the family before you, and his touch fell away. “Okay, let's get you all checked out, huh?”

The little girl nodded, and you peeled your backpack from your arms, placing it down and crouching beside it to open it up, watching as the child, who couldn't be any older than ten sank to her knees before you. As she did, the front of the mother was relieved to you, large and swollen, a pregnancy that was early third trimester or late second, and your actions paused as you tried to assess the next course of action.

Thomas had brought spare harnesses, and yet there were no spare ropes, you could hear him behind you as he worked, setting up the next set to be equipped, but there was no way that you would be able to carry a woman that far along in a tandem harness without posing a risk to the child. Turning back to look at him as you snapped on a pair of rubber gloves, his brows raised at you, pausing what he was doing for a second to look over, and his jaw dropped a little, the anticipated addition clearly bringing his mind to a short-circuited halt.

Your focus went back to the young girl, the mother now with a hand resting over her stomach, and the father was sitting in the corner, popped up against the wall, eyes a little half-lidded and a cut on his forehead, but he was lucid, and so you knew he’d be alright to wait until his family was checked out.

“Okay, this light is going to be a little bright okay, I just need you to follow it with your eyes for me, can you do that?” She nodded, and you put on the best smile that you could, before clicking the light on the end of the torch and lifting it up. Dragging it slowly from left to right across her vision, you monitored the speed at which her pupils flexed, and how capable she was of tracking the source. Returning it the other way, you watched for the same signs. Up, and down, she was alright, and you ran your fingers gently over her head for signs of bleeding or bruising, feeling under her hair for swelling. “You’re doing so good! You’re even braver than I am!”

“I cried a lot, I’m not brave.”

She sighed sadly, her mother reaching out to place a comforting hand on her head and brush her hair out of her face gently, and you leaned in a little closer, offering her a smile. “That’s okay, I wanted to cry on the way down here, too. But, you see the firefighter behind me?” She glanced over your shoulder, her eyes flicking over him for a second, before she nodded. “He’s great at this, he’s the bravest, and he’s going to get you back up to the top, okay? He’ll help you put a harness on, and then you’re going to do some climbing, think you can do that?”

She hesitated, before a look of determination was passing over her face, and she stood on weak and unsteady legs, before rounding to him. His voice faded into the background, deep and soothing as he began to get the young girl roped up, and she would undoubtedly be fastened to his chest, so that he could climb back up with her, brushing your knees off a little as you stood to talk to the mother.

“How are you feeling? Any unusual headaches, blurred vision, whiplash?” She shook her head whispering her ‘no’ on a hoarse through, and you felt awful for what she’d had to endure today, the rhythmic pattern of her hand rubbing circles over her stomach, soothing you both, and she traced the flashlight with her eyes just as commanded, and there was no delayed reaction in her responses either, all showing up with a good sign. “How about the baby, anything you want to ask?”

“No, I know my little one is alright.” She cracked a smile now, and you raised a brow at her, the hand on her stomach leaving her bump to take your wrist, pushing her cardigan out of the way until just a cotton t-shirt was covering her, and she placed your palm flat over her skin. You waited for a second, before a sharp jolt pressed to your palm, and she winced a little, the hard kick from within making you chuckle. “He’s doing just fine. If anything, he’s mad he didn’t get his lunch yet, we had reservations that we’ve missed.”

“Well, you’ve got a little fighter in there, huh?”

“You can say that again.” She teased, wrapping herself back up warmly, and you did a quick scan over what of her you could see.

“My boy is going to be a football star with energy like that.” The father grinned, wheezing a little on his words as he pushed himself up to sit a little straighter, and your attention turned to him. Before you could move onto him, though, a hand was wrapping around your forearm, tugging you back slightly, and you turned to face Thomas. He pulled you aside, to the edge of the elevator, as much privacy as you were going to get, but his back was to the family, leaning down low, and voice barely a whisper;

“We’re not going to be able to get her in a harness. You’re going to have to climb back up on your own with the mother and the girl, and come back to me with the harnesses.”

It was a reasonable decision, but the longer you waited, the more at risk of a concussion the father was growing to, the cut on his had needing attending to as blood beaded along his hairline and dripped in a single steady path along his skin, a red trail left in its wake before it was sliding down his neck and into the fabric of his shirt, his head leaning a little to the side.

“No, I think you have to be the one to go.”

He shook his head, a frown taking over his lips. “No, no, absolutely not. I can’t leave you down here witho-” Your hand found his wrist, wrapping around it delicately and squeezing a little, bringing him to silence as he glanced down, before his eyes were searching through yours as he tried to understand. “You’re terrified, though.”

“I know, but I’m saving lives, remember?” The edges of his lips flicked up a little, a sigh through his nose as his jaw clenched, before he was looking over his shoulder to the father as you nodded your head a little. “He needs medical attention, and you need to take the girl and the mother back up. I’ll wait right here, and you just get back to me as soon as you can.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine, I swear.” He didn’t look convinced, watching as your hands went to the straps of your harness, beginning to undo them as you looked down, trying to work them all out. He sighed, his own hands moving to begin undoing the clips and seals quickly, helping you to loosen the safety equipment, until it could drop down your arms and pool at the floor. Stepping out of it, you gave a final squeeze to his arm, nodding your head. “I got this.”

“I know you do, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You grinned a little, stepping away from him, and the mother looked between you both, worry in her eyes, and you let Thomas do the explaining once again, as he loosened all of the straps and adjusted the harness to be able to take her weight securely without harming the baby she was growing.

As soon as she was fastened into it, he was pulling on her rope, fastening his hands and crouching down to be able to give her a boost, lifting her up to be able to climb out from the hatch and onto the roof of the elevator. Her footsteps were loud and clanging for a moment, before they were gone, and she was clearly on her way of climbing up back to safety, taking your only escape route with her, and you felt like you were going to suffocate on your fears.

Thomas’ gaze caught yours, worried and unsure, his jaw dropping, but there was nothing he could say, knowing that this was the best way to go about it, and instead, he dropped his head in a single nod.

“I’ll be back for you real soon, alright?”

You gave him the most convincing smile you could muster, before he was telling the little girl to jump up, lifting her until she could sit on the edge of the box, and he followed as soon as she was clear, her legs out of the way. As he jumped, the box creaked a little, the force of his movements making it shake, and your eyes went wide, body tensing up, fear once again surging through your system, before Thomas was disappearing too.

The pair lingered for an extra few moments, and you knew that he was making sure the girl was properly attached to him, all secures done up tightly, before their footsteps faded too, and you were left alone, nobody to catch you this time.

Taking a seat on the floor beside the father, his eyes studied you for a tense moment, before he was offering you a supportive smile. “Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m just as scared as you are.”

You offered him the most reassuring look you could, trying to use it for your own relaxation too, and you started by running your hand gently along the back of his neck, a hiss leaving his lips as you did, and you paused all movements.

“Sorry, your hands are cold.”

“You’re lethal, do you know that?” You mumbled, lips quirking up at the sides, and you shook your head, your fingers twitching against his neck as you got back to work, and he let out a weak chuckle. “No more noises like that unless you’re in pain, or you know something wrong, alright?”

He closed his eyes, head barely moving in a nod, but it was enough to secure his confirmation, and you began the movement of your fingers along his neck once again. He didn’t make those sounds, keeping his promise, but he did wince and pull the occasional faces as you moved, the swelling frowning around the tissue and the tense feeling under the tips of your fingers being slightly concerning, but not enough to be an immediate concern. When you were finished, you placed a palm on the back of his neck, cupping carefully and lifting your thumb to press into the back of his head.

Pulling his head forwards, you placed the softly cushioned support of the neck brace behind his head, the plastic holding strong as you lay his head back into it and as you released him, finding it holding secure, you brought the front around carefully. The straps hung loose, and you adjusted it under his chin, holding his head up at the correct angle, and just like it always did with patients, a small sigh of relief left him he was no longer tasked with holding up the weight of his own head.

Placing it over his shoulders, you tightened the straps, fastening them correctly, and letting out a little sigh as one job was checked off of your list. You moved onto testing his reactions next, and bringing up the flashlight to look into his eyes, studying him. His reactions were slower than you would have liked, his pupils dilating with a paused reaction and it was sluggish in his movements, but he was able to clearly react to the light, tracing it in all dimensions, and to read the title of the notice on the other side of the elevator clearly, no blurring present.

Lifting your gaze to the cut across his forehead, you pushed back the slightly blood-matted hair of his fringe, dirty-blonde hair going a murky red-brown at the tips, and you lifted it out of the way, tucking it back in hopes that it would stay, the strands sticking up unevenly.

Pressing around the edges, and watching the consistency and speed of the blood flow, it wasn’t too bad, slow and somewhat clotted as it tried to repair itself, darker in colour as the fresh blood under the surface began to flow the way it should, and it was simply a laceration.

“Skin wound, nothing too serious. I’ll get it cleaned up for you, won’t even need stitches. Looks way worse than it is.”

“Stings like a bitch, though.”

“Well, you’re not going to like this, then.” You warned him, holding up the small foil packet with an antiseptic wipe sealed inside of it, and tearing it open. Letting the wrapper flutter away to the floor, a loud groan left his lips, ones that tails of into a whiny noise as you wiped over his skin, his hands becoming fists by his sides, before he bit down on his tongue to try and contain the noises, lips sealing shut, and a grunt rounding it out. “I’m sorry, Mr, uh..”

“You can just call me Clint.”

“I’m sorry, Clint. It’s not all that fun, but it’s a hell of a lot worse than a skin infection, that’s for sure. You’d hate it if this thing got gross and had to be scraped clean.” He grimaced a little at the idea, and you knew the feeling. On more than one occasion, you’d been called out to a call for a person who hadn't called for an original injury, and were now at risk of collapsing, passing out and omitting and sometimes even spasming when the infection got too bad. You hated those trips, when you arrived and tried to work out what was wrong, only to find a finger on one hand completely discoloured and flowing with pus from a simple cooking accident, or a scratch from a pet that hadn't been cared for and was now oozing and bruised. “All done, now, okay?”

You cleared down along his skin, doing the best you could to wipe the dried blood away from his skin and help him to feel a little bit cleaner, and he mumbled a ‘thanks’ as you did. Putting down the wipe and searching through the small plastic box on the floor that you had open, you found the half-empty and folded tube of cream to apply to it, squeezing some onto the tip of your finger, and warming it by rubbing it between your thumb and forefinger to warm it, before smoothing the healing solution over his skin.

Just as you were screwing the top back on, you flinched, pausing for a second as you tried to listen out to see whether you’d heard correctly, and much more clearly this time, your name was bouncing from the walls of the elevator shaft.

Peeling your gloves from your hands and dropping them down to the floor in a ball, you studio up, brushing the dust staining your pants away from your knees, and moving to stand underneath the hatch in the elevator roof.

“Thomas?”

“Yep, that’s me.” You squinted as bright light flashed in your eyes, the light swinging a little from side to side as Thomas moved, but as you peered out into the darkness, you couldn't see anything except for the swinging little spot of the torch. “How’s he lookin’ in there? He going to be able to get in a harness?”

“It’s not ideal, but I think if we climb carefully, we’ll be just fine.” Your voice cracked a little with the sudden shout, but you offered the man a small smile, turning to look at him. “We’re good, right. Clint?”

“We’re great, kiddo.” He mumbled, holding up a weak hand with a thumb stuck up, and you grinned, a reassuring nod for both of you.

“Glad to hear it.” The torch disappeared from your sight once again, and you figured he was looking up, back to the elevator shaft entrance that was obscured from your view, and you twisted your head away as he looked back, the light catching your eyes again, stinging at your retinas. “You’ve both done real good today, we’re almost through with it all. I just need you to come out and grab the harness that Brenda is lowering down beside me, so you can drop it through the hatch.”

“Uh, come out as in on top of the elevator?”

“Can you handle that? I’m only two or three floors away, but if you can get yourself roped up first, it’ll save a lot of time.” It made sense, it was logical, and you didn’t want to be down here any longer than necessary, because, despite the bravery taking you over, you were still in a broken metal box that was hanging precariously at thirteen floors above where it should be, with no safety measures in operation.

“I can do it.”

He gave some kind of reply, something you didn’t catch as you stared up at the entrance of the hatch, the sighs around you becoming clearer as you began to notice the grungy grey walls that were coming into clarity as Thomas’ silhouette got closer and closer to you. Lifting your hands up, you were only a few inches shy of the roof, and pushing off of the floor, the elevator creaked a little in a way that made your stomach twist, but you gripped onto the edge, and you were able to hold on.

As you swung in the air, it wasn’t too much to handle, but your arms trembled as you tried to pull yourself up, not having enough strength to do so, and you dropped back down, the box around you rattling as you did, a grunt leaving your lips as a shock ran along your leg, a jolt of pain at landing on it awkwardly, a flash of heat following it.

“What did you just do?”

“I tried to climb out?” You shouted back, not understanding the rushed sound to his voice, before there was a loud screeching sounding out, and the ground beneath you moved by a few inches, before coming to another solid stop, your arms flying out around you in a panic.

“Don’t move, okay? Don’t move even a step!”

“I’m not! I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to at this point!” There was a shake in your voice, nausea filling you once again and your entire body was tensed painfully tight, fear taking over again. “What’s happening?”

“It shifted. The movements made it come loose, but it's alright.” He was closer, voice no longer needing to shout as much as he near you, and you could now pick out the colours on the logo of his shirt, and the outlines of his features, close enough now that you could speak without shouting. “Just stay real still, and it’s going to be just fine.”

“Okay.” You took a shaky breath, running your breathing routines in your head as you tried to calm yourself down, and you turned on your spot, slowly and carefully to face your patient. “We’re okay. We’ll be fine.”

“Yes, we will.” He sounded just as scared as you, but the fatherly-instinct within him was prompting him to calm you, even though that was what you should be doing for him, and you hummed.

What couldn't have been anything longer than a minute passed you by, before the box you were in was creaking again, a shudder running under your feet that travelled along your spine, chilling your blood instantly in your veins, and your head snapped up. “Thomas?”

“It’s moving again, I’m ri-”

The box shifted, dropping once again, and you felt bile rise in your throat as your feet left the ground for a moment, feeling the air whipping around you.

There was no sound, you couldn't even muster a scream, the entire event happening so quickly that you barely even had time to process it as the fear in your body made you feel like you were blacking out. Your grip on everything slipped away, the lights inside of the box flashing, and then, just like that, you were finding gravity once again.

You collided with the floor roughly, the side of your body aching as you hit against it, the side of your head throbbing angrily only a split second later, and your vision was spotting. It was like a weight sitting on your chest, unable to breathe, fingertips digging into the floor as you tried to support yourself, and push yourself up to sitting up. Your ears were ringing a little, your hand coming up to smack at the side of your head as you knocked yourself back to consciousness and forced your senses to realign, shaking off the dizziness to look around.

Clint had keeled over, eyes wide as he now lay on the floor, his eyes searching for yours, and a groan left you as you rolled over onto your hands and knees, gasping and spluttering for breath as your head spun, an array of different aches raising along your body, and you made your way over to him. Kneeling back and sitting on your heels, you adjusted him carefully, laying him on his back and thank your earlier self that you’d already applied a neck brace to the man, keeping him safe there, and he lay out, staring up at the dimly flickering lights.

“Thomas?” Words came out croaky, your throat sore and dry, the pain of holding in tears as you tried to be the strong one making it painful to talk, and you cleared your throat, trying again to call out to him. “Lieutenant?”

“Oh, thank fucking God. Are you okay?” There was a panicked rush to his voice, and you patted yourself down a little, running your gaze over the man before you, and licking at dry lips to stop them from cracking.

“We’re both still in one piece.” He was far away once again, the light dimmer and his voice more distant, and it only scared you more, making you feel alone, and like you were sitting on a ticking time bomb. “How far did we drop?”

“Uh..” He paused, the lights flashing around the tunnel for a moment, before it was disappearing again. “You’re somewhere between the sixth and seventh floor.”

“Okay, how long until you get to us?”

“I can’t.” The silence was thick between you, the tone in his voice conveying exactly how he felt, and it matched your own mood exactly. Helpless, scared, alone, frustrated, the list could go on, and you pressed down roughly with your nails into your palms, hands shaking as you tried to hold it together. “The ropes can’t get that far down. “Minho and Fry are going to pull me back up, Newt is on his way to the sixth floor, and so are the rest of the truck and squad team. We’re going to have to pull down the wall, okay? They’re already on their way.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Just hold on, and be brave. Can you do that? For me?” You absolutely could not, everything inside of you was rattled and terrified, and you were barely holding it together, but you didn’t want him panicking either, and so you held the trembling in your body off long enough to give him a smooth response;

“Yeah. I’ll manage. Just hurry, okay?”

There was a soft chuckle, empty and weak but it was there, and he agreed, the sound barely reaching your ears as it made its way down the dark elevator shaft. “I’m already on my way to come and get you, I promise.”

Looking back down and around you, the possessions from your bag were scattered around, and you lowered yourself down to the hands and knees, inching your way down slowly until you could reach out around yourself, scarcely crawling at all when you needed to, until you were beginning to gather up the possessions that belonged there. Packing away the kit, you sealed it all up, making sure you didn’t construct any sudden movements, and beginning to pack up your bag.

There were muffled voices on the other side of the wall, what you assumed would be loud shouts was almost a whisper through the layers of metal, concrete and scaffolding, but the cracking and splintering of drywall soon followed it, and you let out a sigh of relief. Packing away the various containers and boxes inside of your bag, you zipped it up, pushing it over to sit in the corner beside where the doors would open, and rocking back to sit with your legs folded before you, hands holding you up.

A hand felt out along the floor, a calloused palm patting the back of your hand gently, before settling over it to squeeze, and the dam inside of you broke. A sob left you, loud and freeing as the tears you’d been blinking away finally formed fully, and leaked along your cheeks in large droplets, a shake moving along your entire body as you did.

He squeezed once again, sitting with you quietly as you gasped for breath, letting out the terrifying mixture of emotions with you. He was shushing you quietly, and you wanted to laugh at how the roles had been reversed, how it as supposed to be you comforting and helping him, but you couldn't help him, breaking down with the overwhelming terror of the situation you were trapped in.

The sounds outside of the elevator were getting louder, voices becoming clearer, and you could hear the clattering made by chunks of the wall being ripped away and scattered across the tiled flooring of the executive building, but you didn’t care, because you had been keeping everything bottled up for so long that you were unable to hold it back any longer, and your body shook with the intensity of your emotions.

Your lungs were once again burning for breath, head spinning and heart racing and you took gasping intakes of air, swallowing down only to splutter and hiccup as you tried to exhale, and the man beside you never said a word, his hand rubbing soothingly over yours beside you on the floor as he tried to remain steady, much in the same way you were.

“I’m so sorry.” Your words were broken up and stuttered, and you tried to get a grip on yourself, wiping at your cheeks and hating how your eyes were stinging, throat raw, feeling like you’d swallowed a ball of fire from the burning within, and you felt like claustrophobia might be a fear you now had to add onto your list, the walls of the box seeming to get smaller and smaller.

Like some kind of blessed relief, there was banging against the doors of the elevator, a tap of a knock, and Chuck’s voice was ringing through to you loud and clear, asking if you were alright. Leaning forwards and pressing your hand to the cold metal, a chuckle of ecstatic relief was released.

“We’re okay, Chuck. You guys planning to get these doors open for us soon?”

There was no verbal response, but instead, a second later, the doors were cracking open, the slight humming of the set of spreaders as it was cracked open, a sliver of natural light piercing through from the lobby, and you caught sight of is flushed cheeks and darker brown curls, a worried face that was trying to ease you by smiling. “Soon enough for you?”

You nodded your head, before he was being pushed aside, blonde coming into view, and as the gap widened enough, you could make him out. His brows were furrowed, a guilty look on his face as he met your gaze, and you shook your head. “Don’t do that to yourself, Newt.”

You could see the cogs turning in his head, one of his hands slipping up to rest on the edge of the elevator, his head at the same height as yours when you leaned down, only the bottom third of the elevator actually making it onto the sixth floor, the rest still raised above. Reaching down and resting your hand over his, he frowned even further, the gap almost wide enough for you to get to work, but the elevator was shuddering a little again at the action, and you pushed Newt’s hand away, just in case, squeezing it before letting go.

“Just so you know, I love you, too. You’re the best friend, like, ever. Even if sometimes I hate it.” His lips flicked up at that, and he nodded his head, before you were glancing away just for a second, he whispered conversation only needing to be shared between the two of you. Grabbing your med-bag and pushing it through the door gap, he took it, accepting it and dropping or down. “I’m going to need the board, and you need to be ready to go. As soon as he’s out, get to the ambo’, okay?”

“You’ll call once you’re out too, right? So I know you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I will.” You swore it, and he backed away, preparing the blackboard to be slid up to you, holding it over his head as the gap finally became wide enough, and you backed out of the space to be able to receive it. As you rolled out of the way, the elevator creaked again, dropping a couple more centimetres, and you swallowed thickly, annoying the straps as quickly as you could.

There was so much commotion going on outside of the elevator, your mind spinning as you tried to focus, and you heard Brenda and Gally arriving, clearly having pulled out their anchor and received their ropes, and you laid the plastic board out carefully beside Clint.

“Okay, there’s normally two of us for this, so I’m going to need your help here, okay?” He hummed, his eyes finding yours, a look flashing through that told you he understood, and you placed a hand flat under his shoulder and hip. “I’m going to roll you, and I need you to tense up, hold it for as long as you can, and I’ll push the board under you, then, when you roll back, try to shuffle onto it, okay?”

He did as told, his body going tense, despite the pain it caused as he winced, and you rolled him over onto his side as much as you could alone. Freeing one hand from his body, you pushed the board under him, and as he rolled back down, he groaned, but the shuffle had worked, because he sat squarely in the middle of the bard where he should be, and you wasted no time.

Pulling the first strap over his waist tightly, you did it up, sealing him down, and moving to the one over his chest. Once there were secure, you wrapped one over the top of his head grinning a little as he stared up at you, holding his head still, before you were tracing along his feet and arms, doing up every fasten you could think of for his safety. “You ever been crowd surfing, Clint?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Your joke was well-received, barely a second of silence before he was letting out a pained chuckle, and you looked back to the door. Gally and Winston were first, stood on either side and ready to receive the board, lifting him carefully above their heads to lower him down, and Newt had raised the trolley up as high as it could go in order to collect him.

You held in your grunt of pain at the exertion of sliding the board across the floor, hearing the scraping of the plastic along the ground, before the elevator was shaking again. Their hands sealed around the end, and the pressure was taken off of you as it began to inch out further and further again, letting them pull it as more bodied came to join, more hands stabilising the mix, and the movement at the end of the hall caught your attention.

The opposite elevator opened up, carrying the final three bodies; Minho, Frypan and Thomas. You could at least breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that the rest of your team were all safe, with their feet flat on the ground and not dangling precariously hundreds of feet off the ground. The former two raced forwards, each hooking onto the stretcher board and helping to pull it the rest of the way out, and then, he was disappearing from your sights, strapped to the stretcher and ready to be wheeled away.

A final glance from Newt, a nod of your head, and then honey-coloured eyes were filling your vision as Thomas popped up in front of you. The sudden change it weight and all the added movement was making it unstable once again, his jaw dropping, mind seemingly going blank, and you gripped onto the edges of the doors as it trembled, tipping a little to one side as metal ground against concrete, the ropes on one side of the elevator beginning to give way and snap, the subtle sounds of the metal fraying sounding in your ears as small cables began to tinker on the metal roof as they fell free.

“You need to get out, like, now.”

You could only nod, trying to adjust yourself on the tilted angle to swing your legs through the gap, and you got one out, before the lift was jerking again, dropping down to become even, and the metal was caving under its own weight. “Oh, fuck it.”

A large hand found your ankle, tugging you forwards, your body jerking at the motion and the lift moved too, but before it could drop away, another hand was finding your waist, tugging you free, and you tumbled forwards enough to stumble as you dropped down the gap, but you never landed on the ground. That same hand dragged along your body as he fell back a little from the impact, holding you up the hand from your calf found your back and the hand from your hip was circling under your arms to hold onto you tightly, staggering backwards and away from the danger.

When your feet found the floor again, your toes were brushing against it, before your entire body was sagging into Thomas’, knees going weak, and you were relying upon him to hold you up everything seemed to go numb all at once. Your head fell forwards, too heavy to even hold up as your eyes fluttered closed, and your forehead pressed into his shoulder as you let him support you entirely, legs buckling underneath you.

The arms around you only tightened, the one under your arms relaxing to simply hold you, fingers spreading as his hands sat between your shoulder blades, and he rubbed slowly, the hug unexpected, but exactly what you needed, and your hands moving around him too, bunching in the back of his shirt as you took a shuddering breath and held on for dear life.

“Told you I was coming to get you.”

You could only laugh, a pathetic sound that barely made itself known in response to the words he’d whispered in your ears, but it didn’t matter, because you were soon being pulled back, Thomas’ hold on your dropping down to simply having a hand settled on your lower back as Brenda cupped your cheeks, wiping away any residual wetness sphere with her thumbs, before shaking her head.

“You scared the shit outta’ me.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t all that fond of the experience, either.” You muttered, a wave of laughter going up around you, from the other team members, and you jumped a little at the creaking of metal once again, the box dropping a foot or so further down. Reaching behind your back, to the hand that was still rubbing motions that were barely detectable into your skin, you took his wrist, pulling it away from you as he paused upon the contact.

You couldn’t keep up with the conversation around you, questions and observations about it all being thrown at you, but you could focus on the way Thomas had been able to calm you down so well before, and how you needed a little more of that now. Taking his hand in your own, just like he had done when you’d still been in your harness, you breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers wrapped around your palm in welcome return.

There was still a lot to be done, the job here was far from over, but right now, you were taking a pause to let yourself calm down, and as Thomas squeezed your hand in comfort, you squeezed back.

[drawlfoy]

snake for a badger

masterlist requests are closed, but read this before you click away! message me/send an ask to be tagged :)

pairing: hufflepuff!reader x draco

request? nope this was something that i came up with myself but low key i had quite a few hufflepuff requests that i never attended to and i wanted to give the hufflepuffs some love (my longest fics have had either ravenclaw or gryffindor readers, so this is your moment y’all...if you’re a slytherin then i’ll have something coming up for you soon ;))

summary: 6th year hufflepuff y/n y/l/n doesn’t know if she be afraid of draco malfoy after her friends warn her about his potential status as a death eater...and the fact that he keeps showing up to save her isn’t helping. THIS IS A TEASER!!!! for a much longer oneshot that’s currently in progress!!

warnings: teen drinking, secondhand embarrassment, swearing

a/n: important note that THIS IS A TEASER. i honestly have no idea how the entire oneshot is going to look (even though i assume that this isn’t exactly a one shot if there’s this added onto it). i’m not even sure if this is going to be a scene--it’s just the very first thing i wrote for it, and i liked it. i feel like draco’s character in this is really tricky because i haven’t yet decided how “ooc” i want him to be. i just really liked this idea and i’ve always had the image of y/n saving draco in this particular movie scene. let me know your thoughts!

no music recs, this is just a teaser

tags tags tags @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

word count: 2.5k

Her shoes dug into the back of her heels as she tried to keep up with Ginny around the corner. 

“I don’t understand why you insist on wearing those...torture devices,” the red-haired witch said without adjusting her stride in the slightest. Y/N was tempted to just rip them off then and there and attend Slughorn’s party barefoot and carefree, but she knew better. It was in her best interest to try and get on the good side of the professors. Even though she had no intention of holding an office in the Ministry or becoming an Auror, she still wanted a good scroll of recommendation from her Potions professor. Especially considering his connections.

“Why don’t you just spell the back of them soft?” asked Ginny. “That’s what Parvati does. At least, I think that’s what she does. I don’t know how else she’s able to wear them with her uniform every day.”

“She doesn’t know the first thing about shoes.” Y/N winced the tip of her heel wobbled for a moment in between the cobblestones. “Once you spell a shoe soft, they’re never the same again. They’re ruined. At least, that’s what my mother has always told me--she swears by that balm stuff I keep on my nightstand.”

“Ah, Mrs. Y/L/N. I’m glad she’s not here to see me. I think she would demand that I pay with my life for my outfit today.”

Y/N managed a smile. “Hey. You know she likes you. I think so, at least.”

They rounded the corner, and this time Ginny was kind enough to steady Y/N as they made their way up the final flight of stairs. “I don’t know how you’re going to make it through the whole night, Y/N. I bet you wish you’d taken up Nott’s offer to be your date this time, huh? Now that you don’t have anyone to lean on if your feet get too tired?”

“There’s something called taking my shoes off if they hurt too much,” she responded. “And I could never regret that--I know he only did it because his mother told him to. Something about a favor for my mother after we saved her at a gala, I’m sure.”

“Also the fact that Millie would crucify you if she saw you with him.”

Y/N laughed. “That too. Imagine being a Hufflepuff who accidentally put a target on her back…”

“You’d be dead.”

“But very, very stylish. And if I died, my feet wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

Ginny tutted at her. “So morbid.”

The staircase had finally turned to their stop, and before the two girls had a chance to get off, Y/N heard a voice call out for her companion.

“Ginny! Hey, Ginny!”

“Harry!” 

She pulled Y/N up the last few steps and deposited her safely on the corridor platform before bounding off towards Harry and Luna at the opposite end of the hall. They must’ve come from a different direction. “I’ll catch up with you at the party, ok?”

Y/N just beamed at her friend as she closed the difference between her and Harry, pulling both him and Luna around the corner towards the music and sound of the party. If it was anyone else, she might’ve been offended, but she knew how much Harry meant to her. Even if Ginny didn’t know it yet. And Y/N would not, under any circumstance, slow her friend down because of her poor footwear choices.

She dusted her dress off before making her way further down the hall. It was slower going without the prospect of a steadying hand next to her, but it was getting easier. Maybe the balm she’d used on the leather really was softening with each step she took like it said on the box. 

Before she lifted the curtain to walk into the jovial evening, a flash of blond hair caught her eye. Platinum blond hair--the type that only belonged to one person she knew. 

“Malfoy?” 

His head snapped up from its previous spot on his knees that were folded up on the floor. The Slytherin was obscured by the darkness and the dividing wall that had been erected in the corridor, but Y/N was completely sure of what she was seeing.

She crept closer, inwardly cringing at the sound her heels made as they clacked across the stones. 

“Need anything, Y/L/N?” he drawled. Once she was close enough to see his face clearly, his expression made it clear that he was not in a good mood. Not like he ever was, though. 

“Why are you...er...just sitting here?” Fuck. She sounded so ditzy.

“Enjoying my Friday night.”

“Oh...ok.” Y/N swallowed. “You were invited to Slughorn’s party?” 

He shrugged. 

Her mouth felt dry. Obviously, he hadn’t been invited. Slughorn was notorious for wanting to keep a squeaky clean image, and entertaining the idea of inviting a Death Eater’s son was...out of question. And he never tried in his class anymore.

She dared another look down at him and nearly squeaked when she saw him staring directly back at her. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve at least told him goodbye or goodnight, but her words completely failed her. Instead, she just stared back, completely frozen. 

She couldn’t help it. Ever since last fall, she couldn’t act normal around him to save her life. Not after...that. 

A cat meowed in the distance, breaking whatever was paralyzing her. 

“I...I have to go. I think that’s Filch.” 

He said nothing--just tilted his head and raised an eyebrow like he was expecting something from her. She spun and walked as quickly as she could manage without breaking an ankle.

“What took you so long, Y/N?” Ginny asked the moment the curtain fell behind her, closing her back into the party. The tent that was magically set up was much more spacious than she was expecting, and the lime and peach coloring was surprisingly bright and cheery.

“I...uh…”

Her explanation was cut short by the sound of the entrance curtain being shoved aside with so much force that the nearest tables shook, the fine china clattering. 

Filch stood in front of them, holding a very peeved looking Draco Malfoy by the scruff of his neck. “Found this boy loitering around outside. I don’t imagine that he’s been invited to your party here.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Professor Snape appeared to her left, his robes billowing black behind him as he made his way towards the pair.

“Ok, ok, I admit it, I wasn’t--”

“Draco! Where have you been?” 

The words were out of her mouth before she even had the chance to think of the heavy, heavy regret that weighed down at her the moment they were spoken--not to mention the foreign feeling of the name “Draco” instead of Malfoy on her tongue. The tension in the room was tangible as Y/N took a few tentative steps forward. Snape whipped around to glare at her with a look that contained so much venom that it nearly stunned her.

“Miss Y/L/N? What’s going on?” Her sweet Potions professor materialized behind her. Y/N felt a twinge in her gut at what she was about to say--if she followed through, he probably wouldn’t ever give her the scroll of recommendation she wanted. “Did you invite him?”

Oh well. Here goes.

She drew in a shaky breath. “Yes. He’s my...uh...date tonight.”

Ginny spun around and sent her a death glare that said oh you are so telling me about this right now. 

Filch released his grip on Malfoy’s neck, shoving him forward into the crowd. Y/N met his eyes for a brief second, and the only emotion she could register was shock. And anger.

“Fine. Dumbledore will be hearing about this, though. And tell your date to stop breaking curfew in restricted areas.” 

With that, the curtain fell back and Filch was gone, leaving Y/N in the throes of her own despair. Malfoy was just a few feet away from her now, standing in all his gloomy glory. And she’d just told everyone that he was her date.

The music started up again, the strings echoing around the still room. A few couples hesitantly started dancing again, and the roar of conversation slowly picked back up to where it left off. Y/N and Malfoy were the only ones not doing something...coupley. 

“So,” said Malfoy. The sigh that followed was completely unreasonable. “I think you’re supposed to tell me to stop breaking curfew in restricted areas sometime soon.”

She gulped. “Yeah. That.”

He held out his hand, slow and gingerly like he was about to touch a hot stove. Y/N just gawked at it.

“We should probably dance. Or something. I don’t think you’re being a very believable date right now.” 

Y/N grabbed his hand and let him pull her into the mess of couples. It felt like her mind had taken a complete vacation. What had happened? How had this night ended up this way? “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she started.

“Yeah, well, me neither.” He was practiced and comfortable as he guided her through the steps of whatever waltz was playing. Y/N never paid much attention when she was young to the dance lessons that her parents painstakingly put her through--and it was clear from how much she needed to depend on him. Her shoes didn’t help, 

“Ginny is going to fucking kill me,” she said suddenly. 

“You think?” he said, his tone flat. “Why’d you say I was your date? Were you that desperate for someone?”

“I…” The words died on her tongue as she tried to get them out. Malfoy spun her as she clung to the silk lapel of his suit, hanging on for dear life as her heels teetered. “You know why.” 

If he had any strong thoughts on the matter, he didn’t let it show on his face. He simply let his gaze flicker down at her for a second before he dipped her. “You know, in my world we don’t really return favors. If I were you, I would stop trying to repay me. There’s no point.”

“There doesn’t need to be one. I just…”

“Just worry about yourself, okay? I don’t need you to be stirring up your own drama with fruitless attempts to pay me back. I’m perfectly capable on my own.”

“I’m not doubting how capable you are! I’m just being a fair person!”

“Nothing about any of this is fair,” he snipped. “It doesn’t matter what you do. You’re not going to set anything right. You should know better, anyways. You shouldn’t be trying to help me. I’m surprised Potter isn’t teaching you this.”

Y/N’s cheeks grew hot while the song slowly creaked to the end. “Malfoy--” 

“I’m going to get us drinks.” He dropped her hand and was gone before another word could leave her lips.

It took Ginny no more than a minute to have her friend cornered in a quiet spot of the tent, her eyes glittering. “When were you going to tell me that you were going to ask Malfoy to be your date?”

“I didn’t,” Y/N told her. She decided that she might as well be truthful. “I just felt bad for him. Snape seemed like he was in a bad mood, and I don’t want to put him through that. I don’t want to put anyone through that.”

“Ugh, you are such a Hufflepuff,” her friend groaned. “I can’t believe you. You’re kind to a fault sometimes, you know.”

“What’s the harm, Gin?” asked Y/N. “He can’t hurt me. He’s not all that bad. He’s just a prat sometimes.”

“Can’t hurt you--oh, dear.” Ginny let out a shaky breath and ran her fingers through her hair, messing up the pinned portions. Y/N resisted the urge to cringe at the sight. “Hasn’t Harry told you? You need to stay away from Malfoy. He’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” increduled Y/N. “No way. He’s all bark, no bite. The worst thing he’s going to do is tell me that Hufflepuffs are stupid or something.”

“Y/N.” The intensity of Ginny’s voice made her snap to attention. “You really don’t know, do you? I can’t tell you now. But I’m sure Harry will later. Just...promise me you won’t let him get you alone? Ok? And please don’t do any other favors for him. You’ll understand later.”

They both turned at the sound of a male clearing his throat. Malfoy stood, uncomfortable and broody, carrying two goblets. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, not at all!” said Ginny, weirdly cheery. She leaned in, feigning to kiss Y/N’s cheek goodbye, but instead she whispered, “Don’t drink that.” And then she was gone.

“Trouble in paradise with Weaselette?” he asked.  

She took the goblet and faked taking a sip. “Er, no. Why do you ask?”

“You look awfully pale, my dear.” 

“It’s just the draft,” she told him, but in truth she knew that her face was suddenly flaming red again. 

“Hm.” He, on the contrary, took a real, genuine sip out of his goblet. “Want to sit down somewhere? I’m thinking I probably going to want to get out of here soon.”

“To each their own,” responded Y/N. She was slowly becoming warier after Ginny’s speech. There’s no way he would...no...not after what he did for her. “I’m staying around until I get Slughorn to talk to me, personally. I want him to really like me.”

“That old bat? I’m sure he already likes you, if he’s inviting you here and all.”

“I don’t think he likes me, per se. I think he just likes who my family rubs elbows with.”

A rare smile stretched across Malfoy’s face, but it didn’t seem sweet. “Ah, I remember your family now. If I recall correctly, your mother used to come do fittings for my mother?”

“Um, yeah. I believe so.” Y/N attempted to smile back, but something in her felt...off. What didn’t she know about Malfoy? Was he actually capable of hurting her? Did he want to hurt her?

“I think I’ve overstayed my welcome,” Malfoy said after a few beats of silence. “Unless you’d like to join my thrilling pursuits with breaking curfew in restricted areas, I’d better be off.”

“Malfoy…” Y/N started. She had no idea what else to tell him. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, sending her another one of those sly smiles that made her stomach turn. “Enjoy the rest of your night, alright?”

She made a sorry attempt to smile back. He kept looking down at her, so intently that it made her uncomfortable. He was thinking--about what, she couldn’t determine. But clearly it was something, and the gears were turning.

“May I suggest something?” His eyes glinted in the dim party lighting. Malfoy seemed to take her silence and wide-eyed stare as a yes, leaning in closer so quickly that she didn’t even have a chance to spring away.

“You’re supposed to swallow when you fake drinking something.”

He plucked the goblet out of her hand and took a sip, raising an eyebrow at her as if to say see? 

Even long after he was gone, she could still feel his hot breath on her neck and hear the way his whispered voice sounded in her ear. 

final a/n: hehe here i am 1 minute late!! probably later once i get all my links set up/copy paste all my tags but here it is! this is a TEASER! so remember that! i hope to get the real oneshot out sometime after i get wonders of ohio p 10 out. let me know if this is something you guys want to read/if you like this version of draco. i rlly want to write a flirtier draco because i think we could all use that right now

[firefly-in-darkness]

Colours of Love

Characters → Y/N & Dean Winchester, Other Supernatural characters

Summary → Until you meet your soulmate, everything will be black and white. But what happens when you see the colours of the rainbow but no soulmate in sight?

Word Count → 1.8k

Prompt  →  Soulmate AU + Stolen by Dashboard Confessional.

Warnings → Fluff.

Beta → the superstar that is @princessmisery666 // all mistakes are my own.

Dividers → @firefly-graphics.

A/N → This is for @justagirlinafandomworld Pick Two challenge - I’m so sorry it’s late, hope you enjoy it!

Fear wrapped itself around your chest as you tried to recall the previous night while also having to deal with the adjustment of seeing all these vibrant colours. 

The previously faded grey armchair was now an emerald masterpiece and you couldn’t help your fingers trailing across the velvety material, enjoying the switch between the shades. 

The gold embroidered cushions enveloped you in a squishing hug as you curled around and let your legs dangle over the armrest.

Jessica was sitting opposite, sharing the couch with Sam, her head resting in his lap whilst he snored softly, “Are you sure you don’t remember anything else?”

“I drank a lot last night.” You groaned, your eyes stung with the strain of looking at her newly colourful features and the floral curtains behind her. 

You looked away and around the pokey apartment; the photographs of your friends were now more alive than before and the bookcase full of varying shades and tones framing the many books and ornaments. 

Your head pounded against your skull and your mouth felt like there was a cotton ball stuffed in it. The graduating class had celebrated late into the night, to welcome in the start of summer before they went off into the big adult world. You remembered throwing back shot after shot. 

The thought of the clear burning liquid had your stomach bubbling with nausea and making you sit up, “I remember leaving you two lovebirds by the firepit, I was dancing-”

“-If you call that dancing.” Sam interrupted, his head still tilted back, and eyes closed.

You attempted to roll your eyes, but the muscle movement hurt your head more than it was worth, “-in Brady’s kitchen and then I remember nearly falling over but other than that. Nothing.”

Jessica offered you a reassuring smile, “You’ll find them one day.”

Once your head and body had cleared itself of the alcohol, you relished in periwinkle, fuchsia and evergreen. But weeks later, you still hadn’t found your soulmate, the one that had enabled you to see all these new and beautiful colours.

Eventually, after many conversations with Sam and Jessica, you decided to let fate play out. You’d already planned to travel the world and now you were able to see it in colour, you were even more excited

Well, for a few months of your solo adventure, until the colour began to fade into muted tones alongside your aching heart.

One Year Later…

It was the last chance for the Winchester’s to enjoy the summer. To soak in the sun and spend time with their loved ones before the chaos of Autumn took over their lives. 

Sam and Jess had rounded up all the usual gang for a barbecue to celebrate their engagement as well as Dean and Castiel’s new business venture; a bar in the next town over.

Across the garden, Sam had his arm around Jess while they welcomed guests as they wandered through the side gate. Ellen and Jo were the first to arrive, a selection of beers and chips in hand. Not long after, Bobby and Rufus brought in the burgers and more beer. 

Dean welcomed them all and then retreated to the other side as they all began to gush about Sam and Jess’s engagement. He hovered over the barbecue as the charcoal heated up, sipping on his beer, watching the excitement unfold across the lawn. 

Of course, he is over the moon for his brother; finding his soulmate, settling down in this beautiful white picket fence home and, now, getting married. He recalled how Sam’s name flashed on his mobile out of the blue, Sam’s words a little slurred and the raucousness of the college party in the background as he recounted how he needed his older brother’s advice on how to get the girl. 

Sam’s vision had changed the moment he caught sight of Jess across the lecture room, he spoke of how her blonde hair glowed, the way her pink plump lips grew into a huge smile then turned into a breathy chuckle once Sam realised he’d been caught staring at her.

Dean glanced back over to his family and friends, the strip of freshly mown grass was dull and the flowers he’d helped plant were no longer hosting vibrant petals. The feeling of jealousy and the worry that he was being left behind took over and he looked down at the grill. 

It all started years ago, it happened the night of Sam’s graduation party; the beautiful woman in the kitchen, dancing completely out of time to the music. Instead of going towards her and relishing in this newfound vision, Dean had decided to keep it to himself. He wasn’t ready for settling down, falling in love or even meeting his soulmate. 

Dean decided to rush past her and out of the house. His mission nearly failed as she collided into him and nearly fell over. He set her steady and without a second glance, left the party. Deep down, he knew he’d regret his actions, and that he’d end up in this position; watching his brother lead a life that he could only dream of. 

The dull colours were a constant reminder of what could have been. He turned his focus back to the grill, placing the burgers down and drowning out the sounds from across the garden. 

The moment the porch door swung open, you wrapped your arms around Jessica and nuzzled your face into her curly blonde locks. The travel tension dropping from your body, the soft gesture and the sepia tone of her face brought a warmth into your chest.

Jessica held your hands as you soaked in each other’s appearance “Y/N! Would ya look at yourself? Your video calls have not done you justice!”

“Says you!!” The pair of you grinned at one another before you glanced down at your right hand, pulling her left one up to expect the sparkling diamond, “The boy did good!”

"That he did.” Sam sauntered over and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his locks fell across his face as he grinned down at you. “It’s about time I made an honest woman out of her. I’d crash and burn if it wasn’t for Jess.”

You rolled your eyes and slapped at his chest and turned back to Jessica, “Is he always this cheesy? I don’t remember him being this bad!”

“You’ve been away too long,” Sam chuckled and tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Nice to see you again Y/N. Let me take your bags; I’ll let Jess give you the tour.”

The lounge was homely with its large plush corner sofa and the floating shelves full of books, framed photographs and ornaments. Jessica guided you to the guest room and you relished in the normalcy, especially after years of owning nothing but a rucksack and a few days’ worth of clothes.

“Our bedroom is up the stairs and to the left, the room opposite is Sam’s office and then the bathroom on the right.” Jessica then rushed out the final words, “Dean’s room across the hall. He’s been staying whilst he sorts out the bar with Cas.”

“I’ll just freshen up and I’ll be straight out.” You smiled and shooed Jessica out of the bedroom. “Go and entertain your guests, I won’t be long!”

You wandered through the kitchen, a slight smirk on your lips as you twisted around to do a full rotation of the room; it was just how you imagined it would be. With the refrigerator adorned with magnets, gadgets neatly placed on the counters and the photographs dotted along the walls.

Without realising, you turned and walked straight into someone. Your face smashed into the soft cotton adorning someone’s chest. You gasped and stumbled backwards; the heat of embarrassment settled on your cheeks as you looked up at the wall of muscle you had collided with.

You found the bright green eyes of Dean Winchester looking like a deer in headlights. The golden flecks around his dilated pupils pulled your gaze across his features. His tanned skin and freckles splattered across his nose and cheeks had you follow the darker stubble along his jawline. His mouth was slack, and his pink fleshy tongue darted across his bottom lip.

A laughter echoed from outside, bringing you out of your trance. “I am so sorry!” 

You rushed past him and out into the garden with the want for the ground to swallow you whole. The only time you had met, well-spoken to, Dean, was during a phone call with Sam and then you had seen him when Sam had video called him. Of course, the webcam footage back at college was not the best but you had felt a warmth grow each time you walked past Sam’s room and could see Dean catching up with his younger brother.

A warm welcome by Bobby and Rufus was exactly what you needed to distract yourself from how the first time of meeting Dean Winchester had gone completely wrong. The offer of a beer and a patted spot on the blanket from Ellen had you grinning but not enough to stop your thoughts from wandering back to the man you collided with in the kitchen.

It had always been a surprise to you that it had taken this long to meet Dean, you’d met everyone else in Sam's circle except the closest member. You sipped on the beer, relished in the sunshine and the laughter around you as your thoughts drifted back to the way Dean looked, frozen in the spot just like you.

The pictures and videos did not do the man justice, and well, the last few years had done wonders and the way his bright green eyes sparkled in the frame of soft wrinkles.

Bright green eyes. You almost choked on your beer as you looked down to the ground. The navy and white striped blanket was no longer a dull tone, it was almost vibrant. Your heart raced as your hands glided along the soft fabric. 

Slowly, you glanced up at the raised flower beds to your left; luscious green leaves and dazzling pink petals facing upwards. You followed the flowers’ gaze; the cotton white clouds looked delicate against the contrasting blue sky. 

Your mouth dried and your skin shivered in anticipation as your eyes fell back down to the house, and the man standing on the decking in front of the French doors. 

His sparkling green eyes focused on you, and only you.

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Supernatural Tag List: @deanwanddamons

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*Bold - unable to tag

[kryetara]

the first moment ira and kel speak following   ( x  ).    //    WHEN IRA WALKS THROUGH THAT FABLED, GLOSSY BLACK DOOR, AND INTO THE MUSKY THRESHOLD OF THE WOLF, TWO THINGS ARE IMMEDIATELY OBVIOUS TO KEL.              one ;   the money - man isn’t available this evening to listen to his treaty.     two ;   he might  never  be available.    it’s with a sour expression and stiff lip,  it appears,  that dunham treads through the murky,  waist - deep and  hazy  waters of the bar toward the rear,  and he spares no glances,  either ;    not even to check if any of the mehmeti siblings are roosting tonight,    an act highly unusual for him.         (  as if it doesn’t  bother  him.  )      to which,  they  are  present this gloomy thursday evening ;    kel behind the bar,  gaze fixed,  now,  on  his  accountant,  conversations interrupted ;    murrat lingering like  dracula  by the dark corner,  his knuckles still a burnt red from the recent   vampiric slaughter ;      and this time,  emina is there,  one of the  terrible  siblings ira hasn’t had a great deal to do with.    while she sits perched on a stool opposite her youngest brother,  she doesn’t immediately notice that the energy in the room has   distinctly shifted.      a knot’s forming behind kel’s adam’s apple,  so he swallows it down.    for the first time in a while,    𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.      he’ll pour himself a small tumbler of golden whiskey,  and though emina now appears to clock onto his unrest,  he’s already slid past,  in pursuit of a man he now feels he has no choice but lay out a plea to.

the wooden stairs creak as he ascends them,  and with every step,  the mehmeti son feels himself riddle with   energetic nerve.      kel isn’t  used  to feeling anxious,  isn’t   equipped   to deal with feeling divided ;    he is always so very sure of himself,  so certain of his goals and convinced by his methods.    but  this fateful night,   one that has been building for a number of silent days and pressing hours,  was bound to come by sooner or later ;     he has his work cut out for him to win dunham back.     standing by the white wooden door of ira’s office,  there - in is a touch of grappling hesitation.     how ought he to approach this ?     in true fashion of himself,  though,  he pays shrunk time to this mindfulness ;    it’s with a puffed chest that he opens the door.

ira is already sat,   a smouldering cigarette in his left hand,  and his narrow face is lit blue and  gaunt  by the screen of his laptop.    when he peers upward,  the depth of his rage,  it seems,  has curdled so exhaustingly on his features that he appears not to show any emotion at all ;    almost   completely unreadable.      attempting not to liken the exchange between them,  at this moment,  to that of a delinquent student being summoned to the headmaster,  kel sniffs,  and tilts his chin upward at him.    while one of them seeks out dominance in the situation,  the other appears to have effortlessly slid into it,  without even trying.

‘      i was  hoping  you’d turn up tonight,    ’         mehmeti admits,  rubbing his signet ring with his thumb absently,  and making his way toward the chair that opposes ira’s desk ;   slowly,   as though he were approaching a hawk guarding it’s eggs.          ‘     we have things to talk about.    ’

‘    i disagree.   ’         somehow,  the usual pitch of ira’s voice comes out  deeper  than normal,  and is utterly  burnt to a crisp with exasperation.     he knows he shouldn’t smoke inside,  but he does so out of   spite,    and takes a long drag ;  letting it puff itself out of him between them,  as if the rift that separates them needed any further highlighting.         ‘    i’m not here long,  i’m just finishing some things i didn’t get chance to finish the weekend before last.    so if you don’t mind.    ’  ‘    ira.   ’ unchanging,   dunham is   silent   at kel’s plea. ‘    we should talk about what happened last weekend.    ’ ‘    why would we do   that ?      ’      another exhale of smoke,   aimed  at kel. ‘    …   well,   i assumed you’d want to.    ’ on a sardonic,   humourless  laugh,           ‘    you shouldn’t assume  anything.   ’

while it’s clear to kel that ira has reformed himself into something of a   sealed membrane,    shut so totally that he’s almost unable to hear him at all,  he persists ;  they share a gaze so unshaking that   neither can look away,  as if to do so would admit defeat.      not even the corners of ira’s jaw clench,  nor does he touch at his face to hide behind his hand.         𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.        kel has to   admire   him,  for a fraction of a second          ––––          whatever he felt when he’d come to   scoop up severin from the jaws of the wolf,    it appears to have turned him to stone.    poised,  and   unflappable.      (   he wonders,  though,  if this is some ruse ;  that underneath that,  there isn’t still some volcanic core,  pulsing and spitting.  )

‘      i don’t agree with what murrat did,    ’        kel goes on,  at last finding himself breaking eye contact to touch his desk,  tap his fingers against the beechwood.         ‘    when i came in,    he was already finished.      there wasn’t much of anything i could do.      that was when i called you.    ’         well aware that ira’s gaze is still locked onto him in the wordless beats that pass by,  kel continues.     ‘     how is he ?      ’

this is when the mask   slips.      ira’s upper lip recoils as his nose twitches ;  a creep of view to what kel had suspected was lurking ;      that tumultuous rage.        there comes no response,  simply a deepening of his stare,    so exhausting that kel can’t maintain it with him,  and all but wriggles underneath it.

‘      well,  i hope he’s …  getting better,   ’      mehmeti concludes with.    as clearly there’s no point trying to go further,  he stands,  and takes heavy,  almost   defeated   steps to the door.       ‘     i’ll leave you to it.   ’

‘     if  murrat …   ’            when ira speaks,  it’s got a   sudden   quality to it ;  louder than before,  and with a  slight tremble  to it,  as though it   groans under the pressure of his fury.      while kel simply  has  to look,  and feels as though he’s peering into the core of a  nuclear reactor,   ira remains seated.        ‘      or  any  of you …    or anyone  working  for you  …    ever   …    touch  him,  or  anyone  with me,  ever again  …    ’

there’s a pause.    the silence between them is so catastrophically  deafening  that neither man can turn aside from each other ;  like the north and south of magnets,  colliding and  crashing  together.

‘     i’ll put you all behind bars for the rest of your fucking lives,  and every penny you’ve ever made will be mine.   do you understand me ?    ’        this is when the   money - man   stands.    even kel,  someone so versed with staying steadfast in the face of trials,  has to bite his cheek ;  ira moves round the desk toward him,  slowly shrinking the gap between them.

‘      every penny you’ve ever made.    every penny your  family  has ever made.    your father has ever made.   his  fucking father ever made.    everything in the mehmeti name.    it will all be mine.    do you hear what i’m saying ?    everything.    your houses.    the bars.    your money.        everything.    ’         ira stands before him now,  and the difference in their height has never been quite so   significant   before ;  he seems to rise on his haunches like a grizzly bear at him,    and every word comes out as though he’s frothing at the mouth ;  hoarse,  but volatile.    kel has never seen ira so  raw.

‘    do you understand ?    ’

kel considers doing one of many things.    pushing ira back away from him in defence,  raising himself higher,  threatening  him  back with violence or calling down to murrat to outnumber him ;  all of them,  though,  have the enormity of admitting to the same root cause.    for the first time between them,   he is not the one in control.     while the realization of this starts becoming obvious in his expression,  and suddenly he’s aware that whatever action he takes within these next few seconds will dictate the immediate and late future,    kel finds himself submitting.      he nods slowly.

‘    good.    so we’re on the same page  after  all.    ’

while kel wonders if his outburst is simply an act of prying it from his system,  or if there’s  truth  in his threats,  he elects not to argue.    it becomes very apparent to him,  then,  that as he often is,   dunham is right ;    and for the first real moment of truth ;  that   he doesn’t doubt the accountant could sell them all out if he really wanted to.      with this thought a raising inferno in his mind,  and unsure if he should be excited and thrilled by ira’s display,  or horrified at the transgression of the man before him,  or what he’s  become,      what he’s becoming ;      he backs toward the door.

‘     we’ll talk later,    ’        mehmeti at last speaks,  voice quieted.

the nerve of him to do all that knowing full well  where  he is,  he thinks,  as he steps out,  and closes the door shut behind him.    get murrat to teach him a fucking lesson,  is the next thought,  upon the descension of those creaking stairs.    kick him out and cut ties with him completely.    talk to emina about what to do next.    have him jumped one night and put his body in the thames.      have a fucking drink.      all thoughts become a visible matrix on him as he finds himself back among the thudding music of the bar and pacing with mounting frustration toward the counter ;   emina catches his gaze,  and notes that he seems far more wound up than before.    than,  perhaps,   ever  before.

‘    what is it ?    ’      she poses ;  but he almost immediately shuts her out.    you fucking idiot,  he thinks ;  he snapped you like a fucking twig and you let him.    whiskey. ‘    nothing,   ’     kel snaps back.    the same glass is refilled,  and downed within seconds. ‘     it doesn’t   look   like nothing.    ’ ‘     it’s  fine.    ’

kel   retreats   further,    at this point ;  escapes to the street outside for a cigarette.    shakes himself,  shakes that   frustration,   rags on it like a dog and leans against the brick wall.    slams his hand against it.    you can’t let him talk to you like that.    you have to show him why he can’t talk to you like that.        ––––          but what if he   could   do all that ?    there’s no reason why he’d lie ;  it’s ira.    he doesn’t say anything unless he’s already thought it through a   million fucking times.

‘     you talked to him,   ’         the familiar voice of   murrat,    already outside.     murrat,      man of the hour,    who still looks as he always does ;    as though he knows something you don’t,    and that wry,  shallow little smirk as though he’s   proud   of himself.    for once,  it grinds kel the wrong way,  and in a flash,    he’s on him ;    pushing into his chest.    their noses touch.    the breaths kel pushes out his nose are short and   fuming.

‘     ju idiot i ndyrë,    ’          you fucking idiot,    he spits.         ‘       a e kupton se cfare ke bere ?!    ’        do you realise what you’ve done ?!

[greenninjagal-blog]

Roman Prince, Psychic pt1

Hello, I’m back with another au!

Summary: Roman reads minds, loses his job and makes it his mission to get his brother a boyfriend.

Pairings: Anxceit, (future) Logince, and brotherly Prinxiety

Word Count: 6014

Quick Taglist: @chelsvans​ @faithfulcat111​ @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @treasureofpriam​

Read on AO3 || My General Writing List

Roman has lost twenty two jobs in the past three years, which is offensive on many levels. First of all, twenty two was a number that could only be divided by two and eleven, which is much worse than twenty eight minutes ago when he had lost only a total of twenty one jobs in the past three years.

Twenty two only ever brought bad luck.

Additionally, he had been fired from all of his previous jobs so that meant that he had technically failed twenty two times before. Roman was not a fan of failure, not a fan of other people (Virgil) knowing about said failure and lording it over him.

And, of course, there was also the fact that Roman was a grown adult and suddenly money was an issue when he wanted to not be evicted from his apartment. Or, you know, eat. 

So when his brother picks up on the third ring, Roman knows that Virgil already is aware what he’s gonna ask.

“Again?” Virgil says instead of the usual “hello”. He sounds tired, worn out, but Roman gets the feeling its not really directed at him. 

“It was an accident,” Roman whines, slumped over steering wheel of his car. “I swear!”

“That’s the second this month.”

“I can’t help it, Emo Undertaker.”

Which is a lie, because he definitely can help it and has helped it before. Roman is just bad at helping it. He thought he was doing well! He was really trying this time! He had managed to snag an editing job for a newspaper that required barely any talking to other people! He could make it through the day without actually talking to people and then there would be no issues other than his crippling desire to hold a conversation which was easily overlooked in the grand scheme of things-- 

But really, he should have guessed. No one, not even his absolute idiot of a(n ex) boss said “I’m gonna schedule you because you’re the only one stupid enough to say yes” to someone’s face.

Perhaps on his next resume he should title it Roman Prince, Psychic.

On the other side of the phone, Virgil huffs distantly, “No its my brother, Pat. He got fired again.”

“Patton is there?” Roman asks.

He can almost see Virgil cringe on the other end of the phone, “Uh yeah.”

Roman’s lips twist downward on his already not-great mood. “Virge, it’s been months--”

“I know!” Virgil says, “I know! There’s just some stuff we have to do first.”

“We?” The word is short on his tongue, bitter, leaving Roman’s tongue chasing down syllables for the empty space.

“Hey weren’t we talking about your lack of a job?” Virgil says suddenly.

“I do not want that creeper using you, Virgil.” 

“Hey, Pat’s not a creeper.” Virgil says sounding more annoyed than Roman’s sure he has a right to be. “New rule, I don’t tell you to stop reading minds, and you don’t tell me to stop seeing dead people.”

“There’s a difference between seeing dead people, and seeing dead people Virgil.”

“Hey have you considered shutting up?” 

“Look, he may be cute, but he’s been dead for twenty years--”

“Roman.”

“I’m just saying! He is old enough to be our dad, dude!”

“I’m hanging up.”

He does before Roman can say anything else. Roman flips his phone in his hand three times (a good number, Roman’s favorite) and senses the on coming text before it arrives. He twists his keys in the ignition of his car and listens as it rumbles to life with a story of the previous owner (Harold Johnston, who purchased it new, drove it for a while, hit two deer, and got four speeding tickets on before passing it on to his son who crashed it once in a drowsy driving accident that resulted in it being sent in a reused car dealership where Molly Keller bought it----).

By the time Roman makes it through the seven stop lights (three of which he squeezes through because Carl Smith is out jogging and pressed the crosswalk button at just the right time), there’s a message from Virgil in his inbox with a list of new places that were hiring.

It wasn’t that Roman has never thought about starting his own business, because he has. Many times, all the time. Every time he fell asleep. He imagined a cute little office off mainstreet: A psychic shop with charms in the windows that glowed at all hours, colorful draperies and scented candles that would make the shop float on mystery and otherworldness. He’d emerge from the back of the store in elegant clothes, like an ethereal being to startle any customers who dropped in, and he’d whip up a facade of a crystal ball, hide fans around the shop, and electrify the table in the middle of the room to sell the bit.

Roman has thought about starting his own psychic business before. But unfortunately, no one wants to be told things they already knew.

Which of course was the only psychic thing Roman can do. Read minds and see inner dreams with absolutely no ability to confirm them happening and-or not happening. 

(And you only tell a person once that they’re getting a puppy for Christmas before you learn your lesson.) 

To be perfectly honest, which Roman tries to be as he flicks on the lights to his apartment three times, Virgil would have much more luck maintaining a psychic shop. They’re almost opposites, if true opposites were a thing that exists. 

Instead of reading thoughts, Roman’s younger brother hears murder stories. Instead of seeing dreams, Virgil sees dead people wandering the streets.

It made growing up and having friends a real challenge. If Roman had a nickel for every time Virgil had grabbed his arm with his cold fingers and looked him in the eye before asking if Roman could see the person in front of them, he’d have three nickels. Which wasn’t a lot, but there was something upsetting about hearing the complete terror in his little brother’s voice when he couldn’t tell the living from the dead.

The dead also like to talk to Virgil, like to hover around him because he gives off a shadowy aura that works like a drug on ghosts. It makes them feel a bit more alive, makes them more corporal, makes them more dangerous. And once they’ve had a taste, they come back for more, and more, and more.

Ghosts are good for getting information, but rarely good for anything else. 

(Roman does not trust Patton. Not since Virgil told him the ghost had shown up, not since the last guy had whispered all the things he would do to Virgil if Virgil tried to leave or cut him off, not since Roman had put a hole in the hospital waiting room wall because that was his brother and he should have been there.)

Roman calls Virgil back just before dinner time after he had gone over the list (seven places, another good number) and it rings only twice before his brother picked up. 

“Hey Ro, I’m kinda busy right now--”

“Busy?” Roman asks, “On Tuesday?”

“Yes!” Virgil hisses, “Very busy-- ow! Don’t touch that!-- I’ll call you later, Ro.”

“Are you raising the dead again?”

“What? No! I’m, uh,” There was a shuffling, a swear word, and a distant, “at the movies?”

“Right, I’ll pretend I believe that.” Roman says, “I was just checking the list. Your coffee shop is on here.”

“Yes, it is.” Virgil shifts the phone, “Remy fired a guy last week for purposely giving people regular coffee instead of decaf. I thought Remy was gonna kill the guy.”

“Are you sure you want me to apply there?”

There is a swatch and the telltale sound of a match lighting, and the phone shifts again, “I had an idea.”

Roman traces his fingers over the edge of his counter top, absently counting the corners, and grating his skin when it comes up even numbered. “Oh?” 

(wrong wrong wrong. Its too short)

“Yeah, maybe you’ve been going about this all wrong. Instead of cutting yourself off from people, maybe you should embrace them-- ow!” Virgil makes a hiss and Roman guesses plops his fingers in his mouth quickly, “Fucking candles. I hate lighting matches.”

“Stop trying to raise the dead for a second and help your dearest brother understand,” Roman says. “What do you mean “embrace them”?”

His fingers slice the edge of the counter, four four four isn’t enough, is too much, its wrong. 

“A customer came up to me yesterday and demanded a refund because I didn’t put whip cream her latte.” Virgil explains. “I was angry because she didn’t tell me that she wanted whip cream and its not like I can read minds-- and then I remembered my brother can read minds.” The phone shifts again, “Besides you love talking to people and don’t even try to deny it. That editing job was slowly killing you.”

Roman is quiet for a moment, because, really what is he supposed to say to that? Reading minds isn’t all that great, the same way as seeing their childhood cat that died seven years ago wasn’t all that great. But Virgil was also right: Roman missed talking to people, missed the days when he could show up without having to study for the “pop” quizzes and when he could do little magic tricks to wow his friends in between the classes. 

And even if everyone thought his psychic abilities were just parlor tricks, Roman still misses the attention.

“I’ve gotta go, Ro,” Virgil says, “McDonalds nuggets get cold fast, and the dead don’t like cold food.”

“Picky, are they?”

“Very much so.” Virgil agrees, “Just send in an application. I’ll put in a good word to Remy, and if it doesn’t work out, we’ll figure something else out.”

Roman’s fingers hit the corner of the counter again, for the seventh time and he flings them back like they were burning. “Right, yeah. Sure.”

“Bye, Ro.”

“Yeah, thanks, Casper.” Roman says and means it deeply. 

Virgil ends the call. 

Roman twists the phone in his hand three times as the call screen closes. The puzzle game on his phone is about two minutes 120 seconds from reminding him his game hasn’t been played yet today and wouldn’t play at all today if he ended up in the hospital waiting room because something his brother got food poisoning from McDonald’s--

Roman fingers tap the call button again.

First ring, “Ro?”

“Sorry,” Roman blurts out, “I-- am? Damnit! I really am sorry, Virge.”

Virgil’s quiet for a moment, but then he says softly, “I get it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Roman’s mouth snaps close. He ends the call and lets his brother go back to raising the dead on his Tuesday night where he is not going to get food poisoning. He leaves his phone on the counter and flicks the switch three times before leaving the room to go find his computer and fill out the online application.

***

Roman enjoys his twenty third job interview much less than Remy Dormire does. It lasts slightly less than twelve minutes, and by the end of it Roman is ushered behind the counter and given a brown apron (with a single hole at the bottom) and a nametag with his name on it. 

(First name only, and it makes the back of his mouth taste like bitter oranges.)

Virgil gives him a rare smile on his way back out, and finishes making two drinks at once, and ships them off to the customers waiting patiently at the end of the counter.

It wasn’t quite the calm Roman was used too, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Thoughts flowed over Roman like a river, dangerous but exciting. He felt a type of connection to everyone in the store, a type of connection that came from understanding the blurbs and fragments that made up a consciousness. 

It was strange to think that no one else felt like this, felt like they were touching and being touched in a way that was closer than physical contact. How could anyone not want to feel like this? 

But how could anyone know what they were missing when they had never had such a feeling before in their lives?

He had tried explaining it to Virgil once, twice, thrice before. He wishes he could send thoughts the way he read them.

Roman leans over the other side of the counter watching Virgil pour coffee into a styrofoam cup, “You’re off in a minute right?” He taps the the dividing wall, “Wanna grab lunch?”

Virgil hums, his eyes flicking to the side just enough for Roman to guess who might be standing in the empty space.

Roman taps again, “Unless you and Ghost McGee already have fun plans.”

“They can be changed.” Virgil says, and slides the drink over the counter, “Logan!”

Roman shuffles to the side so a guy with glasses and a plaid button up can get his drink. “I don’t want to get in the way of your ghost time. And I definitely don’t want you bringing undead dilemmas to our lunch.”

“I don’t have--” Virgil huffs, “Patton has things to do this afternoon anyway.”

Roman frowned. “Things to do? The guy’s dead.”

Virgil scowls darker than usual. Actually now that Roman is looking, he notices that Virgil’s eyeshadow is a shade lighter than normal: as if he’s trying to make his skin look less pale by comparison. His fingers tap the dividing wall again as Roman narrows his eyes at his brother and tries to remember if he’s ever looked his drained after a night of summoning the dead for a ghost party.

“Five minutes,” Virgil says abruptly, “I’ll see you then.” He wipes the counter with a purple rag and then uses it to slide right away from Roman entirely.

Its a cheap tactic. Roman’s almost offended. The buzz of the cafe hums around him, through him, and causing goosebumps right down his spine. Its exciting, being close to people, almost exciting enough to distract Roman from the predicament of Virgil being cagey-er than before (which he hadn’t thought was possible). His knuckles tap the wall three times and he turns on his heel to settle into a chair for the next five minutes.

(Five was an okay number, Roman supposed. Seven was better, and Three was the best. But Five wasn’t an even number so it was something. At least, no one ever got cancer when he counted to five.)

Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location: too little practice, not enough reason to need to. The process itself required a lot of focus and will power and it felt a lot like pulling out teeth (something he had done when he was seven and Virgil was five and he had lost two teeth in a row and it was wrong, and he couldn’t figure out how to explain it to his parents when they came to figure out why the doors kept slamming). Cutting out the thoughts that weren’t even in order, had no logical reasoning: in the span of a minute a person could go from thinking about a TV show, to thinking about the color of the tile floor, to the scent in the air, to a birthday present for a friend, to, to, to. And with multiple people? In a small space like this coffee shop? It was easier to stop a mountain slide than cut off one person from himself.

Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location, but just this once he’s makes an attempt.

Roman’s never been good at singling out thoughts in a busy location-- 

Virgil is his brother, and so that means that Roman is obligated to figure out why he’s being cagey. Especially if he’s going to bring the moping to their lunch. And Roman’s absolutely not patient enough to wait five minutes to figure out what is causing him distress.

Virgil's thoughts feel exactly like him, Roman thinks. He's a little cold, a little clammy, a little crafty. His presence is like a cat evading capture by any means and when Roman was particularly bored as a child he used to chase after them, chase the feelings, and the scraps of emotions and impressions that sped by like he was actively running out of time to think them.

Virgil is thinking about coffee. He’s thinking about how to punch buttons into the computer they use for the register and how the person currently ordering is an actual idiot because they don’t serve a “Vanilla Chai Tea Latte” because this store is not a freaking Starbucks, its either a  “Vanilla Chai Tea” or a “Vanilla Latte” and fuck, Roman get out of my head before I send a Zombie after you.

So Roman blinks back seeing his brother at the counter, using that customer service smile to please the middle aged woman digging through her purse, but his eyes are dark when he shoots Roman his patented don’t-mess-with-me glare.

I said five minutes, fucking wait will you.

And Roman debates for a moment, less than a minute, just 21 seconds staying there in Virgil's mind that feels a lot like a sweater in the middle of the winter. But in the end Virgil’s mind moves on to the ingredients in a Vanilla Chai Tea and someone else and the girl in the corner has the top third song of the week stuck in her head on a loop and Roman is ever so easily distracted by the repetition of the three lines--

He falls out of his brother’s mind and back into the connective conscious of humans as a whole. There's nothing jarring about it. It's just simple acceptance, like the course of a river gently rolling over him. 

If he closes his eyes it feels like safety and warmth and calmness.

The next thing he knows there's a shove as his shoulder that nearly nearly knocks him off the chair. Virgil's standing there, his hair sticking up from where he yanked off his visor and his mysterious purple eyes glowing with annoyance and irritation and a bit of worry.

"I've been calling you," He says, "Are you alright?"

Roman offers him a blinding smile, that most likely comes across dopey, "Absolutely, Graveyard ghoul!”

Virgil stares at him for a moment longer, mouth curled downwards. “Holy shit, just how socially starved are you? You look like you’re on drugs.”

Roman’s vision is a little blurry. He rubs his eye to clear it, and is surprised when it comes back with tears. Was he crying? “I’m perfectly fine!” He flicks away the tears, because honestly they’re happy tears, and they mean so much and absolutely nothing at the same time.

He gathers his stuff and stands up, (tall enough that he can count the three inch difference between him and Virgil), “Are we going to lunch now?”

Virgil keeps staring at him for a moment, and Roman can only glimpse fractions of impressions from him before his eyes narrow with suspicion.

“Fine. Yeah.” Virgil says, “I know just the place.”

****

“Really, this place?” Roman asks and almost can’t quite believe it. 

Virgil, in all his brother loving glory, does not give him a response. Since he was the one driving he puts the car in park (“not this spot! Use that one!” “Is this necessary?” “Do you like your current car insurance number, Virge?”) and then kicks the door open with more force than necessary. In the car is a lot quieter than in the cafe, but Virgil spends the entire drive thinking of musical numbers rather than what is bothering him.

The only things that Roman learns from the twenty minute drive to a sandwich shop in the middle of the city is that, Virgil is really into The Guy Who Doesn’t Like Musicals for someone who doesn’t like musicals, and that he’s three times a better driver than Roman can ever hope to be.

“Why here, Virge?” Roman asks getting out of the car and stumbling around the edge of the trunk. His brother is already across the parking lot by that time. “We passed nine other shops on the way here!”

Virgil’s hand goes flying up and snaps close in a silencing motion. Roman thinks that its way more effective on ghosts than on living being that he can’t control, but he goes quiet anyway. Virgil huddles by the storefront glass doors turning his around with his hand to his ear-- is he seriously pretending to be on the phone right now?-- and is peering into the shop as inconspicuously as he can.  

Roman is beyond confused.

Virgil takes a deep breath, and nods to himself apparently seeing whatever he was looking for. He grabs the door and then waves Roman inside quickly like he’s embarrassed to be seen with him.

“What is happening?” Roman asks.

“Just shut up and follow my lead.” Virgil says. 

And proceeds to go up to the counter and order a sandwich like a normal person. Roman frowns at the implication that he doesn’t know how to order a sandwich from a shop. His fingers knock the counter (Ew the last customer did not wash their hands after using the restroom, ew, ew!) and he gives the tired sandwich maker a dazzling smile. 

He looks a little old to be working in food retail in honesty. Much more Virgil and Roman’s age than the high school teenagers that are manning the cash register a few feet over. His eyes are gold and brown and very interesting to look at, along with with the dusting of concealer that is all over his cheek covering up something. His name tag is strategically missing in the moment but Roman doesn’t think it matters too much in the grand scheme of things.

The guys name is Dante Ethan Ekans. He’s tired. Overworked. Not paid enough.

He got a nice voice though. He keeps glancing between Virgil and Roman and Virgil, Virgil, Virgil. So much so that he puts way too much mayo on Roman’s sandwich.

Roman grabs a thing of chips and throws them on the counter at the same time as Dante the sandwich maker puts his carefully wrapped flatbread sandwich next to the register to be rung up. Instead of sliding to the back, Dante leans on the counter next to the sandwiches ignoring the high schooler ringing them up and grins at (a blushing????) Virgil.

“Back again, Raccoon?” Dante the sandwich maker says flicking his tongue out just enough to show off a tongue piercing. Its not something Roman thought could be attractive, but somehow he makes it attractive. 

And if Roman can tell that from two feet away, Virgil’s hopeless as the target of such an action.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, “I mean- I just-- I wanted lunch.”

“I can see,” Dante says with a smile. “You’ve made a habit out of coming here for lunch. A guy has to wonder if thats the only reason you keep coming back.”

Roman looks at him, and then Dante the sandwich maker, and thinks he almost understands what is going on.

“Virgil, quick question….”

“I’ll buy you a cookie if you can hold your fucking tongue for three more seconds.” Virgil snaps out loud and then thinks so horrifically loud in his head that Roman resists the urge grimace.

Say it out loud. I dare you.

Virgil is glaring at him again. Dante is staring at him like he’s just now noticing that Virgil came with someone, despite the fact that the man made his sandwich. He pushes off the counter suddenly, with his eyes darting between Virgil and Roman and his thoughts becoming clouded with a sudden flurry of unhappy impressions then he clears his throat and hums a self dismissal.

“And Ice cream from the parlor on First Street.” Roman whispers quickly.

“Roman!” Virgil snaps.

“Deal or no?”

“I hate you.”

“What type of brother would I be if you didn’t hate me?” Roman says loudly without even looking at Virgil. Dante stumbles his steps towards the back. Roman thinks he glances back, but its so quick that Roman really only has the unraveling of the sandwich makers shoulders to take as assurance he was heard.

Roman leans towards his brother in a much, much lower voice, “is this why you’ve been distracted? Because boy troubles?”

“Shut up!” Virgil hisses back and elbows him.

“That will be $23.36.” The cashier says effectively keeping them from breaking into a brawl at the counter.

Roman taps his foot in a series of three while Virgil pays with a debt card and takes their sandwiches and drink cups to a table.

“He’s flipping amazing,” Roman says once they’re sitting and Virgil’s stopped blushing through his concealer. “What’s the problem?”

“Can you read his thoughts right now?” Virgil hisses back. He does a great job of flicking a piece of lettuce off his sandwich.

“Can I-- YES!” Roman presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I am insulted you had to ask at all--”

“Just do it.” Virgil snaps and then folds his arms on the table and burrows his head into them without even attempting to eat his sandwich at all. 

Roman imagines that Patton is floating over Virgil’s shoulder even if he can’t see the ghost. He hopes the ghost is as confused as he is, but he seriously doubts it.

“It shouldn’t be that hard.” Virgil mumbles, “He’s probably always thinking about him.”

Roman’s stomach drops for his brother, “A boy friend?” (He frowns at the needless separation of the words)

Virgil moans, “Worse.”

“He’s not straight,” Roman mumbles, because at least that much is obvious.

Virgil doesn’t give him a response, so Roman goes deeper. Dante’s thoughts are at odds with his actions, which throws Roman off when he goes to single them out from Virgil’s and the other workers and the small family that was eating across the dining area. Where he comes off as smooth and suave and absolutely sure of himself….

HOLY FUCK BROTHER DOES HOT RUN IN THE FAMILY WHAT THE FUCK--

...His thoughts are not. Roman chases the screaming through the astral plane with mild amusement. Even when the man is cleaning dishes in the back or checking bread or pacing the back, his thoughts are shouting with panic and he keeps coming back to the snapshot of Virgil at the counter. There’s fragments of emotions with it too, amusement, happiness, self embarrassment, as if he can’t believe he really called Virgil a Raccoon and Virgil let him. 

Honestly with how much Virgil comes up in his mind, Roman can’t see why his brother isn't launching himself over the counter and dragging the sandwich maker to the freezer for an impromptu make out session. 

Or at least he couldn’t.

Then Dante’s thoughts take a leap to the cook time on the last batch of bread, and then the clock, and then the current time and then--

“Dad!”

Roman’s head jerks as he lets go of the isolated thought process and comes back to reality. Virgil does not look up but half his sandwich is gone. Its looks very much like Virgil is throwing himself a pity party while Dante rounds the counter to catch a small child in a hug.

Its undeniably adorable. Roman’s own heart is melting at the sight. The kid can only be four at max, and he’s wearing a backpack almost as big as he is, with a spiderman theme. When the kid talks, he prattles on, and Dante listens to each word with adoration in his eyes.

“So he has got a kid,” Roman comments. He taps Virgil’s foot under the table, “Don’t tell me a kid is a turn off.”

“Roman, you know how I am with kids,” Virgil says. “I’m worse with kids than I am with adults! Which is saying something! The last living person I talked casually to called me a freak and threw a kickball at my face.”

“That was middle school, Miserable Mortuary.” Roman points out, and taps Virgil's foot again, “And if you remember, I beat the snot out of Alfred Hitchcockopolous for saying that. Not to mention, we are talking right this second.”

Virgil grunts sullenly, “Whatever. I’m still bad with kids. I give off that dark energy aura, remember? Give it an hour and Thomas will be running for the hills! There’s no way I could court his dad if he hates me. I’m not gonna drive that wedge between them.”

“You don’t know that yet! Have you talked to this Thomas?”

“And get labeled as a pedophile? No way, not happening.”

“Virgil,” Roman says pointedly (and taps Virgil's foot again), “I’m not saying approach the kid and offer him a joy ride in your crappy used silver Scion. You don’t have to even wait until Dante is out of earshot. Ask him about his favorite color.”

Virgil makes a rather pathetic noise in response. “It’s Dee. He hates being called Dante.” 

Roman glances back at Dante the sandwich maker and Thomas the kid. Dante was getting him set up at a table by the counter where he could color in a cheap Star Wars coloring book. He hadn’t come in with anyone. Which was odd. It wasn’t like anyone would let a four year old ride the buses around town either. But surely if there was another parent in the mix they would have at least come in to see that Dante had received the kid, right?

Roman chews on his sandwich for a moment. His eyes are narrowed at his brother as the melody of thoughts roll over him. He’s seeing, feeling glimpses of something else from his brother something that’s making him even more upset than the whole Dad issue.

“What is it?” Roman says, because he’s terribly impatient for his brothers cryptic dance around thoughts.

“You know how I was busy last night?”

“Summoning the dead on a Tuesday?” Roman nods three times.

“Yeah,” Virgil says and drops his head again like a moody teenager. “Yeah that.”

Roman gets flashes of flash night from Virgil’s point of view: Patton kneeling beside him, McDonalds kids meals, too many melted candles, too many slight variations to the chalk circle, a long night. There’s an unsatisfied tinged to them, an unhappiness, a frustration and a nervousness. 

It takes Roman a moment to work out what it means.

“Oh,” Roman says, “oh no.”

“Yeah,” Virgil bounces his head on his arms staring into his lap, “Thomas’s mother, Dee’s girlfriend, died in childbirth.”

The sandwich tastes foul in Romans mouth. Too much mayo and bad feelings from it. Virgil stuffs a chip in his mouth and crunches on it sadly.

Overall, it's not how Roman was expecting the lunch out to go.

"It's been four years though, right?" Roman tries, because even if Virgil and him give each other grief all the time, he never wants to see his brother unhappy. "He's definitely in to you, Vee. I have proof. He's moved on."

"That's not the issue," Virgil whines. His eyes flick over Romans shoulder where there's absolutely nothing there, which means that Patton the ghost is witnessing this exchange at least. "Ghosts are tricky businesses. For all I know, me dating Dee will cause a tremor in the afterlife and will bring a vengeful ghost down on the three of us."

"Isn't that an extremely rare occurrence?" Roman says.

Virgil huffs glaring to the side, "Not helping, Pat. And to answer your question, Ro, it is a rare occurrence. But I'm also a magical fucking beacon of dark energy that draws ghosts to myself. Do you really think that the odds are in my favor for this one?"

Roman squints at his brother, "Yes, I do? That is why I'm telling you to go talk to the kid?"

"I'm not going to talk to the kid," Virgil says stubbornly, "Not until I know I'm not gonna endanger him or Dee or… myself." He rubs the insides of his arms, and Roman gets flashes of an emergency room and his own fist in the walls. Neither of them say anything for a moment, and from the glassy look in Virgil's eyes, Patton chooses to be quiet too. 

Then Virgil shakes his head and wards off the thoughts. "It's fine. Or whatever. Patton and I are going to do some deep research and I'll find a way to contact Marissa. If she gives me permission, I'll go ahead and talk to Dee again."

He wraps up the rest of his sandwich neatly and leans back in his chair facing the counter where Dante is replacing the produce selection. As if sensing him watching Dante's head tilts up and he winks towards Virgil with another snake like flick of his tongue piercing.

Virgil goes red in the face and stands up. "You know what, I'll be outside!" 

Roman catches a glimpse of a dopey, stupid, lovesick smile on his brothers face and cant believe that hes not in a Hallmark movie. Really it's insulting now. This is drama gold and no ones even writing it down. 

Dante frowns as Virgil flees the scene, and head to the back again with the clear intention to mope in his thoughts. Roman is left alone at a table, with half a sandwich. Which is fine! All fine!

Roman packs up their combined trash and saves the second half of Virgil's sandwich before he gets up and strolls across the restaurant to the trashcan near where Thomas is sitting. Once he throws his stuff away he stops by the table where the kid is sitting.

"Oh my lord!" Roman says, "Look at this magnificent art work! The colors, the lines, the texture! How very bold! Tell me artist, are you the one who crafted such intricate works?"

Thomas grins up at him bursting with joviality. "I am, mister! Who are you?"

"My name's Roman Prince, young artist!" Roman says, "I am trying to solve a problem that I think you can help me with."

"Me?" Thomas says, "What is it?"

Roman thinks that this kid would be very easy to kidnap.

"Well you see, my brother comes here quite often and he thinks your dad is very super nice." Roman explains the best he can, "He wants to be your dad's friend but my brother is very shy around people."

Thomas taps a red crayon to his lip, "He's that scary man that was over there, right? Dad talks about him a lot."

Roman smiles, "My brother talks about your dad a lot, too!" It's a lie, but really it's for a good cause. "I want them to be friends because they seem very happy together. How about I write down my brothers phone number and you give it to your dad for me?"

Thomas nods easily at the words, and then excitedly, "Then they can set up a playdate! Even if Mr. Purple is really scary, I think he makes dad laugh a lot. And Uncle Emile says laughing is good!"

Roman laughs at that. He scribbles out the numbers for Virgil's personal phone in red crayon on a napkin and gives Thomas a fist bump for teamwork. By the time Dante appears in the front again (with a cloud of suspicion and terror that a stranger is near his son) Roman gives him a cheery wave goodbye and is out the door. 

(Virgil is lying in the middle of the parking lot just behind his car and asks Roman to run him over and put him out of his misery.)

(Roman does not run him over.)

(It does take twelve minutes to convince his hopeless brother to get off the asphalt and into the car for the ride back to Virgil's apartment.)

[skepticaloccultist]

The Society with No Name

The Society with No Name

 I had taken the train in from our temporary accommodation in the English countryside to deal with a few pressing matters back in London. Our house in Hackney has been packed, and while most of it will go to storage some is on its way to Portugal. We have taken offices there, and are preparing to sign the papers for our new home in Portugal in the coming days.

There are many things I will miss about London, though these days of plague mean that I miss them already. The bookshops and private libraries, the lectures and occasional events that bring me out into the night. But this country has become a shambles, and more sensible accommodation is in our future.

Among those things that I will think of even in the brightest of Portuguese sunshine is a place that I have come to consider a second home in London. One of the few reclusive lairs in central London that affords one such as myself a bit of respite, and a proper coffee, or whiskey as the case may be.

Located down a street too narrow for any but foot traffic, two right turns from Leicester Square station, is a rather peculiar building that seems to have grown like a weed among the more traditional structures around it.

Painted these days where there is wood on its two facades in a dark blue, the building is narrow at its base, a corner slot some 20 feet on either of its two street facing sides. Stretching some five or so stories tall it is impossibly angled outward over the sidewalk as it rises. Not in any modernist architectural style, just in a centuries long battle with gravity.

The door is nondescript, black painted wood under a stone mantel that bears the number "13", though the vagaries of London's postal code system mean that it hasn't had that number as a street address since shortly after Queen Victoria expired.

If one were to knock at the door, no one would answer. To enter, one needs to have a key.

+++

I became a member or "key holder" of the society sometime during the summer of 2009. It had long been on the fringes of my social group, small though it has always been. Though it was only through a chance meeting of a standing member that I was invited to join.

As many will know I have spent my life politely declining membership in a range of secret societies, handshake clubs, and masonic fraternities dressed up in various historic ethnographic fashions. I have never been much on membership in anything, initiatory or otherwise. I am not a very social fellow when it comes down to it.

It was the complete lack of any "club" like structure that the society presented that drew my attention. Members are not encouraged to interact, no events public or otherwise are planned. One simply pays annual dues and receives a key that grants them access to the building, including a small lobby bar staffed 24 hours a day, a number of rooms of various sizes furnished with arrangements of chairs and tables with doors that can be closed, and access to one of the largest private esoteric libraries in the world, taking up an entire floor of the building.

Not only is one not compelled by the society to interact with other members, but if you have not been introduced it is considered impolite to attempt conversation. Ideal for the recluse who seeks a perfect Turkish espresso at 1am, with the least amount of social interaction possible.

When one has entered through the front of the building the hall is modestly lit, a short entry that has a coat room to one side and opens into a sort of lobby, with a cafe style bar set into the rear of a small room, a few chairs and a table or two along one wall and three booths along another.

The bartender on duty never comes from behind the bar to serve, and it is expected that each member bus their own tables before they leave. A hallmark of the society is courteousness.

Opposite the entry way across the tiny lobby is the staircase, which goes upward around a tattery old iron lift. The stairs creak as you climb them, but the hand railing is fixed solid. Not something that can be said for the lift.

I have ridden the lift on several occasions, each time being reminded why no one ever rides in the lift. The noise alone is enough to think a banshee was the operator.

One climbs the slender stairs, pausing on the occasional landing to peer out of the crooked windows onto the street below. No one ever seems to be on the streets when you look out of the windows, regardless of how crowded the streets were just moments ago when you were approaching the building.

On each floor the stairs open to a landing that leads into various rooms. Some more private than others. The rooms are decorated minimally, with shelves of books and curiosities left over the years by members.

On the third floor is the library.

+++

 The origins of the society seem to have come out of a select group within the British supper club the "Ye Sette of Odd Volumes." Members of that organization seem to have acquired the building in the early 1900s and from there the society evolved.

It is unknown to current members who actually owns the building, or if the society holds it in some obscure trust. Though a general trust fund was setup in the 1950s and covers staff pay and building upkeep, the annual dues each member pays seem to come to about the required budget each year.

The building was built sometime in the 18th century, though from its ill fitting the upper few stories must have been a later addition. Typical of the period the rooms are mostly wood trimmed plaster walls. Each of the member rooms is painted in a particular colour scheme, though these seem to change as years go by.

As was typical of societies of the early 20th century membership is coed, with women being key holders from the beginning. The only restriction to membership is that members must live within commuting distance of London. Those members that leave the region must relinquish their key. It is intended as a place of solitude for those who need it in their dealings with the city, a place to coordinate and consult with the volumes in the library.

It is said among older members that the building was a well known opium den in the late 19th century, frequented by literary types and dragon chasing aristocrats. The layout of the rooms certainly lends itself to the idea of opium beds and servitors, with the rooms' high ceilings perfectly suited to smoke filled chambers.

The rooms on the top two floors of the building are more open, like small ballrooms. Though furnished with a few chairs they are easily emptied out for purposes privy to only the society members behind closed doors. These rooms, unlike those on the lower floors, have windows that can be opened. It is considered polite to book a room ahead on the calendar if one plans to need it for more than a day, though exceptions are often made.

+++

Unlike the other floors, which are divided into smaller rooms, the landing of the third floor has only a single door, made of glass and requiring a key to open, the same as the buildings front door. This is the entrance to the society's library, a densely packed but well organized room full of books, maps, papers and other ephemera.

The society's library grew out of the private libraries and individual donations of previous members of the society, usually upon their death. It takes up the entire third floor, with fiction and other non essential volumes found across the shelves of many of the members rooms on other floors.

The first member whose private collection was to form the core of the original library, who willed a portion of their collection to the society upon their death, was William Sharp, former Golden Dawn member and founder of the Celtic Society. After his collection was sorted other members began to add works, then as members passed on it became a custom for their private libraries to be donated to the society.

By the end of the second World War a librarian had been employed as part of the staff trust. Initially just a job of sorting and keeping records it has evolved into a more curatorial role as the members who donate their collections often have a great overlap in their private libraries' holdings and there is only so much space on the third floor.

Works from the library can not be removed from the building. Anyone attempting to do so is banned without recourse. They may be taken to the members rooms but must be signed out at the time, though signing out is on an honors system of a paper list on a clipboard near the library door. In the history of the society a book has never gone missing.

The holdings of the library are much of what you would expect, rare volumes, original manuscripts. The society holds the personal papers and effects of several of its former members. Possibly my favorite object in the library, though in no way occult, is a stack of love letters written between botanist and writer Edith Wheelwright and Beatrix Potter in the late 1920s. An eloquent longing preserved in a private way that will never be seen by public eyes. The two women's handwriting alone makes one ache with decadence.

+++

The gentleman who primarily works behind the bar is an eloquent older Italian who speaks a dozen languages in passing and can read one's tarot on a rainy day. He makes a distinguished espresso as well.

I have long attempted to get him to stock some pastries at the bar but he refuses, serving only liquids hot and cold. On days where I am holed up in one of the rooms I often pop around the corner to an unremarkable ramen noodle shop. A tiny place decorated in a trendy colourful style but a passing bowl of noodles if one knows how to order.

I was able, sometime after a year or so of being a key holder, to insist that the bar stock my preferred bourbon. Though I had to personally supply the first few bottles kept behind the counter they eventually began to replenish themselves.

I do run into friends who are also members occasionally on the stairs, though more often I am in the building to meet them directly during daylight hours. The hours I generally keep tend to be late, and while there are others who frequent the society at similarly nocturnal intervals, like myself, they keep to themselves and their business.

It will be a shame to have to hand in my key in the coming month, I will be unable to spend as much time as I would have liked here in this comfortable late 19th century chair, whose time for a reupholstering was ages since, and to look out of the window on the landing outside of the library, where no one ever passes by below regardless of the time of day, and the park across the way from the building seems to go unnoticed to anyone but the squirrels.

Perhaps London will lure me back one day, after the plague and the war have passed? Previous members in good standing are always welcome to return if they find themselves living full time in London again. In the meantime I drink a final espresso or two from Silvio, taking the bourbon with me, and spend some time in the library saying my goodbyes.

[yonaih]

en route II - [ doc x lion ]

posted on ao3 as aIIegro (capital i’s in username)

word count: 2.2k

a/n: it’s shorter than the last chapter, but i really wanted to put this one out lol. ALSO IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED IN FUTURE TAGS, SEND ME AN ASK OR MESSAGE !!!!

Much like the eye of a hurricane, serenity came from deep inside Olivier as he stepped into the pristine, dimly lit office. It was much less luxurious than Gustave’s office area at the infirmary. Mounds of finished paperwork crowded the right side of his desk, but the enormous pile of unfinished work loomed above the rest of the cluttered space. It was almost cartoonish. The fluorescent lights overhead gave the cramped room a dingy look and made Gustave appear gaunt and even more tired than usual. Apart from the white lab coat hanging from a hook behind him, the walls were rather sparse. A small wooden cabinet tucked in the far corner had a cluster of small, well cleaned picture frames, filled with people Olivier couldn’t quite see or recognize. Not looking up from his rapid typing, the doctor flipped a page in a file and asked in his heavily accented voice, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Olivier,” Lion said hoarsely, still strangely calm. The storm of rapid fire thoughts had greatly subsided, leaving him stranded with no coherent train of thought. He ignored Doc’s darkened gaze that pierced a part of his soul and radiated suspicion. 

“What do you want—”

“I brought you coffee.” Weakly offering the sad, still steaming cup, Lion fought valiantly to soften his neutral expression. Almost a smile. 

“I see” was Gustave’s response. His tone was emotionless and steady, but he couldn’t hide the curious glint in his typically stoic eyes. Lion’s behaviour was absurd, to say the least. In fact, it was quite the opposite of his normal self; he was actually rather amiable. Gustave couldn’t just swear him out like usual when Olivier wasn’t even doing anything to provoke him. “Merci beaucoup.” Standing up, he reached over his desk as Olivier handed him the cup. 

“You like espresso still, right?” Shifting his weight onto one leg, Lion leaned against the doorframe and tried to gauge the medic’s reaction. 

“I...yes, I do,” Doc responded, his voice slightly strained. Immense confusion raged inside his mind, leaving the doctor with a surplus of unanswered questions. “You remembered?” Sipping carefully, he kept his eyes on Olivier, still unsure of how to respond to the sudden act of kindness. 

“Oui.” Olivier’s murmured reply was almost too soft for Gustave to hear. Doc remained silent as he sat, both looking and not looking at the other operator. Lion was internally celebrating his first little win, waiting for the other man to dismiss him. His shoelaces have never seemed more interesting, and he was suddenly aware of the lint on his pants. 

“Are you going to sit down or not?” Motioning with his free hand, Gustave nodded at a single, tiny plastic chair across from him, giving Olivier an owlish look. 

Shocked, he sat down quickly and without objection. He couldn’t have been more surprised by the vicissitude of Doc’s attitude towards him. What do I do? Lion was in a panic, and Gustave could tell, even if he himself was just as clueless. Both were equally lost. Neither could figure out the motivations of the other, and the proximity without toxicity laid the first, pitifully small, stepping stone in a bridge that could remedy the divide between each other. Olivier was still driven by the mysterious yearning for something less like forgiveness and more like a compromise, a treaty. Or at least, he thought he was. Neither spoke until Gustave had finished his coffee and did some finishing touches on one of the folders of work he had completed. 

“Was it alright?” Olivier, anxious once more, squirmed a little in his seat and tried to read Gustave's expression. The doctor pushed the finished folder aside and looked at him, his expression void of emotion. 

“It was.” In truth, it was too sweet for him, but Olivier had always been one to put in too much sugar. He puts sugar on his buttered toast, Doc suddenly remembered, a pang of nostalgia running through him. He brushed it off. 

Taking advantage of the peaceful waters between them, Gustave asked, “What do you want?”

“I…” Olivier started. “I wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“Us. Or at least, what happened in Africa—“

“Get out.” It was abrupt, to say the least. Suddenly guarded, Gustave looked...odd. There was something different about his normally neutral expression. His eyes? Lion didn’t fail to notice how Doc glanced at the picture frames beside him. Was he still bitter over his colleague? Who was it?

“What?” He was surprised. Didn’t Gustave want to get along with him? Was Gilles lying? “Kateb—“

“Leave.”

“I—“

“Now.” Gustave was glaring holes into his own hands, clasped tightly on top of his desk, not meeting Olivier’s eyes. 

In the blink of an eye, Olivier found himself outside the tiny office, the door slamming behind him. Even through the haze of confusion and slight anger, Olivier could tell that Gustave didn’t act out of hatred; he was nursing a wound deep inside him. Lion couldn’t understand why, though. Still in shock, he texted Montagne, hoping for an answer. After a few minutes, he got a reply asking to meet him in their dorm. Gilles later confirmed that Gustave was, indeed, caught off guard and kicked him out in defense. The two met in the communal living room, since the other three GIGN operators were off in a training simulation.

“That didn’t go too well, did it?” Gilles gave him a sympathetic smile, sitting on a couch across from Lion. The fireplace crackled softly behind him, casting a warm glow on Olivier’s face as he distractedly eyed the wall behind him.

“Non.” Shifting in his seat, Olivier kicked his legs up onto his chair and sprawled out on the cushions. “It did not.”

“It’ll be okay, mon ami. Africa is still a touchy subject for him.” “You talked to him about it?”

Pausing for a moment, Gilles thought hard about his answer. “I have before. He’s very unwilling to acknowledge it, from what I’ve seen and understand.”

Olivier scoffed, still instinctively bitter about the mention of Gustave.

“Look, he’s not the best at feelings and neither are you. I know you’re just as upset about Africa as he is.” “No shit,” he snarled, starting to get up from his chair. “But he acts like I’m just fucking fine. I’m not peachy keen on having these fucking nightmares about...about Africa, alright? The people that died? I see them, alright? He acts like it’s nothing, always playing the damn victim card! He doesn’t give a shit about how I feel about it.” He punctuated his words with a jab of his hand. 

“Hey,” Gilles responds evenly, raising a hand in surrender. Olivier sat back down, still giving him a vaguely hostile stare. “No one said you were perfectly okay or that he’s the one that is right, but I’m just trying to remind you that both of you aren’t always complete opposites of each other. You have similar goals.”

“Hm.” Olivier looked away, thinking.

“You both value lives, just in different ways.”

“Okay. I know.”

“Do you want me to talk to him about it again?”

“Yeah.” A brief lull in the conversation gave both operators a period of reflection.

“Consider it done.” “Merci,” Lion replied grudgingly. He was secretly grateful.

“I’ll leave you be now. See you at dinner?” “Yeah. Bye.”

“Gustave will come around,” Montagne reassured, smiling at him. “And Em is making filet mignon. Don’t be late.” Olivier hummed absentmindedly, vaguely watching him leave. Once the man was gone, Olivier turned to watch the cloudy sky outside their little bubble of a base. It was unusual for him to be this still, but he couldn’t help but concern himself with a seemingly endless amount of possible scenarios in which he could talk to Gustave.

Gilles marked it as a win in his book. Olivier was still mildly upset by Gustave’s outburst in his office, but he was determined to finish what he had started. Picking at some lint on his grey pants, he considered bringing the medic another cup of coffee. After all, they couldn’t beat around the bush that was their past. At least, not for long.

Almost instantly, Lion found himself reliving the Ebola incident all over again. Too late to pull himself out of the hole he had unknowingly dug himself into, Olivier hoped his godforsaken memories brought back something good at least. 

He was wrong.

It started long before anything in Africa. His friendship with Gustave, that is. Almost two peas in a pod, they were partners in the GIGN. Olivier still remembered some of the little details about the other man. He remembered the times where they would hang out in a secluded area of the barracks so they could work on the original stim pistol, staying up late to perfect the firing mechanism. He recalled the exact number of iterations and prototypes they had gone through. Seventy-two. As far as he could tell, the current stim pistol design hadn’t changed since then. They spent a little over a year together in the same unit. He knew Gilles was there too, but he had no memorable moments with Montagne. He could easily recount every time Gustave burned his hand soldering. Eighteen. The pictures and scenes in his head were grainy and dim, but he could remember it all.

Most importantly, he remembered his feelings for Gustave. In Olivier’s eyes they probably weren’t reciprocated to begin with, but, to him, it was a trivial qualm compared to the insurmountable wall that came as a result of their last mission as a unit. 

They were sent to Africa to keep a quarantine. 

Lion shuddered just thinking about it.

Any good that came out of that operation was dashed by the shitshow that was the protocol that Lion had regrettably committed to. What else could he have done? He didn’t remember what he did or what protocol he even followed, but he saw what happened during and after. Olivier didn’t even know if he couldn’t recall the protocol because he had never needed to follow it again or because he was simply repressing it. 

Somehow, he couldn’t repress the smell of rotten flesh and charred bodies, nor could he forget the cries of anguish resonating through the haze of something detonating. 

None of these flashbacks were new. He had lived through these again and again before, but this time was different. He could remember something else, something faint. This emerging memory wasn’t tangible, but he tried his best to reach as far deep as he could, just to brush the tips of his fingers on the wisp of a fading scene. 

The memory came back, as vivid as anyone could imagine. It was more of a picture than an event. A snapshot of time. He couldn’t move, couldn’t hear. He could only see and pray. Nothing seemed to be moving; everything was frozen. Grimly, Olivier focused on observing what was in front of him, desperately struggling to get a grip on what he saw. 

It was Gustave. It had been quite some time since the memory took place, but he looked so young here, his head void of any white hairs, surrounded by debris and splatters of blood. A single, deep red drop was caught midair, falling from an unseen cut on the back of his hand. Breathless, Olivier continued to soak up any of the details he could hold on to, despite all of the pain it caused him. There was dirt mixed in with Gustave’s own blood all over his face, dust hanging lazily in the air. His hair was a mess, and his uniform looked faded because of all the sand that clung to its navy blue fabric. He looked defeated.

In his arms was a young child, limbs mangled and hair matted with blood.

There was a lot more blood than Olivier had anticipated.

Almost like taking a step back, he saw the bigger picture. The scene was almost serene, painted like a Renaissance painting. Doc was standing in the middle, cradling the body, his entire self backlit by the gaping hole in the roof of the tent that once served as the medbay. He really did look like an angel, but there was still all of the blood. 

And Gustave’s eyes.

A twisted feeling of anger, betrayal, and sadness clouded his expression. His balaclava was almost entirely torn and shredded in places, revealing numerous cuts and scrapes. Still frozen in time, he regarded Olivier with an overwhelming sense of resentment and internalized grief. Eyebrows knitted together, mouth twisted in contempt. The child was still dead in his arms.

It felt like hell again.

Why now? Why would he remember it now?

Gustave’s words screamed at him, but they were too fuzzy, too muffled. It made Lion feel worse. He couldn’t remember what Doc had said.

“I’m sorry,” Olivier mouthed, the view before him dissipating. He found himself in the same position in the chair he was sitting in, the fireplace still crackling merrily in front of him. No one was there to see or hear him as he choked back sobs.

“Olivier?”

He recognized that voice.

[theolddarkmachine]

Imaginary- Chapter Four

Midoriya Izuku’s life was turned upside by fate.

Eri’s life was turned upside down by circumstance.

And Bakugou Katsuki is about to learn that even imaginary friends need to grow up.

Also on AO3

A/N: So this is a day later than planned cuz shit be crazy lol apologies for that >.< I’m going to try and maintain my weekly Monday posting but due to the circumstances I have gotten a chapter behind in my writing so next week maaaay be delayed. Just a heads up. But hopefully today’s chapter will make up for that <3

*****************

“Bakugou, my man!” The file room attendant exclaims with gusto, finger guns, and a smarmy smile that makes Katsuki’s skin crawl. A 4 foot tall thorn in just about everyone’s sides, the guy had more or less been banished to the darkest, innermost workings of the imaginary friend offices.

He’s sure he found it some kind of upgrade.

Barely containing his eye roll, Katsuki fixes his glare on the purple colored half pint. What was his name again?

Monoma?

Monokuma?

Whatever.

“Shut it, Purple People Eater,” he scoffs, not returning the smile or the fist bump that the grape fucker has held up to him.

“Mm, I prefer One Eyed Monster, thanks,” the small man says, unperturbed as he gives his eyebrows a waggle and a quick thrust of his hips. “If you know what I mean.”

He doesn’t, and he really, really does not want to.

“Whatever, let me in,” Katsuki growls, throwing his sunset red gaze over the short man’s shoulder and toward the gleaming glass that separates the rest of the waiting area from the file room.

To be quite honest, he isn’t sure he actually has the authority to enter, but he sure as hell knows that this little purple shit wouldn’t know either.  At least he could help him out in that way.

“And what will you give me if I do?” He asks, putting an elbow on the white surface of his desk and leaning his cheek into his palm. Looking up at Katsuki, his smile reeks of shit as he traces the ring finger of his free hand blindly around the desk’s surface. It pulls a loud groan from deep in his own chest as he drops his palms down onto the desk and leans danger close into the attendant’s space.

“I won’t punch you in the goddamn nuts, now let me in,” Katsuki threatens, throwing the weight into his words in a way that would work on anyone else. Faux shock and surprise cracks the purple man’s mouth wide as he pushes back.

“You would threaten the Mineta family jewels?” He chokes out, eyes almost comically wide as he drops his hands to his lap. Though covered by the desk, Katsuki doesn’t need to see to know he’s cupping his junk in some show to protect them.

That’s right, he thinks as he rolls his eyes again. Fucking Mineta was his name.

“I’ll threaten more than that if I’m still in front of this desk in the next 30 seconds,” Katsuki growls low and slow, flicking his gaze between Mineta and the doors in hopes that he would be free of this conversation quicker than that.

“Fine, fine, some friend you must make,” Mineta sighs, pulling his hands back up above the desk. “Is making the kids cry part of you schtick?”

Briefly, Katsuki wonders if anyone would really mind if he put the purple fuck out of his misery.

“Now, Mineta!” He snaps, throwing his annoyance behind his words and turning them into blades. It seems to have the opposite effect of what he wanted, as Mineta’s mouth twists upward into a smile.

“Aw, you said my name! I knew we were friends,” Mineta preens as he stabs a finger into a button tucked into the corner of his desk. The soft sound of the glass doors sliding open behind him is the only thing that keeps Katsuki from throwing himself across the desk and strangling the little shit.

Instead, he growls, saying nothing else as he stomps his way loudly through the now open doors.

On the other side, the file room looks clinical, almost sterile, as it stands proudly wrapped in white and chrome. Several shelves fill the space and line the walls, all filled with what looks like endless files separated by alphabetized dividers.

Fuck, he thinks, moving further into the room, pushed forward by the soft hush of the doors closing behind him and leaving him alone to the silence of the file room.

Truth be told, Katsuki doesn’t truly know what he’s looking for. All he knows, is that he can’t get the way Midoriya had looked at him that fateful day in his mother’s backyard. Or, had looked through him.

The jungle lush of his stare had seemed to haunt his dreams, and Katsuki could almost swear he felt it in the house while he was there with Eri. Of course, he knows that can’t possibly be true given these past few days he’d done everything in his power to try and get the man to acknowledge his existence again.

Moving the living room furniture, decorating his walls, and starting a bubble party had all been a bust, but there had been the brief moment after the roof incident where Midoriya had seemingly threatened him.

That, however, might have just been the poor guy cracking. The jury was still out on that one.

Even so, the words had stuck like a barb between his ribs, and followed him to bed that night, leaving him restless and somewhat wanting. Which had been a whole other can of worms on its own.

Katsuki wanted to know more about the circumstance, and if he listened to the annoying small voice at the back of his head, wanted to know more about Midoriya. The latter he couldn’t really do much about, but the former, well, he at least could snoop around in past files to try and find out more about.

As far as he knew, no imaginary friends were ever heard or seen by anyone aside from the friends that they had been assigned to. He’s sure if they had, it would have spread through the office like wildfire, carried on the back of every goddamn gossip that worked there. If anything, it would have gone as an office myth, almost like the Mothman or Bigfoot.

He knows he could probably just ask an Administrator, but that same annoying voice had stopped him, instead urging him to keep the development close to his chest for now.

So he did, and now here he was, and he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to be looking for.

Sighing to himself, Katsuki stops his mindless shuffle toward the back of the room and blindly grabs a file that had been shoved just behind the T divider.

Quickly opening the light colored folder, he scans his gaze quickly over the neatly written paperwork.

Name: Togata Mirio

Age: 5 years

Friend: Sasaki Mirai

Assignment Administrator: Yagi Toshinori

Skimming through the boring administrative information, Katsuki briefly reads the administrator notes that detail the reasons for the child needing a friend. Jumping word to word, Katsuki barely registers the notes on the following page of the file. Scribbled in Sasaki’s neat handwriting, it does nothing more than note that after a few months with him, the kid’s sunny demeanor had blossomed into something a lot more genuine, especially now that he’d made a friend that wasn’t imaginary.

A happy ending, but nothing that could help Katsuki in the slightest with his current dilemma.

“God dammit,” he huffs angrily, dropping the file on the shelf in front of the space he’d pulled it from. Turning quickly over his shoulder, he skims the shelf, looking for anything that might catch his eye in some vain hope that it might offer him some kind of answer.

Blindly choosing another file, Katsuki flips it open and moans seeing his own name listed at the top of the page.

The smack of the file on the metallic shelf as he throws it down echoes through the room as he stalks away from the shelves he stands in front of and toward the one situated along the back wall.

“Come on,” he grumbles lowly to himself, casting his glance across the files and grabbing them at random.

Open, skim, get pissed, shut, move on.

Repeating the process several times over, Katsuki finds himself in the front corner of the room, anger scalding his veins as he drops down into a squat. Pushing his elbows into the meat of his thighs, Katsuki presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and tries to breathe.

“What a fucking waste of time,” he grumbles to himself, timing his breathes to the sparks that light up the backs of his eyelids with the pressure of his hands. It had been a long shot to think he would find anything that might help him with this situation, whatever the fuck this situation even was.

That knowledge didn’t make the disappointment taste any less bitter at the back of his throat as he finally drops his hands. The light cuts brighter across his vision when he opens his eyes, making him grumble once more.

Placing his palms on his knees, Katsuki makes to push himself back up, only stopping when his gaze finds a dark blue folder tucked into the very bottom corner of the shelf.

Extending his reach toward it, he frees the file from its tight fit, noting carefully that it seems to be far thinner than the others. With a low, curious hum, he flicks it open.

Name: Torino Sorahiko

Age: 7 years

Friend: Shimura Nana

Assignment Administrator: Banjo Daigoro

Administrator Notes: Recent loss of both parents. Child exhibits aggression towards uncle, who has taken him in. Friend should prioritize healthy coping, and providing a mentor figure to look up to.

Turning the page over, Katsuki feels his eyebrow quirk as he notes the handwriting of the Administrator once more in the section meant for the kid’s friend.

Friend Notes: Friendship terminated after one week. Shimura Nana reports child caretaker made verbal acknowledgement of her presence. Replacement chosen and new file started.

Interesting, he thinks, rereading the short notes twice. Each time the word terminated stand proud and bold amongst the rest, catching on his thoughts. Katsuki supposes it makes sense that that would be the course of action. The secretive nature of the job was an unspoken requirement. They may not have touched base on what to do if anyone besides your friend sees you, but the certainly didn’t encourage being seen either.

Friendship terminated. The words flit through his mind again as he closes the file and pushes it back into its space.

“That���s not an option,” Katsuki says, resolute in the unanswering quiet of the file room as he stood up.

In a funny enough twist of fate, he came to find he actually enjoyed Eri’s company. It had been nice not having to deal with any little punks, and yeah, he realizes he’s technically a punk, but it wasn’t like he ever said he’d be his own friend.

Eri, though.

While the girl was far more quiet than he was used to, she was smart as a whip and courageous. No matter what kind of scheme he’d come up with, her eyes had lit up with unspoken excitement in a way he wasn’t entirely used to.

Katsuki, as it would seem, had a soft spot for the girl.

Not that he’d ever admit that out loud, but there it was all the same.

Making another quick round through the room, Katsuki tucks the files he’d pulled back into their spaces.

Suddenly, it didn’t seem so bad that Midoriya didn’t acknowledge him.

Honestly, thank fuck for it, he thinks, as he replaces the last folder. As far as he’s concerned, there was nothing to report as long as Midoriya continued to be blind to to his existence. The first time was most likely a fluke, and that second time was surely just his nerves getting the best of him.

Sending a cursory glance across the room, Katsuki nods to himself.

Yeah, that’s it, he thinks before stepping back out into the room.

With that settled, it was time to go see what the Midoriyas were up to.

***

“Why do you want Daddy Izuku to see you so bad?” Eri asks, sipping loudly from her juice box and swinging her legs that aren’t quite long enough to reach from the dining room chair she sits on. Her brows pull up in question as she watches Katsuki, waiting his answer.

“It’s the opposite, squirt, I really don’t want your Daddy Izuku to see me,” he replies, settling his hip onto the edge of the counter and taking a long drag from his own juice box.

Say what you would of the profession, at least as an imaginary friend he never really had to worry about when he’d get his next apple juice fix.

“Do you not like him?” She counters, eyes growing fierce in a way that would be scary if she was several feet taller. Be that as it may, it’s just kind of cute, and Katsuki has to swallow his laugh with another mouthful of juice.

“Down, girl,” he says gruffly, pulling the straw from his mouth and holding his hands up as a show of peace. “Didn’t say that, I’m just not supposed to be seen by anyone else.”

“Why?” Eri asks, cocking her head to the side. Gaze softening into open curiosity, she waited as Katsuki sucks the rest of his juice box dry.

Friendship terminated.

The words flash against his mind’s eye, stark and cutting as he closed his fist around the husk of his juice box before dropping it in the trash across from him. Pushing away from the counter, he drops down to his haunches in front of Eri.

“Because I’m your imaginary friend,” he emphasizes, ruffling her hair and earning a small giggle. “Now let’s see that board game you wanted to kick my butt in.”

Smiling brightly around the juice box straw still caught between her teeth, Eri noisily slurps up the last of her juice.

“Okay!” She exclaims happily as she holds the box up to him and attempts to crush it the same way he had. After only managing to dent it’s sides, she puts it on the table before hopping off her seat and heading toward the stairs.

The soft thump of her steps as she ascended the stairs grew more distant as Katsuki eyes the juice box carcass laying on the table.

That brat, he thinks fondly, shaking his head as he grabs the discarded cardboard and tosses it beside his own in the trash.

With a small, thoughtful sound captured in the back of his throat, Katsuki moves his way out of the kitchen and toward the living room. Familiarity, warm and unknown, wraps itself around his shoulders as he eyes the area. It’s simplistic in its furnishings, nothing extra outside of the couch, coffee table, and entertainment center, yet every bit of it breathes the word home in a way that’s almost disconcerting.

Because this wasn’t his home.

This was Eri’s.

And Midoriya’s.

But not his.

Friendship terminated.

Shaking the cumbersome words from where they whisper at his ear, Katsuki shoves his hands deep into his pockets before moving through the room and towards the opposite wall.

Four photos hang proudly from the wall, offset in a geometrical pattern at what seems to be a bid at design.

The first, is a photo of both Midoriyas, accompanied by a tired looking purple haired man. Eri’s eyes are downcast slightly, not looking directly at the camera’s lens as she smiles weakly from where she stands tucked between the two uniformed men. Kneeling beside her, Midoriya’s smile is a bit wider and a lot less tired as his arm protectively wrapped around her shoulder. The stranger stood to the other side of Eri, a bit of distance kept between him and what Katsuki can only assume was the newly minted Midoriya family as he smiles softly, eyes not actually on the camera but on the pair beside him.

Looking at the purple haired man, Katsuki feels something bristle down his spine. With a loud tsk, he moves to the next two photos that are positions as a stacked pair.

The photo on the top shows Eri, looking more like the one he can hear rummaging around upstairs. Wearing a soft yellow dress and clutching one strap of her bright pink backpack, her smile is much wider than the first photo as she points blindly behind her toward what looks like a daycare.

Briefly, he wonders if Midoriya cried dropping her off to what was presumably her first day.

Nerd, he thinks brusquely to himself with a low chuckle before moving his eyes down to the photo beneath it.

Eri’s grandmother hugs her tight in the confines of the frame, her mouth split wide around a laugh as she crushes the small girl to her. It’s sweet. Almost unbearably so, if only because the exact moment in time looks like a first meeting. One that was life changing in the best of ways, if the line of tears on the older woman’s cheeks are anything to go by.

Swallowing down a tickle at the back of his throat, Katsuki moves his gaze to the fourth and final photo at the end of the grouping of frames.

It’s different from the others.

Worn and creased, as if it had known a life stuffed in a pocket, the faded photo shows a young man and woman. Both with silvery blond hair, neither is looking at the camera, but instead between them towards a small bundle held in the woman’s arms. The baby, with it’s eyes blissfully shut in sleep, has the same shock of silver atop its head.

Feeling a sting zip just over the space of his heart, Katsuki feels his handing reaching out toward the photo when a confused sound shatters his thoughts.

“Who the fuck are you,” the voice is dark and dangerous, simmering with authority and power, “and what the fuck are you doing in my house?”

The question, in all its suddenness, makes Katsuki bristle. Shock and confusion pull his shoulders tight, his fists automatically coming together in fists as he bites down on the urge to turn around.

Friendship terminated.

The words taunt him as he swallows the bubbling anger that burns at the back of his throat, leaving blackened char and grey ash dry on his tongue.

He can’t be talking to me, Katsuki thinks. Pleads, if he’s being honest, as he keeps his gaze stuck on the happy family in the aged photo. Time stalls, dragging to a near halt as he feels his breathing shallow in almost the same way as from the man behind him.

A stare, heavy and angry sits between his shoulder blades as he chews a hole into his cheek in an attempt to keep the flare of indignant words behind his teeth.

Then, the frozen moment shatters. Quick like a car crash, the burning grasp of a hand is at the back of his neck as a foot swipes his own out from under him. The photos tilt as he’s pushed down to the ground with his cheek pressed into the carpet and a knee high on his back.

A sharp stab of pain burrows deep into the meat of his shoulder as his arm is leveraged further behind him.

“I won’t ask again, who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

Midoriya’s question is filled with threat, which only makes the anger steaming in Katsuki’s veins go hotter until he feels like he’ll burn with it. Shaking hard against the hold that’s keeping him pressed close down into the cream colored carpet, Katsuki growls.

“What the fuck?” He rumbles angrily, to himself just as much as to Midoriya.

What the fuck, he thinks again, this time hurling it out to whatever fate could possibly be in charge of what had to be some kind of sick cosmic joke.

Friendship terminated.

“That’s my line,” Midoriya replies, mouth at his ear as he pulls Katsuki’s arm into a harsher angle that makes his shoulder scream.

“Now, who sent you?”

Confusion sluices through the cloud of pain and rage that’s muddled Katsuki’s thoughts as he tries to eye Midoriya the best he can from where he’s shoved into the carpet. Those green eyes, the ones that have looked through him so many times are trained on him now, carving into him with a hard ferocity. Anger and an oddly colored emotion fight bitterly in his chest as his brain trips over what to say.

Katsuki liked to think he was prepared for anything, but it was there, with his face shoved to the ground that he truly wished there had been some kind of crash course on what to do when your charge’s parent saw you. What the fuck was the point of all those damn manuals they gave every imaginary friend if they didn’t touch base on something as important as this.

Friendship terminated.

Those two words continued to spin round and round through his thoughts, catching them and muddying them like dirty dishwater spiraling down a drain.

“No one fucking sent me, what is wrong with you?” Katsuki finally snarls, pushing up against the hold on him again to no avail. It seemed Midoriya was stronger than his doe eyes had let on, and it would be something Katsuki would admire if he wasn’t the one caught by it.

“Then why, the fuck, are you in my house,” Midoriya says, less as a question and more as an accusation as Katsuki writhed beneath him. Twisting his torso slightly, his gaze finds the photo of Eri and her grandmother. A spark of a half formed idea lights his brain as he continues to wiggle in Midoriya’s hold.

“My grandma,” he chokes out angrily, his free hand finally finding enough purchase in the ground to push himself up. The movement forces Midoriya off him as he turns to look at him from a crouch.

The man looks almost feral from his mirrored pose as he returns Katsuki’s stare. His green eyes are almost glowing as they appraise him, more akin to a wild animal than a human, as Katsuki slowly holds his hands up to Midoriya in the same way he had to Eri none to long before.

“This was her house. I was just fucking checking in.”

Those words tumble quickly from his mouth, their insincerity making them fall like stones before him. Even to his own ears, the lie sounds paper thin. Sparks light the air between them with sharp crackles as they hold each others gazes. Chest going tight with the sudden thickness of the air, Katsuki feels his fists clench at his sides.

If he’s about to have his friendship terminated, he might as well go out in a blaze of glory.

Steeling himself for the inevitable, he sets his jaw and shifts his weight slightly back so he can be ready to spring.

“Well knock before you just walk into someone’s house,” Midoriya finally huffs, each word a defter blow than any he could have landed with his fists. Shock levels his brain and snatches Katsuki’s words as he watches Midoriya stand and dust himself off before offering him a hand.

“You’re lucky I’m already a cop, so I didn’t feel the need to call any.”

Eyeing Midoriya’s hand, Katsuki finds himself stupidly noticing the scars that have roughened them. The thought makes him grit his teeth before getting up on his own, ignoring Midoriya’s offer as he brushes at his shirt and pants.

“Some cop you are, fucking tackling innocent people,” he growls to himself, startling slightly when he hears the man chuckle softly.

“Some grandson you are, not knowing your grandma’s house got sold,” Midoriya challenges with a half cocked smile. Anger, fresh and bleeding, flashes in Katsuki as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets for the sake of having something to do with them.

“Whatever,” he says flatly as he pushes past Midoriya and towards the front door. Overtly aware to the quiet the suddenly fills the space around them as he makes his way to the exit, Katsuki can’t help the feeling of relief that floods him as grabs a hold of the doorknob.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Midoriya calls out to him in a way that doesn’t sound like he’s that sorry at all. “It’s been a weird few months, and we don’t really do too well with strangers here.”

I don’t talk to strangers, Eri’s statement from their first meeting cuts through his mind as he turns the knob.

Like father, like daughter, he supposes.

It would make him laugh if he wasn’t so thoroughly pissed off.

“Do you want a drink or something? It probably won’t make up for getting a face full of carpet,” Midoriya’s voice tapers off. At least he has it in him to sound sheepish about it. Too bad that won’t help Katuski’s pride or the brambles of what this latest development means for his current job.

“Nah, I should get out of here,” Katsuki mutters, making a mental note to apologize to Eri for disappearing when he gets the change. Opening the door, he’s met by the brightness of the sun and escaped.

“Midoriya Izuku,” he hears behind him.

Turning his gaze away from the outdoors, he fixes it on Eri’s father before inelegantly grunting, “hah?”

“My name. I’m Midoriya Izuku.”

Katsuki knows his name. Has known from the start. It was part of the job. Yet, hearing his name coming from the man himself in the form of an introduction brushes a tickle across his skin. Dragging his gaze slowly over Midoriya, as if he might be able to pull some sort of answer to abate the confusion he feels. Finally pulling his attention back up to Midoriya’s waiting look, he gives a curt nod.

“Bakugou Katsuki,” he returns before pushing his way through the door and closing it tightly behind him.

****************************************

[fulldiarywords]

Worth the Thought

The dull, thudding dread in your stomach had started around half past three when your phone started buzzing - the monthly reminder from the cycle tracker app that your period should be starting any minute. 

It hadn’t. Yet. 

You swiped ignore on the notification and flipped the phone over on your desk, hoping that if you just concentrated on the spreadsheet in front of you, you’d be able to ignore the creeping anxiety about the fact that Auntie Flo usually arrived on time like clockwork.  Maybe it was just a day or two late.

But you couldn’t shake off the thought that maybe it wasn’t. And the computer screen was getting blurrier and blurrier by the minute and the sound of the clock on the wall opposite your chair was ticking louder and louder.  Your fingers felt like lead everytime you added a new sum to the column you were currently adding up. 

After about thirty minutes of a half hearted attempt of continuing the work day, you clicked the log out button on the desktop screen. 

“Hey, Claire?”, you asked, peering over the divider at your coworker. 

“Yeah??” She didn’t look up from her computer screen.

“I’m not feeling too well all the sudden. Gonna head out a bit early, I think.”

She stopped typing and met your gaze - “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.  Go ahead, doll. We’ll sort out these figures tomorrow.” 

You nodded your head in appreciation and gathered your things, cramming them into the oversized striped tote that George had given you a few Christmases ago. He reasoned that you loved stripes so it made sense that you should have something striped to carry around everyday - he seemed to always be insufferably cute in his logic of gift giving.  

The phone was the last thing you picked up - a new message notification from George seemed to be screaming out from the bright screen. 

So glad that you’ll be there tonight. 

“Shit.” You muttered it under your breath and hitched the bag on your shoulder. 

Geebs, I’m not feeling too well. Not sure if I can make it. 

It had taken him a while to gather the courage to ask you to accompany him to what he called “work functions”. You weren’t promoting anything, he had explained, so you didn’t need to be subjected to the endless barrage of flashbulbs and oddly boring questions from journalists. He would understand if you wanted to stay at home and keep everything private. But you didn’t mind. George always came to every office party or dinner, even the annual Christmas do that Claire tended to get too drunk at and cry to him about her apparently never ending singledom. Besides, you loved the way George swelled up with pride when he spoke about his experience working on a film - how much he loved creating something new. 

What’s up? 

Nothing serious. Just don’t feel too hot. Heading home early rn. 

I can ring Donna and see if I can get out of this thing. 

Don’t. Isn’t it a BAFTA party? 

Yea. That doesn’t matter tho. Been to enough at this point, tbh. 

Don’t be silly. I’m fine. Prob ate something bit odd at lunch. 

You sure, Piglet? 

You couldn’t help but give a small smile at his nickname for you. George claimed that when you got anxious, your voice got higher and you couldn’t stop saying “oh no” just like the Winnie the Pooh character. Also, there was his claim that when you laughed hard enough, you’d make soft snorting sounds instead of laughs. It was one of the cutest things about you, according to George. At least it was better than the nickname he ended up with. Allegedly - according to what you could remember - it started after one night where you had drank too much white wine for your own good and couldn’t find George inside the bar. You’d found him outside in the smoking section, chatting with a burly lighting grip in a Man City beanie.  Desperate to leave, you pawed at George’s shoulder, whining - “Geeeebs, I wanna gooo home now. Geeebs, lessssgo. Hooome. Goo.”   Man City had smirked and nodded at your swaying frame. “Geebs, looks like your girl needs a bit of help.” 

Yeah. I’m honestly just tired and wanna rest. Go! Have fun! Tell me all about it when you’re back! 

Ok. Ok. Ok. Party is at Groucho’s. Want me to pick up some ramen from that place in Soho that you like? 

Nah. Thank you tho :) 

What about Boots? Need me to grab anything?

Gonna stop omw home. 

Brilliant. Rest up, Pigs. Xx

Love you too, Geebs. X

By the time you’d heard the front door lock click open, the dread from earlier had turned into a tight panic that had threaded itself tightly into your chest.  If you just focussed on tidying up the flat, you wouldn’t have to think about what all the tests said. There weren’t thin pink lines in the suds of the washing up. 

“Hi, darling.” His voice sounded soft - as if he spoke any louder, he might cause your mysterious ailment to get worse. 

You didn’t turn around from the kitchen sink. Instead you squirted more Fairy liquid on an already saturated sponge. 

“Hi. How was the party?” 

“Just alright. Usual crowd. Usual questions. Managed to see Sam for a bit. He says hello, by the way. I convinced Donna to let me ditch early though.” 

You squinted, the mug in your hand slippery from the soap. “Really? You should have stayed!” 

George shrugged his coat off his shoulders, laying it over the back of the couch. He walked towards the kitchen, holding a brown paper bag. 

“I couldn’t possibly leave my poorly little piglet home alone any longer.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him place the bag on the island counter. Tonkostu. That ramen place in Soho you liked.  He was making it even harder to tell him what you needed to say. 

“Besides, we’ve both been busy and you know, I just wanted to be home instead of trying to come up with some clever line for who knows what”, he continued, unbuttoning his suit jacket. 

There wasn’t any way the mug in your hand could get cleaner. You sighed, placing it on the drying rack and turned to face George. He smiled as he met your eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m still just fine. Knackered.” 

“You’re being awfully vague about what’s going on. Did something happen at work?” 

Biting the inside of your lip, you turned back to the sink. It would be easier to have this conversation without having to actually look at him. George in a suit was a particular weakness of yours and he’d been loaned a new double breasted one for the BAFTA party. Your mind was already all over the place. 

“Well…” 

“Well….” He replied as he pulled a water glass out of the cupboard next to you, nudging you a bit to let him get to the faucet to fill it up. You relented and turned off the water after he was done. 

“Maybe you should look over there.” You said, gesturing towards the brown bag. 

“You had a takeaway issue?” He laughed, leaning against the counter edge as he took a sip. 

You sighed and adjusted the messy bun on top of your head. “No. The other thing on the counter.” 

As he walked the short distance to see what was there, it felt like your heart was going to drop out of your chest. You hadn’t planned to have this conversation. At least not tonight.

“Wait. Are these what I think they are?” His brow had furrowed as he picked up the group of white plastic sticks. 

You didn’t answer.

“Pigs? Are...you...you know?” His voice seemed to be getting a little higher. A little faster. He set the test back down, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up.  

“Am I what?”

George turned to you, his blue eyes wide with surprise - “Pregnant!” 

The silence in the two seconds that it took you to answer was suffocating, weighing itself down on your shoulders.

“Apparently so”, you flatly responded. 

“Fucking hell.” 

“You can say that again.” 

The joy in his voice made the nervousness you felt sting more - “You’re gonna have a baby. We’re gonna have a baby!” 

He took two wide steps towards you, his arms reaching for your waist. You sidestepped away from his embrace. You’d wanted to hear George say this, watch him slowly realise what was happening as he read the test for so long. Longer than you could remember. But for some reason, this felt all wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen just yet. There were so many things you wanted to do before this. Career advancements to be made, trips to be had, awards to be won, plans to dream up. 

“Hold on. Let’s talk about this for a minute.”

“What’s there to talk about this? This is..I think...probably...no.. the best thing that’s ever happened.” 

Exasperated, you grabbed the dish towel and twisted it around your hand. “I think we should really think about this. I mean. It’s a big step and we only just started thinking about getting married.” 

“We’ve been together for five years. We’re still going to get married but it looks like we might be changing up the timeline of life events, though. I thought you were on the pill...” 

“I was. I am. But I forgot my birth control that weekend last month

He had leaned back over to the island and picked up one of the pregnancy tests, examining it more closely. 

“Mmm..”

It would be easier if you didn’t say it straight to his face. You turned back towards the window over the sink, the red lights of the London skyline blinking silently back at you. 

“Maybe I don’t want to have this baby yet.”

There was a hitch in his voice - you didn’t need to see him to know that his face had fallen.

“What do you mean you don’t want to have this baby?”

“I’m not ready. At least I feel like I’m not ready.” The words felt like bombs dropping. 

“You’re not bloody ready? Are you mental? You’re going to be the most amazing mother to walk this earth.” He ran his hand through his hair, his face tightened in confusion. 

“I mean. I dunno. I just hadn’t really felt like I was at the point where I could take care of another life.” 

George moved closer to you, ignoring the sound of you turning the sink faucet. “You’re so ready.”

“Oh”, you responded dryly, “Did you have a conversation with my mind to get that information?”

“Ok. No. You’re right. I didn’t. But I know you. And I love you. And I know that you’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be grand.” 

Picking up a sauce pot, you resumed the washing up. You were stuck in now, but maybe the Fairy liquid could smooth over how awful this talk was going to get, you thought. 

“You’re not getting it. I don’t want this. Not yet.”

George gingerly laid his hand on your shoulder. “Wait. What are you trying to say?” His voice faltered. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know what I want!” 

“I thought you wanted children...” 

“I do! Just..not right now.” Your throat felt like it was clamping up as your voice rose. “We haven’t planned for this shit at all.” 

“Well. Yeah. We'll sort it out though.” 

You slammed the saucepot down in the sink. “No. You’re not listening. How are we going to fit a literal child into our lives? We live in a tiny fucking one bedroom flat. You’re about to leave to go to Australia for 3 months. Do we even have enough money to have a kid?”

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked away. “I’ll drop the damn film. You know we’re financially sound.” 

You wished that you’d turned on more lights when you got home. The half lit kitchen wasn’t helping the dark mood at all. 

“Ok. Well maybe this isn’t a we situation then. There are things besides those.  I have a promotion at work I want. A career. I want to move up the ladder. I know as an actor you can get that. It’s like getting bloody famous or something.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Alright. Let’s not get petty.” 

The sink groaned a sharp metallic click as the water suddenly stopped. 

“This fucking stupid sink! George. You were supposed to fix it!” 

He nudged you out of the way and quickly shut the faucet off. 

“Pigs. Let’s not get into the sink right now.”

You threw the towel onto the counter, staring at the strawberry print. “Ok fine then. Maybe I don’t want to be like your mum and give everything up to raise this child.” 

George snapped his head towards you, his voice low and harsh. He only spoke like that when he was truly angry. 

“Don’t you dare bring my mother into this.”

“Why? You know she gave up her costumes for you and your sister.  And now she’s a fucking nursery teacher.” 

“She had a choice. You have a choice.” The sound of his hand hitting the counter reverberated around the two of you. 

“Well. Maybe my choice is that I’m not going to keep it.” 

“That’s not your choice!” 

Shocked and open mouthed, you grabbed one of the tests. The plastic felt like it could cut into your palm, you were gripping it so tightly. 

“Are you.. Are you fucking seriously fucking telling me I don’t have a choice?” You waved your closed fist in front of him, his eyes following the white stick. “I cannot believe...you arsehole.” 

He held his hands up in surrender. You didn’t stop. 

“You of all fucking people would tell me that what I want to do with my goddamn body isn’t my choice.” 

“That’s not what I meant….” 

“What did you mean then? That you had the final say in what happened to your child in my body, huh?” 

“No.” He grabbed your wrist to stop you from waving the test at him. 

“Let go of my fucking arm.”

“You need to calm down. That’s not what I meant” 

You jerked your arm free and threw the stick at his feet. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm down. I’m going upstairs. I swear to god, if you follow me.” 

Even forty five minutes in the bath felt like it wasn’t enough to make you feel better. You loved the clawfoot bathtub - it might have been your favourite thing in the cramped apartment you and George shared. 

The doorknob turned and you slid back under the water, scrunching your eyes and letting your nose stay slightly above waterline; hoping that if you stayed like that long enough, he would eventually just leave. 

“Hey” His voice sounded sad even muffled by the water. 

You didn’t respond. 

“I know that you can hear me. And I want to tell you that I’m sorry...I...shouldn’t have said that.” 

You opened one eye to his fuzzy form slouched above you.

“You’re absolutely right. It is your choice about what you want to do. And I need to support you. But I need you to talk to me about it first. It’s still going to have an impact on me. On us. But that doesn’t mean it will change anything about us. Or how I feel about you. How much I love you.” 

The water sloshed quietly as you slid yourself up the back of the tub. He didn’t notice that you were listening fully. 

“And you are going to be, whenever you want to be, the most amazing mother. You’re so kind and you love so deeply. You’re so fiercely protective that nothing will harm our child. I can’t wait to see that. I can’t wait..” 

“Geebs, it’s not an interview”, you said, laughing quietly at the way he tended to ramble when saying something he felt was important. 

He looked down at you, surprised. 

“There you are!” 

You smoothed your hair back, relishing the cool air of the tiled bathroom. 

“Thank you”, you responded quietly. 

“I needed to say it. What I said was wrong”, he sighed, perching himself on the edge of the tub, his back to you. 

“I’m so scared.”

“I’m scared too.” 

You looked up at him, slightly astounded that your take on everything the hard way George had responded. He gently drew a line back and forth on the water’s surface - “In fact. I’m bloody terrified.” 

“Why?”

He concentrated on the line, avoiding your gaze. “Well, what if something goes wrong? What if...you know..we...loseit. Or it hates us? Or it doesn’t learn anything we try and teach it? What if I’m not a good father? Or god forbid, it’s an Arsenal supporter?” 

You pulled yourself up further, bringing your knees to your chest and laughed. “Geebs, what football team our child supports is the least of your worries.” 

“Are you ready?”  Bathwater rippled outwards from his arm as he placed his large hand softly against your stomach. 

You paused and took his other hand in yours, water streaming into the crisp blue of his shirt - “Yes. I think I am. It took this bath and a good long cry. But...I dunno. Feels right. I’m still worried though.” 

“You’re going to be an amazing mum.” 

“I know,” you said, smiling cheekily. “You’ll be a better father though.” 

“Oh..c’mon now.” 

You blushed and pulled your mouth tightly into a smile - “You know, I actually decided I wanted to have your children after our sixth date.” 

He pursed his mouth, trying to remember the exact memory.

“Wait...are you talking about the time we went to that karaoke bar in Shoreditch with Anna and that lot and I sang that Heart song?” 

“Maybe..”

“Are you telling me that my show stopping rendition of Barracuda made you figure that out? Wow...it must have been really sexy then..”

“Oh fuck off!” You said, splashing his thigh. 

“Hey! Watch the trousers! This is Dior! I’ve got to give it back next week!” He feigned horror at the mark growing on his leg. 

The two of you sat silently for a few minutes, content with the immense agreement you had made. George lazily rubbed his thumb on the back of your hand as you leaned back against the embrace of the curved tub.

“Piglet?”

“Yes,” you murmured. 

“When did it happen? It couldn’t have been that long ago...do you think it was after Daisy’s housewarming when we were too pissed to make it to the bedroom and we fucked on the kitchen floor?” 

You didn’t respond, chuckling quietly instead. 

“Or...was it the other night. You know. When the new Attenborough series about Antarctica got a bit tedious..” 

“Geebs, it doesn’t really matter. It’s happening regardless.”

“Yes. Quite right. It probably would be pretty disturbing to learn that you were conceived to the soundtrack of a squawking flock of Emperor penguins. Anyways..Regardless...We should probably think about moving soon. I’ve actually been thinking about looking in Barnes for a while now. I want to raise our children there. In a proper house. It’s a bit more expensive than when I was a kid..but I think we can manage...I’ll speak with mum...see what she can find out..

“Geebs?” 

“Yes, Pigs?” 

“We’ve just decided to have the bloody kid. I’m too tired to figure out where we’re going to put it right now.” 

“Oh. Of course.” He jumped up, reaching for a towel off the rack. “Let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted too.” 

You gently lifted yourself out of the water and stepped into the open towel, wrapping it around yourself - “Go get ready. I’ll be there in a bit.” 

He came back five minutes later, changed out of his suit and into his favourite pair of pyjama bottoms; printed with sock monkeys and so threadbare, they needed to go in the bin but you couldn’t break the news to him. You dragged a comb through your wet hair as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. His bare chest was cool against your bath warmed skin. 

“Darling?”, he murmured, resting his chin on the crook of your neck. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I’d almost forgotten how great your tits look when you’re in the bath.”  His eyes met yours in the mirror. 

You rolled your eyes. “Well get ready then. They’re only going to get bigger these next nine months.”

His face lit up - “This pregnancy is going to be the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

You quickly turned and tapped him on the stomach with your brush, laughing. 

“You pervert.”

“Ow! That hurt!” 

And you wish that you’d known then, in all that doubt and worry, that in nine months and a few weeks time, you’d open your eyes in a sterile room full of blinding light to see George holding a squirming bundle of pale pink in his long arms. So small in his hands. The tears wouldn’t stop and you won’t be sure if it’s the pain of the feeling of your hips broken, body split in two or the waves of joy that kept washing over you again and again, the elation almost drowning your heart. He would lean down, a small cry emerging from the bundle. “Look, Pigs. Look at her. I’m sorry they gave her to me first..hold her.” And the words wouldn’t be able to form as you moved your mouth into a yes. The bundle on your chest while George, his eyes tearful as he delicately placed his thumb on your daughter’s rosebud lips. She would blink, her eyes the same sea blue as her father’s as he brushed her cheek. And he would look to you, a vastness of love you’d never seen. “She’s so perfect...you’re perfect. You’re so bloody perfect.” His kisses against your crying eyes. On your lips. And all the blood, the doctor’s commands, the panic, the nausea, the doubt. All that doubt and worry would be worth it all. 

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Memento Mori

Author: MandyBling

Year: 2010

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Richmond/Denholm

Richmond walks briskly through the lobby of Reynholm Industries, nervously combing shaky fingers through his short blond hair. Standing in front of the lift, he smooths his grey pin striped suit for the millionth time. He has an interview with the the head of the company, Denholm Reynholm. He’s heard stories about this man. His take no prisoners business sense; kill the weak, divide and conquer. Riding up in the lift Richmond goes over his resume’, list of accomplishments, schooling, background... Birth date. He’s shaved a few years off this final line to make himself look more appealing. ‘I can do this. I can be the new blood this company needs. I’ll be the young go getter’, he thinks to himself as the lift takes him higher and higher, to the topmost floor. Once on the correct floor, Richmond goes to the front desk to let the secretary know of his arrival. She presses a few buttons and talks to someone, then gestures him towards the large double doors. He heads in the direction she points and opens one of the large doors slowly. “Come in, son!” a booming voice pierces through the normal office din of noise, causing Richmond to jump slightly. Walking in, Richmond shuts the door behind himself, plastering an over confident smile to his face. ‘Fake it, till you make it,’ he repeats over and over in his head as he extends his hand to the older man. “Hello, Mr. Reynholm. My name is Richmond Avenal.” “I know, boy,” Denholm says with a smile. Richmond notices a twinkle in the other man’s eyes, the genuine smile. Something deep inside himself relaxes, this is not the Reynholm he’d expected. Richmond sits back and begins to relate his resume and accomplishments, but after a time the conversation veers off. What is supposed to be a half hour interview turns into a two hour conversation. Denholm has even brought out a large crystal bottle of scotch that they both have several glasses of. Needless to say, Richmond Avenal gets the job. *** Rising up the corporate ladder is surprisingly easy for a young and energetic Richmond. With Denholm by his side they take the company to new heights. The friendship between the two men grows as more and more money is made. Both of them spending many a late night to get an edge on the competition. Burning the midnight oil one evening, they are both listening to their favorite Huey Lewis and the News CD as they work feverishly to finish a certain project by deadline. The only other sound besides ‘Hip to be Square’ blaring through the speakers is the soft ‘ticka ticka tick’, of their keyboards. A loud bang and then a growl breaks the stream of normal noise, startling Richmond. Looking up from his computer he sees Denholm stand and rub his tired eyes and then his lower back. “What’s the matter?” Richmond asks his friend softly. “It’s nothing,” Denholm replies in a tired voice. “These figures just aren’t adding up.” “Here, have a drink and a rest. Maybe I can take a look. Sometimes fresh eyes help.” Richmond says kindly as he pours Denholm some scotch, handing him his glass as he moves in front of the older man’s computer. He leans down and looks through the figures as Denholm drinks and almost immediately spots the error. With a crow of happiness, Richmond types away and fixes the minor mistake. “What would I do without you?” Denholm asks, as he clasps Richmond’s shoulder and squeezes lightly, letting his hand linger. “You’d lose your own head if I wasn’t around.” he smiles as he straightens up, turning to face the older man and reaching out to grasp Denholm’s wrist. They stand like that for some time, staring into each others eyes. Denholm’s grip tightens suddenly and Richmond realizes he’s being pulled forward. The feel of the older mans lips against his own is unexpected, but not unwanted. As ‘The Power of Love’ rises in the background, so do other things. Denholm pushes Richmond up against the desk they have been using for work; hands start to roam, kisses become more fierce, groans become louder. Richmond and Denholm’s “friendship” becomes much more by the cover of darkness. *** Cradle of Filth is the downfall of their love affair, though Richmond won’t ever admit it. Coming across the band whilst doing research on prams for one of his more unusual clients, Richmond decides to download one of their songs. ‘Cradle of Filth?’ he thinks to himself, ‘sounds disgusting’. He couldn’t have been more wrong. As ‘Tonight in Flames’ flows through his head phones, things seem to click together for Richmond, like a light is being switched on -or rather, off- in his brain. Richmond starts growing his hair out and wearing eyeliner to work. Most of his work mates take little notice to this change but for a few whispers here and there. He’s still blond and thus unassuming. Even Denholm is oblivious. One evening, Richmond stops by a hair care supply shop and purchases some black hair dye. He no longer wishes to have his blond tresses. He wants his hair to match how black he ‘thinks’ his heart is. He follows the instructions on the box to the letter. He wears the gloves, applies the colour-making sure not to get it on his forehead or neck, waits thirty minutes, then showers. Richmond steps from the shower, towel dries his hair, and the uses the same towel to wipe the steam from the mirror. A crooked smile spreads across Richmond’s face as he takes in his reflection, long black locks falling to either side. His skin looks paler and his eyes look a brighter shade of blue due to the colour change. He likes it. He likes it a lot. His work colleagues decidedly do not. Richmond is ignorant of the other employees distaste, of their snide remarks and the rumors being spread. He does notice, however, that work isn’t the same as it once was. People aren’t as keen on his ideas as they had once been. Even in an important board meetings it seems as though people aren’t paying attention to his presentation. He’d applied his make-up exquisitely that day, and it vexes him that no one seems to take note of it, or even the topic at hand. The death of Denholm’s father and Richmond’s subsequent remarks to his mother at the funeral are the last straw and the breaking point of the relationship between the two men. Denholm, in a furious rage, breaks up with Richmond that evening and demotes him to the basement the following day. Tears in his eyes, Richmond watches the flashing lights and wonders why life has dealt him such a cruel blow. *** Time passes as it often does and Richmond becomes more and more morose. He spends many nights at goth clubs, at home lighting candles and listening to sullen music or at work, watching the lights and reading ‘Heat’. Whilst laying on the floor in the fetal position, purposefully blurring his eyes as he watches the lights flash, Richmond over hears Roy, Maurice and Jen talking. There is apparently a party this evening as a ‘Thank You’ to the employees for a job well done. He wants to go, so he does. The party is in full swing later that evening as Richmond enters the club through a side door, so as not to be noticed. He slips to the corner of the bar and orders round after round of Carlsburg, watching the revelers get more and more inebriated. The main person he keeps his deep blue eyes on his Denholm. As Richmond drinks more, he can think of nothing else. He misses the older man so very much. It’s around 3am when Denholm comes to sit next to Richmond to catch his breath from the dancing and order another drink. He turns his head to look at the goth and his eye brows rise. “Richmond?” he says at just above a whisper, placing a hand onto the other man’s shoulder and squeezing gently. Nodding, Richmond reaches out a hand to clasp Denholm’s wrist, a mirror of times past. “I... I’ve missed you.” he whispers back, staring deep into the older man’s eyes. Within seconds, Denholm drags Richmond to the back of the bar, into a hall and towards the bathrooms. He slams him up against the hallway wall and kisses the younger man with force, teeth clacking together with the fierceness of it. Richmond breaks the kiss long enough to speak. “Back to mine,” he stammers out, grabbing Denholm by the collar and leading him to the fire exit in the back. They arrive at Richmond’s tiny apartment after taking a rather long and uncomfortable cab ride, unable to touch one another in the presence of the cabbie. Richmond fumbles with his keys to unlock the door. Denholm is not making this process easy, pressing up against his back, grinding his clothed cock up against him while his arms wrap around the younger mans hips, palming him through his trousers. Finally the lock gives way and they both almost fall through the door. Denholm pushes Richmond towards the bedroom of the still familiar apartment, both pulling off their garments as they move clumsily through. Once in through the door, both men separate, undressing at opposite ends of the room, taking in each others long missed form. Denholm, naked first, crosses the divide and takes Richmond’s face in his hands, kissing him hard. He grabs at the younger man’s pants to help him undress. Once that is accomplished, he grasps Richmond’s hips and turns him towards the bed, pushing him hard onto it. Richmond gasps at being manhandled but had always rather enjoyed Denholm’s rough play. “Yesss...” he hisses through his teeth as the older man crawls over his body, jumping slightly as Denholm’s hand wraps around the base of his large cock. Stroking the other man’s stiff rod, Denholm’s mouth works it’s way up Richmond’s body, licking and biting as he travels. Arriving at his lips, he kisses the man below him, slower than before, savoring the feel and taste. “Turn over for me,” he whispers as he breaks the kiss. “Condoms and lube still where you kept them?” Nodding mutely, Richmond turns over onto hands and knees, reaching up to brace himself against the headboard. He remembers how Denholm is when he gets started, so latching onto the wood of the bed is a wise move. Denholm quickly retrieves the items needed and returns to kneel behind Richmond. He opens the bottle of lube and coats his fingers. Throwing the bottle on the bed, he quickly moves two digits to the puckered entrance and slides the tips inside. Throwing his head back, Richmond cries out a little at the sudden intrusion, long dark hair fanning across his back as he moves. “Denholm,” he moans softly as he feels the other man’s fingers slip deeper inside. Rocking slightly, he meets the probing fingers, thrusting back to quicken the preparation. Denholm growls at Richmond’s movements, excited by his eagerness. He spreads his fingers inside the tight hole to stretch him further, savoring in the sound of hitched breath at the change. “Richmond,” he breaths out as he grasps the younger man’s hip in a vice grip, “I want you.” “You have me,” Richmond moans back, lowering his head back down between his arms, still grasping the headboard, the tips of his locks brushing the bed. “Please... hurry.” Pulling his fingers free, Denholm reaches for the condom; quickly he unwraps it, slipping the rubber onto his cock and letting the package fall to the floor. Taking the lube once more, he pours a rather large amount onto his member and coats himself thoroughly. Lining up the head of his dick at Richmond’s waiting entrance, Denholm thrusts inside in one swift movement, the sensation causing both men to moan. The younger man immediately begins to rock back onto the man above him, urging him to move. “Please,” Richmond whines as he fucks himself on Denholm’s cock. He lets go of the headboard with one hand and swiftly brings it to his own member, stroking to the rhythm of their moving bodies. Denholm comes back to himself at hearing Richmond’s needy plea, grasping the younger man’s hips tight. He starts to thrust fast and hard, knowing that that is what the man below him wants. Pushing in as deep as he can, then pulling out til he’s almost removed himself, over and over again. Richmond sobs as Denholm continues to move above him, reveling in the feel of the other man’s fingers digging painfully hard into his hips as well as the cock inside his arse, driving into his prostate over and over. His hand around his own member speeds it’s movements, rubbing his thumb over the tip to collect the pre-come, increasing the slick slide. Leaning down, Denholm starts kissing Richmond’s shoulders and the nape of his neck. He releases one hip and wraps it around the younger man’s waist, pulling their bodies closer together. “So close,” he whispers in between kisses, thrusts becoming less and less rhythmic. “Come for me,” Richmond breaths out as he raises his head, turning to look at the man behind him. At Richmond’s soft words and sudden eye contact, Denholm comes undone. He thrusts into the younger man a few more times, until he finally lets go, screaming Richmond’s name as his body tingles and twitches with pleasure. Feeling the pulse of Denholm’s orgasm deep inside himself, Richmond loses control as well. Biting down onto his own forearm, still raised and grasping the headboard, eyes rolling back. He comes over his swiftly moving fist as well as the sheets below, the waves of his climax streaking through his body as he rocks back and forth. They both collapse as their bodies calm, Denholm wrapping his arms around Richmond’s thin waist as they fall to their sides. “I’ve missed this,” Denholm says softly as he pulls himself free, removing and disposing of the johnny in the bin beside the bed. “I’ve missed this as well. You have no idea.” Richmond replies, turning to face Denholm and burying his face into the older man’s chest. Breathing in the other man’s scent, Richmond nuzzles close and sighs at the feel of the Denholm’s fingers carding through his long hair. His eyes flutter closed, succumbing to slumber in a matter of moments. *** The morning light shines through the curtains as Richmond’s eyes slowly open, flashes of the previous nights events play through his mind as he stares up at the ceiling. Both Denholm and he have drifted apart in the night and he can hear the other man’s breathing next to him. Richmond realizes that the speed of breath means Denholm is awake. He furrows his brow and turns his head to look at the other man. Denholm turns his own head at the same time and they both look into each others eyes. A scream breaks forth from Denholm’s mouth causing Richmond to return the shout, both yelling at the top of their lungs. “What am I doing here?” Denholm cries as he jumps from the bed. “You don’t remember?” Richmond says with fear and sadness in his voice. “I certainly do not.” Denholm lies, “I’ve got to get out of here” is all he says as he gathers up his clothes and makes a hasty exit from Richmond’s apartment. With a sad sigh, tears prickling his eyes, Richmond turns and curls into a ball, crying himself back to sleep. *** Richmond is at work when he gets the news. Denholm has jumped to his death from atop the Reynholm Industries tower window. Something in regards to ‘irregularities in the pension fund’ had driven Denholm to take his own life. Staying to within the tree line, Richmond comes to Denholm’s burial. He weeps softly as he watches the procession of friends and family, waiting for everyone to leave so he can have time with Denholm alone. Dusk is falling when he finally gets the chance. Richmond steps gingerly towards the fresh mound of dirt and falls to his knees, fresh tears and loud sobs escaping his mouth as he grasps two large handfuls of earth and holds them to his eyeliner streaked face. “I’ll always love you,” he whispers. After a time, he stands, still grasping the two large handfuls of dirt in tight fists. Richmond slips the soil into his pockets and leaves the cemetery. *** The following day, Richmond calls upon one of his goth friends who happens to be a jewelry designer. He tells his friend what he wants and the designer sets to work, the only thing Richmond leaves are the two handfuls of earth. *** Within the week, Richmond returns to his friends shop. The artist produces a long, red tear drop shaped pendant with Denholm’s grave dirt embedded in the center, attached to a black metal chain. He also brings out a jar he had placed the remaining dirt in for Richmond to take home. Richmond thanks his friend and pays for the jewelry. Placing the chain around his neck and tucking the pendant under his shirt, Richmond heads home with his own private memento mori.

[thecitysorrowbuilt]

Two Little Kings

“Okay, let’s boogie.” Fumblingly Stuart tried to shove his pistol back into his coat pocket but at every attempt something seemed to catch, either metal or fabric. Frustrated he jammed it into the back of his belt and took off running. Winston was already throwing open the car door when he arrived and in one fluid movement the two slid into the vehicle, leaned their seats way back and shot off. An array of Spanish curses assailed them as squealing tires propelled them down to the next level of the parking deck, followed fast by bullets, pinging off the plated doors. “I think most of that will buff out.” “Good thought, too bad I left my Ding King at my ex-wife’s place.” “Man, you should’ve had a better lawyer.” “Says the man who would take a plea deal for life as long as it keeps him out of gen pop.” “I’ve seen Sons of Anarchy and I know what they do to guys like me in there. In this occupation good looks are a major hazard.” The round mirror marking the blind corner of the parking deck filled up quick as their sedan approached it, Winston cooling turning the wheel by the bottom while the other hand wrangled with the radio. Stuart leaned up slightly from where he was lying down against his seat, turning around to fire what could only be generously and vaguely referred to as suppressive fire out the back window. “We just had to come to the top of the deck, huh.” “It was all part of the plan, look at this, we have the whole way down to lose them. This is nothing but faith in your abilities.” “If they have time to radio in that we’re coming down hot you’d better have faith in Him instead.” Stuart pursed his lips and actually turned his head to aim the next few shots before opening the glove box and rummaging around. “I already ate all the twizzlers.” “Yeah yeah but what about the armor-piercing rounds, did we bring them?” “Not in the glovebox, console.” “Riight. Okay good.” Dropping the magazine of hollow points in the floorboard, Stuart reloaded to a more suitable ammunition. Winston shot him a side long glance and a quick ‘Yikes’ from under his mustache and sunglasses before leaning further over the steering wheel and slowing down. Pulling the barrel over the top of the by now thoroughly distressed headrest, Stuart opened up on their pursuers. Bullets probably once destined for revolutionary purposes found themselves put to far better use as they gored the front end of the Lincoln past the point of recognition. Flames appeared in ways and places which if this had been an action film, moviegoers would say looked ‘unrealistic’. For his part Winston just gunned it. All the ponies in the hood kicked as one and the two ne’er-do-wells lunged away from their assailants. “I wish I’d said something witty, like ‘Do you want to see a magic trick’ or something.” “That’s witty, ‘do you want to see a magic trick’? You sound like a pedophile.” “Okay smart guy, what would you say, probably some fucking weeb-trash. Omayo-wamo-desu” “Yeah okay, now that’s pretty good. No of course not I’d say like, pee pee poo poo and their last thoughts would be ‘Wow’.” “Imagine that being the last thing you see and hear. Live by the sword, die by the, uh, sword?” Rounding the corner of the second to last floor as fast as they could, a much unwanted sound reached their ears from below. Something heavy was coming up the deck, and fast. “Maybe it’s just a uh, a big hemi truck or something.” “Somehow I doubt that. I think it’s time for me to try something different.” As the roaring got louder, both the ol’ Pram and the boy’s new adversary came face to face for just a second before Winston shifted into action. A big SUV loaded to the teeth with wild-eyed Cubans approached, but before they could open fire, Winston swung the wheel hard to the side, turning the car over onto the two driver’s side wheels, on a direct collision course with the concrete railing. As soon as the belly of the car reached the side of the deck, another heave of the wheel sent them rolling over the wall and down the other side onto the opposite side wheels outside. Struggling to pull away from the wall, Winston fought with it just for a second before smoothly landing outside the deck, cat-like. “See, now that was a magic trick.” “No fire no magic trick that’s the rules, sorry bro.” From inside the SUV could be heard spinning around like a caged lion, clearly intent on escaping to continue pursuit. “We gotta shake them, let’s try some Assassin’s Creed shit.” “Okay yeah, and I’ve got the perfect idea.” Backing out of the parking lot quickly onto the road, Winston made a beeline for a procession of cars already heading somewhere, and wedged himself in with them. “As long as we act natural, I don’t think anyone will notice how shot up we are.” “Ahhh, I think they probably will.” Gesturing lazily with the barrel of his gun, Stuart pointed towards the black SUV which had managed to extricate itself from the parking deck and was now trailing the procession. “Okay, well depending on what this is they might play it cool and not-“ Winston was interrupted by the sudden impact of them being bumped from behind and like dominos bumping the car in front of them. “Aw fuck it.” The two unbuckled and jumped from the car, briefcase in hand, and ran out into the crowd which was already forming from all the people leaving their cars. “What’s going on, there’s so many people.” “Maybe like, the mayor died or something. Or a rich guy.” “Wouldn’t we have heard about that?” “I don’t watch the news, do you?” “Well, no, but usually-“ Gunshots erupted from the rear of the procession and chaos ruled as everyone from both the front and the back began to converse on the middle. Somehow the criminal elements chasing our heroes had managed to call in a second SUV which had now pulled itself in front of the cars near the front of the procession. Whoever these people driving in a line were, they emerged en masse, dressed like G-men and armed, and began firing back. “We’ve created a war,” Stuart began, only to turn and find his friend being pulled away by a group of the suited processioners. “Sir, we’ve got to get you out of here!” “No, wait-“ “Oh fuck me. This is not good.” Stuart turned to chase after the mob but more gunshots caused him to duck behind a convenient vehicle. Looking around and trying in vain to get his bearings, he finally found Winston, standing amongst a cluster of slain G-men, being grabbed by the Cubans. Wishing that he had had the presence of mind to bring more guns, he nevertheless ran towards the danger, firing at the mafiosos who replied in kind. For his part Winston seemed in a daze, and to have undertaken a costume change at some point, seeing as he was now wearing some kind of white tux or something. “What the-“ Taking cover again, Stuart looked around and got the full picture for the first time. One Winston was being dragged away by Cubans while another Winston was being stuffed into an armored car by the G-men. Somehow he had multiplied. “What a weird time for his super-powers to emerge. But I mean, kudos to him I guess. Gotta admit I’m a bit jealous.” Divided on which personage to pursue, Stuart’s decision was made for him when a stray bullet caught his right shoulder, knocking him bodily to the ground. Pulling himself up on his left arm, he cradled his gun and finally managed to shove it into his pocket. “Just goes to show.” Pushing himself back to his feet, he lurched away from the ongoing firefight and into the grassy ditches nearby to the road. Lying there in the mud and blood he looked back as both Winston’s were pushed into their captor’s vehicles and spirited away. His mind clouded by pain, Stuart hovered on the brink of consciousness. Tossing his gun away with a murmur of ‘goodbye old friend’ he passed out in the gutter, praying that a passerby might find him before an alligator. ------- Stuart woke up in a hospital bed. He blinked hard and looked around for his gun. Remembering the events of his last experience with being awake, he sighed deeply and tried to find the television remote instead. While his right arm was partially wrapped, his left arm was now handcuffed to the gurney. Well this is an excellent turn of events. “NURSE. NUUUUURSEEEEE!” A young woman came in running and Stuart shot her what he hoped was a winning grin. “Would you mind explaining why I’m cuffed to the bed?” “Well all the people that came in were either with that foreign government or they were gangbangers, so if the Prince’s people didn’t claim you, you got cuffed.” “Wait, what government?” “The Prince of Aceldia was here yesterday. That’s what the big roadway incident was, some maniacs tried to abduct him. Luckily he got away safe.” “Why would the prince of anywhere come to Florida?” “Well that’s a completely different question.” “Okay, ma’am, look, I need to talk to a police officer urgently because I am completely innocent and would like to be uncuffed. I was a completely innocent bystander. Secondly, I would like you to turn on the TV to keep me entertained while I’m busy.” “Alright, I’ll flip it on and see what I can do about the other thing. They’re busy though processing everyone that got nabbed though so it may take a while.” “Fine fine, I’ll be patient, just let me watch the news while you ring them.” Stuart attempted another winning and slightly flirtatious grin and the nurse sucked in one cheek and rolled her eyes. She turned on the tv and put the remote in his left hand. Flipping through the channels Stuart found exactly what he was looking for. A picture of Winston, this time all dressed in royal regalia, and the headline, “Visiting Prince Escapes Abduction Attempt and Returns to Aceldia”.

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Human Resources, pt6

Word Count: 3909 Tags: @supermoonpanda @rayleyanns @sistasarah-sallysaidso @feelmyroarrrr @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @anotherotter @little-study-bug @rampant-salamander @goodnightwife @samaxraph99 @anotherotter  @outside-the-government @kingarthurscat @coyote-in-space @originalpottervengerlock

It goes without saying that weapons class was awkward. At least, it felt awkward to me. Coulson didn’t seem to have any problem shifting back to professional after my cafeteria outburst. I, on the other hand, was a mess. My palms would not stop sweating. My heart thumped so heavily in my chest that I thought you should be able to see it through my ribcage. And I felt sick. I could probably pass the nausea off on having finished the ridiculously enormous hamburger I’d had, but it was still there, and contributing to me being a jittery wreck while we were on the range.

I was furious with myself for reacting that way, as I’d always seen Coulson as a friendly colleague, and not a romantic interest. I mean, we’d always flirted when we bumped into one another, but it was office flirting. I’d never put any stock into it. And now, after a cold night on a rooftop drinking scotch, I was strangely smitten with him. Deep down inside, I knew all of that was untrue though, and I was only fooling myself. I shook my head, feeling incredibly sorry for Rick. He no longer stood a chance, and Coulson hadn’t even made a play yet.

I mentally shook the cobwebs off, and focused on the target at the other end of the range. Doing everything we’d gone over the previous class, I took my time, took aim, squeezed the trigger and exhaled. The glasses made a big difference, snapping the edge of the target into focus and allowing me to sight properly. I shot through my clip slowly, but rather than being dead last finishing, this time I finished somewhere in the middle of the group. I put my sidearm into the lockbox and waited for the green light to head downrange.

Unbelievably, all my shots had made it onto the target silhouette. They were still all over the place, wildly inaccurate, but they were all on the black outline, and that’s all I cared about. I choked back a squeal of excitement, and instead just grinned like an idiot at the target.

“Good improvement.” Coulson clapped me on the shoulder and moved to check another target. He stopped and gave some direction as I pulled my target down and put a fresh one up. He caught up as I made my way back to my stall.

“The glasses thing was a brilliant idea, Phil,” I admitted, pushing them up my nose. They still felt strange on my face, but I was amazed at how much I’d been missing by not being able to see.

“You’ve got better focus today too. You tested out of hand-to-hand. I was thinking we should use that time to work on this,” he suggested.

“That’s a great idea. So there are others who could benefit?” I asked, thinking he must be planning mini-class for remedial learners.

“No, just us. My attention won’t be divided in multiple directions then, and you should improve sooner with individualized training,” he explained. I tried not to blush or giggle or do something that would make me look like an idiot with a crush. I opted to nod and hold the gate open for him, as that seemed like really normal behaviour.

“Will SHIELD approve of a hot shot agent like you giving me private lessons?” I asked.

“The only time commitments I have while here are to this class. What I do on my free time is my own to decide. In short, SHIELD doesn’t get the opportunity to red stamp this. You need help, and as your friend, I am ensuring you get it,” he told me. I smiled.

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it,” I responded.

The academy cafeteria was a huge room, with a ridiculously high ceiling. It was three stories high, and along the wall where the kitchen was, a flight of stairs ran up to a landing and walkway, which in turn led to another flight of stairs, and another walkway. There were classrooms all the way along the walkways, and just the way it was built made it feel like the cafeteria had been an afterthought, and tacked on to the back of the building when SHIELD realized that students needed more than just classes to stay alive.

The wall opposite that was floor to ceiling windows. It afforded an unbelievable view of the campus. I was astonished by the size of the panes of glass that had been installed, and had spent part of each meal wondering exactly how they had been transported to the site. When that puzzle wasn’t taking up brain space, I liked looking outside, protected from the elements. It was still early spring, and while the grass was green, and the sky was blue, there was still a little bite in the air when the wind blew. It was nice when we were out on the track, but it wasn’t fun when you were just sitting. There was a large patio set up with tables and chairs outside, but so far no one had ventured to sit out there for anything other than lunch.

Kate and I met for dinner, and took what was becoming our usual spot near the windows. That table was situated in such a way that we both could see outside without the awkwardness of sitting side by side and trying to converse.

“I didn’t see you in weapons this afternoon,” I stated after we’d sat. “Were you at the other end of the range?”

“No, I tested out yesterday. My dad was a cop. I learned to shoot when I was in kindergarten,” she laughed. “I didn’t even have to finish the class yesterday, I just did to prove I was a team player.”

“I tested out of hand-to-hand today,” I admitted.

“Lucky you! I got stuck in one of the basic classes. The trainer told me that the next week that we are here, we will get more intensive study in our weak areas, and if we improve enough, Fury has decided we can test out of our final week,” she offered. I thumped my head against the table.

“An entire week of range and running?” I groaned.

“Did you look at tomorrow’s schedule? Half the day is fitness. Not running, fitness. And then the afternoon is hand-to-hand. Because I’ll have any energy left for that? I swear, they’re trying to turn us into actual field agents. It’s not like I need to run 5k if the Hub gets attacked. I just need to run far enough to get away from the Hub,” she complained. I nodded and dug into my salad. That burger had been a huge mistake. A delicious mistake, but a mistake.

“Not gonna lie. I’m excited that I won’t be in hand-to-hand tomorrow,” I wasn’t gloating. I was so relieved that I wouldn’t have to be dripping with sweat and stinky all day long.

“One of the guys who tested out of range with me yesterday was actually an operations wash-out,” Kate began. “He says there’s a swimming pool and hot tub in the other classroom building.”

“Seriously? We have to find it. Tonight,” I breathed. I had aching muscles from running that would love to see the inside of a hot tub.

“Did you bring a bathing suit?” She asked, surprised.

“Fuck bathing suits. We’re both women,” I scoffed. “I won’t look if you don’t.”

Kate suddenly smiled broadly.

“Deal.”

We agreed to meet at the entry of our dorm after the evening run. I ran up and grabbed a large towel and ran back down. It was not the smartest thing I’d ever done. My legs were jelly when I finally met up with Kate. We made our way over to the smaller classroom building. I knew the gym was in there, so it wasn’t surprising that there was also a pool. There was a thumbprint access pad at the door and Kate looked at me, crestfallen.

“Kate, between us we have the highest clearances on site. It’s going to open.” I reached for the pad.

“It’s not really sneaking if they are recording our presence,” she complained.

“If we’re allowed to be here, no one will be looking for intruders,” I countered, and placed my thumb on the scanner. The keypad dropped open and I keyed my PIN in. I heard the door click unlocked, and pulled it open. We slipped inside unnoticed.

The bank of switches beside the door suggested the lights were not on sensor, so our subterfuge was able to continue, despite my thumbprint clearly identifying that I was in the building. The pool was small. It was large enough for a couple of lanes of laps, but it certainly wasn’t intended for recreation. The hot tub, on the other hand, was perfect. Hidden behind a latticed demi-wall, it was private enough that we would see anyone coming in. I slipped behind the wall and stripped down quickly, stepping into the swirling, warm water without a second thought. It was the absolute perfect temperature. I waded to the far side, and hit the button to start the jets and sank back into the churning water. Kate hung her towel over the wall before she stripped down, and then picked mine up off the floor and did the same with it.

“The water is high enough that it’s splashing over the edge. Wet towels suck,” she said by way of explanation as she stepped into the water. She leaned back into the wall and groaned.

“Oh god, this was the greatest idea ever, Anna.” The look of relaxation on her face I’m sure matched my own. I could feel my muscles relaxing, and I leaned my head back on the tile lip of the hot tub and closed my eyes. Perfection. Well, perfection would have included a glass of wine and a good book, but this was probably as good as it was going to get while at the operations academy.

I thought I heard the click of the door and my eyes snapped open. I leaned back, arching a little, to try to see past the wall at who had entered, but could see nothing. If someone had come in, we had given ourselves away with the towels over the wall. And with the towels obstructing our view out, we wouldn’t know until they rounded the corner to us. I sank back into the water, willing my heart to stop racing, reassuring myself that I was hearing things. Kate certainly hadn’t noticed. I tipped my head back again and closed my eyes.

Kate suddenly shrieked, and I sat up and sank down to my neck under the bubbles of the water, turning my attention to her. Agent May and a tall dark-haired guy were standing there, guns drawn and trained on us. May dropped her stance, and the guy followed suit.

“Appears to just be a couple of the students,” he spoke. There was obviously someone talking to them through an earpiece. Kate looked at me, horrified. I shrugged. There had been no rule given to us forbidding us from taking advantage of the facilities. Omitting telling us that there was a hot tub did not mean we weren’t allowed to use it.

“Ellis and someone else. Banks, I think,” May said, as she holstered her sidearm. “Yes.”

“The pool is off-limits during your training, ladies,” the guy said. I smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“We’re not in the pool,” I retorted. May sighed loudly.

“The pool facilities, including the hot tub, Ellis. Time to get out,” she clarified. I met her eyes and looked down at myself, communicating my predicament clearly. She grabbed my towel from the demi-wall and tossed it at me. I just caught it before it fell into the water, and I stood up and wrapped myself up. Kate was sitting with her arms folded across her chest, trying to keep any part of her body other than her shoulders from being out of the water. And both May and the tall guy were still standing there.

I grabbed Kate’s towel and stepped over to the guy.

“Since you’ve now seen me in the altogether, care to tell me your name?” I asked. He had the decency to look uncomfortable.

“Agent Ward.”

“Well then Agent Ward, Agent May. Would you mind turning around? It’s not like we’re going anywhere,” I requested. May snorted but complied, stepping out to the opposite side of the demi-wall, and Ward followed so quickly that I was sure he was embarrassed he hadn’t thought to before I’d asked him. I handed Kate her towel, and stood in front of her with my back turned as she climbed out of the water. She quickly grabbed her running clothes and pulled them back on.

“Aren’t you getting dressed?” She whispered at me. I shook my head.

“I’m gonna hit the shower as soon as we’re back at the dorms, so there’s not really a point.” I pointed to the soggy mess of my sports bra, and t-shirt. “Plus, my stuff is foul.”

I picked up my things and headed out past the wall, past the two waiting agents, toward the door. I figured since they were just telling us to get out we didn’t need to hang around waiting for them. Kate followed. When we got to the main doors out of the pool, May stopped me from opening them.

“Hold up a minute, Ellis. Banks, you can go.” She opened the door and let Kate past. I raised my eyebrow as she pulled the door closed.

“Excuse me?” I asked, looking at her. You can convey a lot by tone of voice. Mine obviously was conveying the message I intended because Ward snorted and took a step back from us.

“Jackson would like to speak to you. Now. He’s on his way,” she explained. I rolled my eyes and hit one of the light switches, flooding the room with light. I saw a bank of bleachers at the poolside, and walked over to sit down, dropping my wet running gear beside me. I contemplated putting my shoes back on, but it was too weird to think about wearing shoes when I had nothing else on but a towel.

I pulled the tie out of my hair and started combing my fingers through it while we waited. As I wriggled my fingers through the last tangle, the door swung open, Jackson walking through purposefully. When his eyes lit on me he set his jaw and headed straight to me. I didn’t notice Coulson was right behind him until I heard him speaking.

“With all due respect, Jackson, this is ridiculous. It’s not as if she lit a building on fire, or –“ He looked up at me and stopped speaking. I was suddenly very conscious of my towel and my hair, and my shoulders, and well pretty much everything else about my body. I never wore my hair down. While SHIELD was a fantastic place to work if you were a feminist, with equal pay, and equal responsibility, and equal respect, there was a simple truth about men. They were distracted by long hair. While it reassured me that Coulson was just as normal as every other man I’d ever met, I still quickly smoothed my hair back into my usual ponytail.

“Would you care to explain yourself, Annie?” Jackson was angry. The last time he’d called me Annie was when we broke up. He had to be mad to let it slip.

“What’s there to explain? We found out there was a hot tub. We found the hot tub.” I couldn’t see the big deal.

“You overrode the security system!” He exclaimed.

“No I didn’t! There was a thumbprint scanner, and then it asked for my PIN. I didn’t override anything,” I defended myself.

“You shouldn’t have been able to get in, Annie. We reset all the clearances to level ten before anyone was sent here.” He did this quirky breathing thing when he was really angry so that he wouldn’t lose his temper. He was starting to do the quirky breathing thing.

“What rock do you live under that you don’t know I have level ten clearance, Jack? Half the people on this campus have level ten clearance. We have to have it. We work with personnel files all day long,” I laughed. Even May smiled at that. Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Just. Get out, Annie. Go back to your room,” he dismissed me. I gathered up my things and rose, brushing past him on my way out. I heard Coulson talking to his team as the door shut behind me.

I cut across the grass quickly to get back to the dorms. Kate was waiting at the door, freshly showered and looking worried.

“What the hell?” She asked.

“Apparently they overlooked how high our security clearances were when planning this summer camp. We weren’t supposed to be able to get in,” I shrugged. “I’m freezing. See you in the morning.”

I made my way up to my room, and then down to the showers. When I got back to my room, I felt a million times warmer, and was also beginning to see the humour of the whole situation. I chuckled to myself as I pulled on my pyjamas and dried my hair. I decided that I had earned a snack from the vending machine at the end of the hall, and was fishing around in my purse for change when a knock sounded on my door.

Eventually I would learn to not assume it was Kate. When I pulled it open, Coulson was standing there, scotch and tumblers at the ready. I opened the door all the way and gestured for him to enter.

“And man bringing gifts. Smart man.” I rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a zip up hoodie and pulled it over the thin material of my pyjama tank top.

“I wonder if this isn’t going to become a habit. Are you planning on having terrible days all week?” He asked. I laughed.

“I always was the troublemaker in school. You should probably anticipate needing a new bottle by tomorrow,” I winked, taking the glass he offered me. He leaned on the edge of my dresser, leaving me the choice of sitting on my bed or at my desk. I stepped onto my bed and slid down the wall into a sitting position. We just stared at each other in silence for a few minutes.

“I didn’t realize, I mean, I had never noticed –“ He started. I’d never seen him so out of his element.

“Yeah?” I prompted after a moment.

“Your hair is really long,” He blurted. I pulled it back behind my shoulders, trying not to laugh.

“Yes. It is actually two inches past uniform length. No one has noticed in the last two years.” I referred to the dress code that I thought was ridiculous and old-fashioned for an agency like SHIELD.

“Well, it’s not as if anyone is going to come around with a ruler,” he smiled. I laughed.

“I don’t really think you came to chat hair care with me, Phil,” I challenged him.

“Probably not,” he admitted. I stood up and walked over, handing him my empty glass. I allowed myself to stand too close as he refilled it. He smelled like scotch, and cedar, and ice. It was a weird combination, but I liked it. He held my glass out to me, and my fingers slid over his as I took it, sending a shock of desire through my arm. He didn’t let go of the glass. I looked up from it and my eyes met his. And the same weird desire I was feeling was looking right back at me. My breath caught. I took the glass and placed it on the dresser and looked back at him. He was looking at my tumbler. He looked back at me and stood from the edge of the dresser, facing me.

His hand came up and tangled in my hair. Before he put his tumbler down beside mine, he downed what was left and then reached behind me to pull me against him. I drew in a breath and then his mouth was on mine, his teeth tugging at my lower lip. I fisted a hand in the front of his shirt, and pulled him closer with my other. His tongue slid along the edge of my lip and I groaned. It was unreal. He pressed closer, sliding his fingers through the tangles in my hair and down my back, his fingers digging into the muscles of my shoulder and down my arm. His other hand tugged on my hair, exposing my neck and he trailed his lips along my jaw, and down the contour of my neck, pushing my sweatshirt aside and pressing his lips against my collarbone. I was lightheaded with desire. I drew in a heaving breath and pulled away.

“We can’t do this, Phil.” I found myself, and took his face in my hands. His pupils were dilated, and his breathing was as ragged as mine was.

“We can. There are no regulations against it,” he countered. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I wasn’t thinking about regulations,” I said. He smiled and pulled me back to him, kissing me quickly.

“Of course not. You wear your hair too long, you’re a rebel,” he teased, turning his attention back to my collarbone, but drawing his tongue across it so lightly that it tickled. I squirmed in his arms and giggled.

“You are my instructor right now, Phil. It’s a conflict of interest,” I protested. His lips stilled and he looked at me, his head tilted to one side. He stole another kiss, pulling me hard against his hip. I groaned again.

“I am a consummate professional. I am perfectly capable of putting this aside when we’re on the range,” he tried to persuade me. I forced myself to pull away. He took a step toward me, and I held up my hand and shook my head.

“Oh no. I’m far too eager to push you down into my bed already. I don’t need you tormenting me any further.” I zipped my hoodie all the way up to the neck. He laughed and leaned back against the dresser.

“Friday at noon I am no longer one of your instructors.” He picked up his bottle of scotch but left the tumblers behind. “Until then, nightly scotch is going to be the best foreplay of your life.”

He pushed up from the dresser and walked toward me, full of purpose. I back up until I hit the wall, and he leaned in and kissed me one last time, not touching me anywhere but on my mouth. I damn near caved. I closed my eyes and bit my lip when he pulled away, so I wouldn’t pull him back to me again. I heard him step over to the door and open it.

“Good night, Phil,” I said quietly.

“Sweet dreams, Anna,” He teased. When I heard the door latch I let out a frustrated growl. It was answered with a chuckle from the other side of the door. I stuck out my tongue at the door, and threw the bolt for the night.

[samingtonwilson]

Loot - Part 10 - Jim Kirk

loot masterlist Word count: 2,693 Warnings: language, angst

A/N: wow the final chapter, y’all. the epilogue won’t be up for a few days. i love this story. there are parts that i didn’t like and was frustrated with but, over all, i love it. this part was hard for me to write but i love everything about it. i made sure to make it as real as i could in terms of conversational patterns and the whole thing about what the artifact actually is, is something i was plannin since the beginning, im just not sure how well i executed it. ANYWAYS, ENJOY N LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! thanks for reading :))

The Enterprise wasn’t built for interrogations. There wasn’t a room devoted to them, no group of officers were on board especially to carry them out. The purpose of the Enterprise, of every officer aboard the Enterprise, was to explore, develop and maintain peaceful diplomatic relationships amongst Federation planets, to understand space at a level never attempted before. So the lack of specifically designed rooms, specifically trained officers wasn’t a lack usually glaring. It just was now.

The cell was a bright white. Brighter than the white of the medbay, somehow, and more harsh. It stung to stare at the walls for too long and it didn’t help that each of the said walls, the ceiling, and the floor panels were lined with blinding tube bulbs in an alternating pattern of one bulb, then two. One of the walls, though, was made of glass and divided the cell from the vast, security officer manned brig.

You sat on the rightmost bench. Your right leg was pulled onto the shiny white surface that matched the walls, your knee at your chest. You curled your fingers over the edge of the bench, drumming the tips of your growing nails so clicks rang through the silent cell. You stared at Jim.

Jim didn’t look at you. His eyes remained on the bulbs behind you, the glaring tubes reflected in his blue irises. His jaw was clenched and his arms were crossed over his chest. He stood, in his Captain Mode fashion, beside the leftmost bench. His chest was puffed out, presumably with every malice-filled word he wanted to scream your way.

Perhaps that was the reason for Spock’s presence— to ask the questions in a partial, objective way that didn’t even verge on inadmissible. He wasn’t frowning, he wasn’t smiling. His pale, smooth skin sat in perfect stillness as he looked directly at you. His almost midnight black eyes held a motionless gaze you would have squirmed under had this been any other circumstance.

You were surprised there were still questions to be asked. It wasn’t the job of Commander Spock to decide your punishment, it was his job to understand if any damage had come to the artifact. Seeing as the hunk of metal was fully intact without even a small scratch beyond the rust you found it with, his job could’ve been completed by a pair of fully functioning eyes and a magnifying glass.

Yet, before you, the half-Vulcan and his captain sat and stood respectively. Meanwhile the artifact was placed in the archives of the Enterprise, its radioactive threat neutralized by Scotty just a few moments after he found it in the depths of your closet.

You would have held some resentment, but you should’ve known better than to keep it anywhere near your former quarters— especially while aware that Scotty was still obsessed with his now-closed investigation and wanted to pick up where he left off. While you’d thought that meant on the other side of the floor, you should have assumed he meant the entirety of Excited Ensign Village. It was an absent-minded mistake on your part— Scotty was only doing what anyone else would have done.

A little over a day had passed between your arrest and interrogation, and it was the first time you’d seen Jim in that twenty-eight hour span. He’d sent Spock and two security officers to execute your arrest only three hours after leaving you at your door totally dumbfounded with a confession you were sure had become obsolete. You knew there was no way he could claim to love you anymore— he couldn’t even spare you a glance.

You were tracing the slope of his nose when there was a knock at the glass to your left. You tore your eyes away and stared at the form on the other side as he splayed his fingers and created a small, round opening.

McCoy was scowling as he did so— and not in the endearing way you were accustomed to. He was scowling as if his worst expectations had come to fruition— as if he could brag that he’d told everyone so, he just didn’t want to as the victory of his worst suspicions felt like a loss.

Nonetheless, you felt a corner of your lips pull up and you opened your mouth to speak, cut off by an annoyingly calm voice. “Doctor, I do not believe a medical examination is necessary after only twenty-four hours.”

“S’not an exam, Spock,” he gruffly answered. The sound of his voice forced your teeth into your bottom lip.

He looked at you then— no anger fogged his hazel irises, no hatred creased his forehead. He only looked disappointed and saddened.

The flipping of your stomach in reaction was somehow worse than what hatred and anger would have caused.

He held his arm through the circular opening and motioned for you to grab a tiny paper cup and a larger water cup from his fingers. “It’s your sodium tablet and iron supplement. Take ‘em with the water.”

You took both cups. “Bones, —”

“I’m not doin’ you any favors,” he clarified— though you weren’t sure to whom. He glanced at Jim who continued to stare at the wall. “I’m your doctor, the ship’s CMO— gotta to make sure you don’t pass out or croak before you’re put on trial.”

“Thank you anyway. And not just for the supplements.”

He nodded once and took the now-empty cups from you, he instantly crumpled them. He looked at Jim once more, then at you. He couldn’t hide his sigh of discontent and his shaking head. “Told you to be careful—”

“That’s enough, Bones,” Jim stated sternly. It was the first you’d heard of his voice in hours and it was just as cross as you expected.

McCoy didn’t argue. He simply nodded and stepped away from the glass, his retreating figure vanishing with pieces of your ability to maintain the facade of strength.

“(Y/N), approximately when did you notice an increase in the artifact’s volatility?”

You looked at Spock. He’d picked an opportune time to begin interrogations again. You sniffled a little and needed to clear your throat. “Few weeks ago.”

“Does this ‘few weeks ago’ coincide with the venturing of the Enterprise through a particularly magnetic nebula?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“In order to decrease the effects of the artifact’s radioactivity, did you attempt to damage or destroy the artifact in any way?”

You sighed heavily and dropped your head back against the wall. You stared at the ceiling a moment before looking at Jim again.

Spock began to repeat himself, “(Y/N), in order to decrease the—”

“Don’t tell me you’re too emotionally compromised to ask the questions yourself.”

Jim shifted on his feet. He looked at the glass now.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth. You met Spock’s gaze and his eyebrows were still level. “You can look at the damn artifact and see that it’s unharmed— hell, have Scotty look at it if you can’t trust your eyes.”

You swallowed over the tightness in your throat. You set your foot on the ground and placed your hands in your lap. “If I refuse to comply with you, do I get a new interrogator?”

“Yes, regulations state that—”

“I’ll handle it from here, Commander,” Jim said. He glanced at you but it appeared to be a mistake with how quickly he looked away— you were glad his gaze didn’t linger, though.

“Captain, I feel your emotional state—”

“You have the conn, Mr. Spock,” Jim asserted in a louder voice. It echoed through the cell. “Relieve Mr. Sulu, have him set course to Teenax. Ask Lieutenant Uhura to contact the Fibonan Republic to inform them that the Abronath has been found.”

Spock stood up, clasped his hands together behind his back and nodded once. His blue shirt was as smooth as his skin despite the hours he’d spent sitting down. “Yes, Captain.”

Jim watched as Spock left the cell and followed him until he entered the turbolift to the bridge.

You pulled your left leg onto the bench this time. You drew random invisible patterns with your fingernail against your black trousers. You didn’t look at Jim.

He was looking at you. He sat upon the bench that jutted from the left wall. His jaw was still clenched, his legs forming ninety degree angles as he set his elbows atop his knees. He stared at the floor.

You took a breath— in through the nose, out through the mouth. While you thought doing so could increase your resolve, each breath from Jim did the exact opposite. His inhales tightened your throat and his exhales drained your lungs. It was as if you’d lost a bit of strength due to McCoy’s departure and Jim’s presence did away with the rest of it.

“Is that what it’s called? The Abronath? That’s fancy for something that’s such a fucking nuisance.”

He didn’t answer.

“If you’re doing this to prove that you aren’t too emotionally compromised to ask—”

“I don’t have anything to ask. You stole the artifact— plain and simple.”

“Jim, —”

“You had the artifact on this ship— plain and simple. You lied about ever seeing it, ever keeping it. You interfered with Federation affairs, you feigned innocence for weeks, you didn’t think once about the consequences— plain and simple.”

You knew he was shouting, you knew his words were meant to be venom, yet you couldn’t help but only feel relief. Relief that he had words to speak, relief that he was speaking at all.

But his words seemed to have run out.

You both sat in an overwhelming, almost deafening silence— you were afraid your blinks would resonate in each corner of the cell.

“I think a part of me knew you were lying,” he finally said in a gentler voice, cutting through the thick silence. His fingertips pressed his eyebrows when he placed his head in his hands, his eyes closed.

You stayed quiet. You watched as the air from the vents caused strands of his blonde hair to flutter ever so slightly.

“In the beginning, at least,” he continued, his voice a bit muffled by his hands. “It bit at me and I smothered it to death. I let myself trust you.” He laughed ruefully then. “I made myself trust you. Against my better judgement.”

“Jim, —”

“You couldn’t even be bothered to extend me the same courtesy.” He lifted his head from his hands. When his eyes met yours, you dropped your gaze right away. “I spent myself trusting you and you didn’t think to tell me the truth.”

Your breath hitched.

Even as he sat in your scissor-like presence, even as he sat in his anger, broken, he remained soft. Every part of him remained soft.

He shook his head to himself. “I didn’t know what to do when Scotty came to me. I didn’t know if I should go against my training, against everything I’m supposed to stand for, for you.”

The back of his head hit the wall behind him, his eyes on the lights of the ceiling. “I thought of getting input— so I wouldn’t have to make this decision alone. But the first and last person that came to mind was you.”

You swallowed once more. Your voice was nearly inaudible as you asked, “So what’d you do?”

He shrugged just one shoulder. “I knew what I was supposed to do— without input. I just didn’t want to.”

“I think you did the right thing.”

He blinked several times as his gaze left the ceiling. His lips, void of expression at an almost Spock-like level, formed a straight line. “You do,” he wasn’t asking.

You nodded. “Yeah, I do. You’re too good of a captain not to do the right thing.”

He offered you the smallest of smiles and you returned it easily.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you said after a few moments. “I know you trusted me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve— I could’ve done something.” There was an edge of desperation to his voice that forced you to look away again.

“You couldn’t have done anything, Jim. I wouldn’t want you to do anything.”

“But, (Y/N), —”

“It was my burden, my problem.” You placed your feet on the ground and let your legs shake a little, doing away with some of your itchy anxious energy.

He opened his mouth to speak again, so you just increased your volume, “It’s just me and I’m getting what I deserve.”

He placed his elbows on his knees again. He rubbed his fingers against his jaw. He sighed audibly and heavily. “I’m still so mad at you.”

“I—”

“You lied to me without a second thought, you messed with Federation business without a second thought. For what? You risked peace between two planets, even your own damn future for nothing.”

You knew you could’ve corrected him. You could’ve told him why you took the artifact, why you held onto it at all costs— that a man, unnamed and utterly terrifying by the sound of his voice, sat on an unknown planet with strange coordinates awaiting the artifact with likely your life as insurance.

But you deserved Jim’s anger and didn’t have the right to correct him— you knew that.

You simply nodded in response.

“Maybe you were right to end this weeks ago.”

Your questioning hum was at a much higher pitch than you intended, but your throat was too tight to create a pitch indicative of indifference.

“You warned me that this wouldn’t work and I should’ve—” he stopped himself and sighed out shakily. He rubbed his fingers against his lips. “The ship would’ve docked, you would’ve been gone, and everything would’ve gone back to normal—  just like you said.”

You winced quietly.

“Is anything about you true? The things about your mother, your aunt, your father—”

“All of that was real, Jim.” Your eyebrows were together and you looked at him incredulously— as if you could blame him for doubting you. “Everything I told you, everything about me— it was all real.”

“How can I believe that?” he nearly yelled. “Why should I believe that?”

“Because you know me!” you shouted back. “Because you know all of that was real. You wouldn’t have fallen in love with me if you didn’t see truth.”

“Call it a lapse in judgement, then.”

Your lungs were drained again. Drops of saltwater freed themselves from your lash line and fell to your cheeks before you could wipe them away, hide yourself away.

You looked down at your feet that had gone pigeon-toed, chewing on the inside of your cheek for a moment.

You wiped your cheeks with the heels of your hands and met his gaze once your skin was dry. “I guess prison is going to lead to a sharp end to it this time. An arrest this serious is probably a deal breaker.”

“Dishonesty this serious is a more severe deal breaker.”

You nodded. “When does the ship dock?”

“Not for a few weeks.”

You nodded once more.

“The admiralty has asked you be sent to Earth by runabout with a team of security officers as soon as we can assure satisfactory condition of the artifact.” He rose from the bench, dusting the lap of his trousers to rid himself of nonexistent dust. He rubbed two fingers under his nose and sniffled. “Now that that’s done, I can go. The security officers will arrive soon.”

He nodded once and moved quickly to the door.

You cleared your throat, unable to let him leave just yet. “You know, the burns, Jim? They came from the artifact— be careful when you handle it.”

He had a small smile stretching his lips when he looked over his shoulder. “You forgot to swipe its case, sticky fingers. Makes it easier to hold onto.”

“I’ll call you from my jail cell.”

He laughed through his nose. “I’ll have Uhura block the number.”

“Careful, you might break my heart.”

“I’ll just be following the trend you started,” and the door slid shut behind him.

tagged: @outside-the-government @daughterofthebrowncoats @multifandom-slytherin @buckyy3s @cinema212 @caaptain @dani-fae @wonders-of-the-enterprise @imaginesofdreams @the-witching-hours12-3 @kaitymccoy123 @anyakinamidala @vevsee

[breaktimewritings]

What Are you Doing New Year's? II Rumbelle

(( I apologize for the delay you guys but here's the awesome New Year's fic~ )) _________________ It had felt almost natural for his hand to rest on Lacey, no, Belle’s waist that night. The Christmas Dinner had been a small affair, only he, Midas, and Jefferson sitting at the table. He was always astounded by the difference between the two personas. Lacey was all grins and winks and occasionally gave him a nice, witty conversation where even she could keep up with him. And Belle was all warm smiles and loving embraces and tender touches. She was the perfect doting girlfriend that teased him even around friends and colleagues but was always on his side as well. They couldn’t have been more opposite and yet...they weren’t. The two of them pulled up to his house. She never allowed him to take her home. After all, why would she? They weren’t on a proper date. They never were. “What are you doing…New Years?” Gold found himself asking her as he opened the car door for her, letting her get out. “New Years Eve?” Lacey tilted her head, thinking for a moment. “My schedule is free.” “There’s a business party…” Gold said, his voice trailing off. He suddenly sounded very lame to even his ears. “It’s going to be held at night so that the company can greet the new year together.” “That’s good team building. But I thought you had mentioned breaking things off soon. With Belle.” Right. He had. After all, according to their little hoax Ruben Gold and Belle French had been seeing each other for six months. Eight if he counted the time in which he’d called upon her to be his partner for appearance purposes. He’d never been in a relationship for so long. People would start talking. Already he could hear the whispers of engagement. They could never keep this up forever. Lacey had a life. This was just...what she did on the side. A hobby. However, he was a selfish man. And he wanted her around just a little longer. “Maybe…Well one more night wouldn’t hurt.” She nodded. “It uh…it would seem more dramatic. After the new year and all that.” “Aye.” He cleared his threat. “So, is that the plan?” “If that’s what you want, Mr. Gold. Whatever you need. As long as you can pull off the poor heartbroken soul later I don’t see a problem.” A smile tugged at his lips. If only she knew. “Right. I suppose I’ll see you that night then.” “Yes.” Lacey smiled, and for a moment Gold couldn’t tell if she’d fallen back into her role as Belle from the previous night or if that was simply how bright Lacey’s smiles truly were. “I’ll see you on New Year's Eve, Mr. Gold.” And with that, she’d turned away to get back into her own car and drive off. The next morning he’d find her normal fee taken out of her bank account. Gold sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he limped back into his house. Hopeless. That’s what he was. ~ The more Lacey thought about it, the more she was quickly realizing that she really shouldn’t have told Ruben Gold that three fake dates was his limit. She'd never given any of her other clients more than that save Jefferson. He might know her better than anyone, but Jefferson wasn't Ruben. It had been so easy to tell herself this would be the last time. And yet one more was never enough. She and Ruben both knew the importance of appearances. He fancied himself a big intimidating businessman, and that's what he seemed. The big dragon hoarding his perfect princess to his side. And yet underneath he was more of a blushing schoolboy just anxious for affection. He was smart and witty and fierce and dark and tender and perfect. And she'd gotten far too close. Hopeless. She was completely hopeless. “Your true colors are showing.” Lacey turned from her perch on the wall to see Jefferson. Her eyes had been so fixated on Ruben as he crossed the room to fetch them both glasses of champagne that she hadn't even notice his approach. “Hey Jeff.” She said with a pleasant smile. “How is Grace?” “Thrilled to be here.” Jefferson motioned across the room where Grace was in a spirited conversation with another boy her age. August, she believed his name was. Gepetto, the company’s chef who specialized in home-cooked Italian, was his father. She'd paid far too much attention. “She's adorable.” Lacey said with a smile that wasn't entirely forced. Jefferson nodded. Gold had gotten caught by a woman with what looked like an Apple Martini and was chatting away, two glasses of champagne in his hand. Lacey recognized her as Cora, a woman she'd be briefly introduced to before Gold had hurried them to the other side of the room. Lacey frowned. “Excuse me, Jefferson.” She said, moving to step away. Jefferson grinned. “You're going to save your date?” “He doesn't need saving.” “Ah. Then you don't like other women talking to him.” “That's not…” Lacey’s voice trailed off as she watched the woman laugh and put her hand on his arm. Something inside of her fumed, and Jefferson laughed behind her. “There's the little rabbit.” “I'm Belle tonight.” Lacey defended. “No you're not.” Jefferson glanced back up. “Better hurry. She looks like she's getting closer.” Jefferson was right. Cora had taken a step closer, her hand not leaving Gold’s forearm as she laughed at something, sipping her Martini. In a flash, Lacey was at his side. “There you are, sweetheart.” She said, immediately looping her arm around his and going so far as giving him a peck on the cheek to emphasize her point. “I was afraid you'd gotten lost.” “On the contrary.” Gold said, his shoulders relaxing under Lacey’s touch. He handed over a champagne glass easily, and Lacey was happy to see Cora’s hand disappear from his arm. “I was just telling Mrs. Mills about Christmas Dinner.” “Ah yes!” Lacey said with a smile. “The food was quite exquisite. It's too bad you and Mr. Mills could not accompany us all.” Cora’s eyes narrowed at Lacey. “It's fine. My dear Henry was so sick I couldn't bear to leave he and Regina alone.” “How is he doing?” “The doctors say he should be out of bed and better by the end of the week, but that's something we've also heard before. Honestly, it's so troubling I can hardly sleep at night.” “I’m sure.” Lacey said, giving a pointed look to the young, scruffy Navy officer she'd had on her arm when she came in. “Honestly, I don't see how you bare to be apart from him with his health. If my Ruben were sick I wouldn't be able to leave his side.” Cora frowned, her eyebrow twitching. Lacey’s smile grew, knowing she'd won. Lacey hummed, then turned to Gold, effectively cutting Cora from their conversation. “You promised to show me the view of Time Square from your old office.” “Indeed I did. I'm sorry.” He took her hand that wasn't holding the champagne glass and brought it to his lips. Lacey’s stomach flipped. She loved the way he knew what she was trying to do. He worked so well off of her. “Excuse us.” “It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Mills.” Lacey said politely, giving her a triumphant grin as Ruben led her away. Pretend date or not, the message was clear: Ruben Gold was hers. “Thank you.” Gold said once they were out of the room and walking down a hall to the elevator. A few groups peppered the area here and there, talking and mingling and drinking their champagne. Gold stopped at an elevator and hit the button. “Cora and I have a...complicated relationship.” “She was eyeing you as if you were a buffet.” Lacey said, wrinkling her nose. “No one can look at my date like that except me.” Gold chuckled, and the elevator chimed. The doors slid open, and he ushered her in. “After you.” Lacey lifted a brow, but stepped in. “Where are we going?” “To see Time Square from my old office.” The doors closed, and the button to the fourteenth floor lit up under his touch. “Honestly I'm surprised you remembered that detail.” She was too. She didn't usually. “I can show you where I had my first kiss.” “Your first kiss was in Times Square? I'm jealous.” “Where was yours?” The elevator chimed again, and the door slid open. Ruben stepped out, and Lacey followed him down a darkened hallway to another door at the end. The office door opened for them easily, and with a flick of a switch the office lights were on. The office was large, with a desk for a secretary placed before a glass divider where a larger desk sat. Behind that one was a large window. The skyline was dark Save for the lights of the various parties. In the distance there was a large ball floating over another flurry of lights. “Right there!” Lacey said happily, practically skipping over to the window, perfectly at-ease in her stilettos. She deposited her glass of champagne on a nearby desk before going to practically press her forehead against the glass. “Right down there at that corner with the pizza place. Towards the back.” “That's not exactly IN Times Square.” Ruben commented, coming to stand behind her. Lacey straightened. Had he realized how close he'd gotten to her? “It is to a kid whose rebellious and just wants some adventure.” Lacey grinned. “I didn't even know him. All I knew was it was New Years and I wanted a kiss. And when the fireworks went off he'd been the one I bumped into.” Ruben didn't say anything, but Lacey caught his reflection in the window. Their eyes met, and Lacey sighed. “Jefferson was my first kiss.” She found herself saying. “That's why he and I are so close. I didn’t realize it until he was my client.” His shoulders visibly relaxed. “I was wondering why…” “Getting jealous again?” Lacey teased. A smile tugged at his lips, and it felt like a victory. “I was.” Lacey admitted. She leaned back, feeling his weight against her back. His hand came up to ghost over her arm. Lacey shook her head. “They're going to expect us to kiss tonight.” She began. “It will be you and Belle’s first New Year. Couples always kiss at midnight. And it would make the break up more dramatic.” His adam’s apple bobbed. “Aye it will.” “It can't be…” She cleared her throat. “It can't be you and Belle’s first time kissing. You can't act as if it is.” Realization flashed in Ruben’s eyes, and Lacey turned to face him properly. “You don't have to, though. We could break it off tonight. Whatever you need.” “I need…” His voice trailed off. “I suppose...practice.” “It's just kissing.” She shrugged. “You and Belle HAVE made love before.” “You used the other word.” “Yes but it's what YOU said that matters.” “Does it matter?” Yes. It mattered very much. Lacey frowned. “So kiss me.” “P-pardon?” “You said yourself we need practice.” It was selfish, she knew, but dammit she'd only felt his touch on her lower back and waist and shoulder and sometimes neck if he was feeling brave. She wanted more. Ever since that first night when she spotted some poor sap’s add on Craigslist and traveled to his doorstep. “I…” Belle turned to face him, and it took Gold’s mind a moment to catch up to what his body was doing. His arms were already around her waist, her lips barely parted as she leaned against him. He could feel her breath on his lips, sweetened by the champagne glasses that now sat abandoned on the desk. He hesitated, and felt Belle (or...was it Lacey?) stiffen in his arms. “Who is this?” He asked, his accent breathy. “Right now...Is this Belle or Lacey?” For a moment, her eyes searched him, but then she relaxed in his arms and closed the distance between them herself. The feeling of her lips against his so eagerly short-circuited his brain, but before long he was pulling her closer, matching her lips with just as much eagerness. Her hands drifted up his chest to his neck, tugging gently at the back of his hair. Lacey. This was definitely Lacey. “You'll have to guess.” She said playfully. Giving him a small peck on the cheek before turning away. “Come on, if we stay away too long there will be talk.” “Yes.” Gold breathed, nodding deftly before turning away. “Let's get back.” He handed her the glass of champagne before turning and leading the way back to the party. His head was swimming with delight as they fell back into the crowd to mingle. At midnight, he'd get another kiss. And then drive her back to his house where she could go home. Except...perhaps he didn't want her to go home. This would make breaking things off with Belle infinitely more complicated.

[letthesleepingdoglie]

From Whence He Sprang - 08

Title: Always Forward

Part: 08 of 18

Rated: M

Parliament Grove

January 17th, 2012

08:36 EET

Team Year One

“Grandmaster.” Raptor bowed his head in respect as he entered the Grandmaster’s inner sanctum.

“Raptor.” The Grandmaster replied, not taking his eyes off the of the screen mounted on the wall. A live feed showing all of the aspirants still alive in the Labyrinth was on display, enhanced to compensate for the dark confines of the Labyrinth’s interior.

As was traditional, they’d started with 50 aspirants, all kidnapped from places across the world where a missing child wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. Now, there were just under a dozen left, divided into 3 separate groups. The Grandmaster had been watching the largest, a group of 6, as they snuck their way through a cave in order to launch an ambush on some of the feral prisoners the Court kept the Labyrinth populated with.

“Any news from Gotham?” The Grandmaster asked, his tone conversational.

“No, Grandmaster.”

The negative reply caused the Grandmaster to look over in mild surprise.

“Shrike and his team missed their scheduled communications check several minutes ago.” Raptor informed him. “Their last report indicated that they were about to engage Batman. Given the lack of contact since, I must assume that they have failed.”

“Disappointing.” The Grandmaster said, turning in his chair to face Raptor, his voice cool. Raptor’s head, already lowered in shame at the failure of his subordinates, dropped further still under the Grandmaster’s gaze.

The Court’s leader sighed. “But hardly surprising. The fault is not yours, Raptor. These are some of the world’s best heroes, after all.” He turned in his chair, letting the irritation he felt ebb away as he gazed out off his office window. In a void of pure analytical thought, the Grandmaster weighed each of the different considerations at play. The likelihood of discovery. Resources and personnel currently available. What the Court knew and didn’t know about Batman and the Justice League.

The Grandmaster considered all of these factors and more in an instant. This was his role, after all. Just as it was Raptor’s duty to root out and eliminate any threats to the Court, it was the Grandmaster’s duty to lead the Court in changing the world for the better, unfettered by simplistic notions of morality, sentiment, or emotion.

Within moments, he came to his decision, turning away from the window to face Raptor once again. “Begin transferring all of our essential assets to the Acropolis.”

Raptor tilted his head, surprised. Ever the Court’s faithful warrior, the idea of abandoning the Court’s ancestral headquarters without a fight and evacuating to the Acropolis, a facility that had been designed to hide the entire Court should it be necessary, was anathema to him. “We’re evacuating Parliament Grove?”

“Merely a precaution, dear Raptor.” The Grandmaster told him, with a tone of infinite patience. He leaned forward and got to his feet. “The Acropolis was built with just this sort of contingency in mind. It might not prove necessary, but given that this is Batman and the Justice League we’re dealing with, better to be safe.”

Raptor fell silent, torn between wanting to protest the Grandmaster’s decision and following the instilled instincts that demanded that he obey without question.

As ever, training won over personal feelings.

“As you command, Grandmaster.” Raptor said. “I will begin the preparations at once.”

“Good, good.” The Grandmaster’s gaze slid back to the images of the aspirants on the screen. “They’ve done very well to make it this far. It’s a shame, really. If not for the fact Batman had taken notice of the tithe, I’d say that this was likely to be one of our most successful trials yet.”

“Yes.” Raptor agreed. “The aspirants of this year’s tithe have proven to be resilient.”

The Grandmaster continued to watch the screen with rapt attention. Raptor considered the magnitude of his orders, and their implications for the trials. “What of the aspirants? Shall I have them eliminated?”

The Grandmaster tilted his head in thought. Perhaps the trial of the Labyrinth was cruel, but it was almost certainly effective. It wasn’t just physical strength that was required to become a Talon, the Grandmaster mused, but a certain mental strength as well.

How many times had he seen an aspirant, driven mad by fear and despair, lose their grasp on reality and become no different from the rabid animals that hunted them? How many times had he seen an aspirant lose hope and beg for mercy in vain, from men who had none to spare?

The Grandmaster tried to recall the numbers, but gave up as they spiraled into the hundreds.

Still, as Talons like Raptor proved, the results were worth it. Any child who could successfully fight off both men and beasts while starving and exhausted for the better part of a week, without losing hope, was almost certainly strong enough to survive the necessary procedures and training to become a Talon. At this point, it was almost certain that the chaff amongst the aspirants had been cut away. Eliminating the aspirants now that they had come so far and sacrificed so much would have been a tremendous waste.

As if to prove his point, the aspirants began their ambush, turning the tables on their hunters. He smiled.

Tradition dictated that the aspirants find their own way to the Fountain, however long it took, but given the circumstances…

“No.” The Grandmaster declared, watching the fight proceed with rapt attention. “Funnel them towards the Fountain and prepare a Chimera for the last trial. Make preparations to evacuate the master surgeons, but keep them nearby. I’d like them on hand just in case any of these aspirants survive. It would be a waste not to elevate these children, should they prove worthy.”

Raptor bowed to signal his compliance. “It will be done.”

——————————————————————————————————————————

The Labyrinth

Moments Later

Things had gone well at first. They’d managed to take one of the two ferals down just as he discovered their presence, and make their escape. The feral sentry who had been keeping watch on the cavern’s exit had been in the midst of drawing in the breath he needed to shout a warning to his partner when Jason and his group surged forward out of the shadows, bearing him down to the cold stone floor in a tangle of limbs and bodies.

His warning cry died in his throat as Lorena’s blade opened his jugulars with her knife, and what little fight he managed to put up in the seconds afterward was ended by the weapons the rest of the children held in their hands.

They cut, stabbed and bludgeoned him to death quickly, with the ease born of repetition.

Despite the success of their attack, it was far from silent. The sounds of a struggle caught the attention of the other feral man searching for them, instantly alerting him to their presence. Having confirmed the presence of the children he’d been sent to find, he didn’t hesitate, charging at them with a roar that would have done a lion proud as it echoed through the cavernous space.

Even worse than that roar had been the sound that came after, a cacophony of shouts and exuberant cries that let Jason’s group know that the large group of ferals that they’d been eluding for the last few days was nearby. In the confines of the caves, the voices of their hunters sounded close, closer than Jason had been expecting. They were close enough that Jason could even hear the wet slap of their bare feet running across the rock as they ran to catch up with their scouts.

Jason and his friends could have stayed and fought the lone feral, killed him before making their escape, but there was no point. No matter how many they killed, no matter how many they managed to escape or how many they managed to drive off, there were always more lunatics, cannibals and madmen to take their place.

Besides, the feral had just been trying to slow them down so that his comrades could catch up to them.

As soon as Lorena was on her feet, she and Jason started sprinting, moving to keep up with the rest of their group. To be left behind was death. Their foes were bigger, and stronger. The only attribute Jason’s friends had the advantage in was speed, and that was an insubstantial aid at best. What would happen if they got cornered?

Defeating all of the ferals in a straight up fight was never going to be an option. Their only hope for survival was to find a good place to hide.

Behind them, the sounds of pursuit became louder. Jason had shot a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that a mob of almost two dozen ferals had emerged from the far entrance, all sprinting towards him as fast as they could manage. They ignored their fallen comrade, stepping over his severed body without a backwards glance as they sought to chase down their fleeing prey.

Inwardly, Jason cursed; he’d been hoping that these ferals would stop to cannibalize their fallen rather than give chase, as had happened before. Evidently, these ferals were intent on killing them for reasons other than simply satiating their hunger with whatever flesh they happened to come across.

Jason ran faster.

They reached another cavern quickly, with two paths branching off in opposite directions to their left and right. The six friends didn’t bother discussing which path to take, orienting themselves towards the tunnel to the right. At this point, they were already so lost that making a wrong choice wouldn’t make a difference.

They were halfway to the tunnel when it suddenly exploded. The force of the blast knocked them all onto their backs, spraying them with dust and debris. The mouth of the tunnel collapsed into a pile of impassable rubble. The sound of several other explosions echoed through the cavern, at the same time.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Sean yelled as they got to their feet. He clutched at his head in pain, half-deafened by the explosion.

“You wanna stay and find out?” Chris asked his brother rhetorically, grabbing him by the arm and pushing him towards the tunnel that hadn’t exploded in order to get him moving. The others followed suit, wiping dust and grime from their eyes before they resumed their flight towards the tunnel.

They continued their headlong flight through the darkness. More than a few tunnels had been collapsed, leaving them no other option but to use the ones that remained intact.

For a few brief moments, Jason wondered exactly what was going on. He and his friends were being herded, that much was clear. But herded towards what?

He gave up trying to guess. The obvious answer was that he had no clue, and right now, he just had to concentrate on staying alive.

The answer became apparent soon enough. After several long minutes that felt like hours to his fatigued muscles, their surroundings changed. The rough stone walls and dark caves that had been his home for the last few torturous days gave way to an impossibly large cavern, shaped like a colossal dome that looked big enough to encompass Gotham’s downtown district with room to spare.

In contrast to the near total darkness of the caves, the dome was completely illuminated with bright white light. Jason and his friends were forced to stop for a moment and shield their eyes against the blinding glare.

The cavern was so large and so bright that for a brief moment, Jason thought he’d somehow managed to escape the trial and stumble outside. That hope proved futile as his dilated pupils began to adjust to the illumination: this was the Labyrinth he had imagined.

The path ahead was a circular maze lined with walls made of white granite that were at least five stories tall. If he’d had the time, Jason would have stared at it in awe. The sounds of pursuit echoed up from the caverns behind, breaking him out of his wonderment, and Jason and his friends sprinted into the maze without another look.

Things went well at first. The maze was devoid of any signs of life save themselves, and though the ferals were now close enough to be within line of sight, under the harsh glare of the maze’s artificial light, they were clearly slower and more hesitant.

Jason’s group took advantage by sprinting as fast as they could through their seamless white granite surroundings, opening up a huge lead between them and their pursuers. Jason himself was at the head of the group, leading the way, when something *clicked* under his foot.

They’d encountered traps before in the caverns, of course, but those had been clunky and obvious: rusty bear traps hidden in the shadows that would take the legs off of the unwary, or spring loaded spears that were triggered by pressure plates.  Easy to spot, once you knew what to look for, and therefore easy to avoid.

This was something else entirely. The pressure plate was built into the floor, and in the bright light it blended in with its surroundings seamlessly. Before he could react, the floor ahead of him retracted into the walls with the silent quickness that signified the use of advanced mechanics. He had a split-second to take in the sight of a deep pit, almost seven feet long and ten feet deep, filled with sharpened spikes, before he started falling.

Jason used the last of his momentum to hurl himself forward, trying to reach for the far edge of the pit, but it was just out of his reach. His fingertips slipped off the smooth granite, leaving him flailing in mid air as he fell towards his death.

Jason fell for just over a few inches before Sean was there to save him, jumping across the length of the pit as quick as humanly possible to catch Jason by the wrist with one hand and the edge of the pit with the fingertips of his other hand.

“Gotcha!” Sean breathed, straining with the effort of holding the weight of both of their bodies up, especially with muscles weakened by lack of food and rest. On his own, Sean had no chance of pulling both of them up.

Thankfully, they weren’t alone. Rescue came quickly, in the form of Chris and Joseph. They both took running leaps, kicking off the Labyrinth’s wall in order to propel themselves over the pitfall trap. The former reached down over the edge to grab Jason’s free hand, and the latter grabbed Sean by the armpit and pulled him up.

The four of them lay there on the floor, catching their breath. “No one deserves our luck.” Sean managed to gasp. Joseph nodded his head wearily in agreement as Lorena and James leap across the pitfall trap to join them.

The moment their two remaining friends crossed the pit, the floor slid back into place, leaving no sign of the trap that had occupied the space scant seconds ago.

“No shit.” Chris breathed, finally summoning the strength to stand up again. “There must be traps like that scattered throughout this maze.”

“It’s not a maze.” Lorena said.

The others looked at her, confused. “What do you mean?” James asked.

She pointed at the walls around them. “If it were a maze, there would be multiple paths for us to follow. But we’ve been following the same path since we entered. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

The others all frowned, but Jason could see the logic in her words. There had been more than a few twists and turns, but unlike the caves there had been no branching paths to get lost on that one would normally associate with a maze. It wouldn’t be much of a challenge if you couldn’t get lost.

“It feels like we’re being herded towards something.” Jason said, giving voice to the thought that had been on his mind for the last few minutes.

Sean shrugged. “Or challenged.”

Chris shook his head. “It doesn’t matter either way. If we take our time, those bastards will catch up to us. If we run, we’re gonna blunder into more traps.”

“We can’t take them in a fair fight.” Lorena noted.

“So we don’t fight fair.” Jason said, an idea forming in his head. “Give me your knife. I have a plan.”

——————————————————————————————————————————

The pain was the only thing that united them, he reflected, in the brief moments when his thoughts were lucid enough to reflect. Of course, those moments were so rare, and the pain so intense, that no sooner had he had the thought that it was obliterated by another wave of agony radiating through his skull. It felt like someone had driven screws into the grey matter of his brain, pushing them deeper and deeper into his mind.

He pressed a hand against surgical scars embedded in the flesh on the side of his head in a futile effort to lessen the pain, but gave up after a few moments. Around him, almost two dozen of his fellow prisoners did the same. Externally, they seemed fine, but if you knew what to look for, you could see the signs of the implants their captors had placed in their skulls slowly inflaming the pain centers of the brains. The twitches in the muscles of the jaw as one tried to stop himself from screaming, or the drooling of another as he focused all of his effort solely on moving through the crippling pain.

The light didn’t help. If anything, it made things worse. These men had had lived in the darkness for so long that their pupils were almost permanently dilated.

Ordinarily these men would be at each others throats, viewing each other as competition, or perhaps prey, but the pain obliterated all distinctions between them. When the pain came, vendettas and feuds would be set aside, mortals enemies would work together in order to achieve the one thing they all knew would alleviate the agonizing pain in their skulls: killing the children that had been thrown into their home.

It was always like this, when children were in the Labyrinth. Most of the time in the caves that served as their prison, he and his fellow prisoners were left alone to eke out an existence in the cold and the dark. But when the children came, the pain would start.

It was slow at first, ignorable in the squalor and misery that accompanied their imprisonment, but as the days went on the pain in his skull would slowly grown in till it obliterated everything else. Killing each other would increase the pain. Killing a child would lessen it, to a degree, but until their prison had been cleansed of the presence of the children that their captors had thrown in, he and his prisoners would continue to suffer.

In the back of his mind, he knew he should be wary of the inner Labyrinth and the trips that it contained; after all, it was the main reason his fellow captives tended to avoid it. But at that moment, he couldn’t even remember his own name. Much like his thoughts, his memories were soup, wispy and intangible things that evaporated under the onslaught of sensation in his skull. The only thing that he could hold onto, other than the pain, was his rage.

Rage at his captors for driving a pain-engine into his skull and throwing him into this hellhole. Rage at his fellow prisoners for failing to kill the children, so that the pain would stop. Rage at the children themselves for the simple crime of living, for making him chase after them and endure the blinding light.

He stumbled through the light, pushing himself further into the Labyrinth alongside his fellows, seeking blessed relief from the pain-pressure inside his skull. The rising aggression and spiking adrenaline caused his vision to redden with every beat of his racing heart.

By the time he turned a corner and caught sight of two of the children, he was barely even human. His identity, built from lifetime’s memories and decisions, had faded beneath the endless waves of pain and red, berserk rage.

The children were in the middle of the pathway, looking frightened. One of their number was lying on the ground, clutching at a bleeding leg, while two of the others dragged him away, leaving a smeared trail of blood on the floor. Easy targets.

If he’d still had the capacity to think, he might have wondered why the blood trail was so small, or that 5 children hadn’t managed to drag one of their friends further than the paltry distance that he’d covered. He might have looked closer and realized that the wound on the child’s leg, while bleeding, was relatively shallow and superficial.

But he didn’t. He charged on, screaming without knowing it, hearing and feeling nothing beyond his rage and the pain inside his head.

He was at the head of the feral horde that charged at the children, and as a result, he was one of the first to die when one of the others stepped on the hidden switch that triggered the pitfall trap.

The ground beneath his feet fell away, and he plummeted. He kept screaming his fury all the way down to the spikes below.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Lorena and Sean helped Jason up from where he’d been lying on the floor. The cut that he’d made in the flesh of his leg throbbed, but compared to all of the other injuries he’d sustained thus far, it was utterly ignorable.

Together, he and his friends watched as at least half of the ferals tumbled into the pit. Blood and viscera splattered across the walls as they were impaled, though only a few were killed outright.

By any stretch of the imagination, his trap hadn’t been subtle, but the ferals had been so focused on reaching them that they’d stumbled into it nonetheless. His plan hadn’t amounted to much, merely a simple recognition of their circumstances.

They could have moved on ahead, slowly navigating around the traps, but then the ferals would have caught up, and they would have had to fight. Similarly, if they’d stayed and fought and won, a scenario that was by no means certain, they would have been too exhausted and injured to avoid the traps.

Faced with nothing but bad decisions, Jason had decided to go for the one that would hurt their foes the most. He decided to bait the ferals into blundering in the traps, cut their numbers down so that in the unlikely event they survived the next few minutes of running through a maze filled with death traps, the odds against them wouldn’t be quite so bad.

Jason didn’t spare the bodies at the bottom of the pit another moment’s notice as he turned to run, with the others following close behind. He’d lost count of the number of times that he’d seen death in the Labyrinth. The carcasses animals and the corpses of humans. Some freshly killed, others long dead. The mutilated bodies of children their own age and the ferals who had been trapped in here with them.

They’d all long since lost the capacity to be shocked by death.

Behind him, the dozen or so ferals that hadn’t fallen into for his ambush took running leaps across the pit, coming to their feet on the far side of the pit and chasing after them instantly.

“Was this a good idea?” Lorena gasped to him as they ran.

If Jason could have shrugged while he ran, he would have. “It was an idea.” He huffed back.

There was another *click* as someone stepped on another pressure plate. The woosh of a blade cutting through air became audible.

“Down!” Jason shouted, ducking underneath the three scythes that had sprung out of the walls. The others obeyed him instantly, sprawling onto the floor in order to avoid being killed outright by the spring loaded scythes.

Three of the ferals chasing them weren’t so fortunate. The razor sharp blades sliced through them without resistance, cutting them to bloody shreds. One of them was disembowelled, dying so quickly that he didn’t even have time to scream.

Another was bisected at the waist. The upper half of his body toppled backwards while his cleaved legs collapsed forwards, spilling internal organs onto the stone floor beneath the severed halves. He flailed around in a growing pool of his own blood for almost 10 seconds before realizing that he was dead.

Despite the continuing success of his plan, Jason’s group wasn’t given a moments respite.

The other ferals charged, kicking aside the bodies of their fellows in their effort to get within range of the children. Worse still, more traps sprang into life, swinging free from recessed housings hidden in the walls. A series of paired blades shaped like crescent moons began to swing perpendicular to the path, forcing Jason’s group to move in bursts and fits in order to avoid being cut apart.

Jason was so focused on avoiding the blades that he didn’t notice the feral that had caught up to him until he grabbed him by the shoulders.

Whatever the feral had intended, to do, Jason didn’t give him a chance to do it. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of silver from the side. Jason gripped the feral’s wrists and lunged forward into the blade’s path, hoping he’d gotten the timing right.

One moment the feral resisted, hoping to drag Jason back so that he could beat the young boy to death with his bare hands, the next, he roared in shock as his hands were severed from his body. Arterial blood painted the white granite floors as it shot forth from the stumps of his arms.

Jason kicked the feral away and rolled forward, clearing the last of the blades. The others were already ahead of him, turning around a corner.

“Come on!” James called out from where he waited, urging him onwards. As he ran, Jason wondered why he was moving so slowly compared to the others. And why he was feeling so lightheaded. Maybe it was the blood loss, minute as it was. He was already weak from his time in the Labyrinth. He shouldn’t have cut himself, shouldn’t hav-

“Look out!”

The feral caught Jason in a picture perfect tackle, driving the wind from his body as he landed on his stomach. From his position on the ground, with the feral on his back, there was no way Jason could fight effectively.

James was there in a heartbeat, diving onto the feral, knife in hand, just as the feral reared up to smash Jason’s skull into the ground. The impact knocked the feral onto his back, with James on top. The ensuing struggled lasted for a few mere heartbeats, and ended when James rammed his blade down into his opponent’s eye.

There was a faint *clink* of metal as the point struck the stone under the feral’s head.

He was already moving as the feral’s arms fell limp, grabbing Jason under one arm and picking him off the ground. “Come on.” He told Jason. “We have to keep moving. The others went ahead to check for more traps.”

Jason nodded, though it took him a few shaky steps before he recovered enough to start moving unaided again.

If he’d had a breath to spare, Jason would have thanked James for waiting, for saving him, even though it wasn’t strictly necessary. He’d saved James’ life plenty of times. They’d all saved each others lives too many times to count, but that wasn’t the point. Even if they didn’t know much about each other, the Labyrinth had forged a bond of unity between all of them that went beyond friendship.

That bond was the reason James pushed Jason forward, making sure that if the ferals caught up to them again, it would be himself and not Jason who would be forced to fight.

For a moment, it looked as if James’ precaution might be necessary, as two more ferals rounded the corner. However, the moment the two ferals appeared was the same moment that the ground underneath their feet just… tilted.

Jason stumbled forward onto his hands and knees, confused, wondering why he felt off balance. Even though he was still on his hands and knees, the Labyrinth seemed to be moving. The reason for the visual disparity became clear within moments.

The portion of the Labyrinth floor that he and James had been standing, a section almost 30 feet long, had started to tilt forward, away from the corridor that they’d just come from. While it did stop more ferals other than the two that were already there from following them, it also meant that soon, James and Jason would be cut off from their friends.

With each passing second, the floor tilted further and further, opening a chasm in the ground like the maw of some gigantic monster. Jason knew there was a lot he didn’t know about the Labyrinth, but he did know that falling into that cavernous opening was a very, very bad idea.

It didn’t seem like he’d have much of a choice in the matter though; the angle of the floor was already steep enough to make remaining crouched very difficult. Soon, it would be a ramp rather than a floor.

He got to his feet and started running as best as he could, knowing that he had to try and reach the portion of the floor that had remained in place before he dropped too far to reach it.

“Run for it!” He called to James, who had thankfully realized the exact same thing and was already sprinting.

Jason ran as fast as he ever had before, pushing muscles that already felt like they were filled with battery acid to their limit, and even then, he barely managed to make the jump to safety. James, who had been further back on the tilting platform, tried to do the same, but by the time he got close enough to jump the ramp’s angle had gotten even steeper, dropping his jump off point another two feet. He had no chance of reaching safety.

At least, not on his own.

“James!” Jason reached out as far as he could by lying prone on the edge of the floor, grabbing his friend by the hand and snatching him out of his free fall. Of course, it occurred to Jason that if things went wrong, James could inadvertently pull him down into the dark chasm that the ramp dropped into. The smooth stone ledge he was laying on had little in the way of handholds, and he just didn’t have the leverage to resist being yanked off.

He had the briefest moment of selfish panic as James’ added weight caused him to slide closer to the edge: he could let go of James and save himself. None of the others would ever know. He pushed the thought away and clutched on to James’ wrist tighter.

The one unspoken rule they all heeded was that they would never abandon each other. If there was anything that had let them all survive this long in the Labyrinth, it was loyalty.

Jason pulled with all of his strength, but James’ weight barely moved. He grit his teeth in frustration. He was too weak to do this on his own. “Guys, help me!” He called to the others, hoping that they weren’t far enough ahead to come to the rescue.

James looked up at Jason, and the look on his face told him that he knew both the dangerous situation he was in, and the position he had put his friend in.

“Drop me,” He said, without hesitation.

“Shut up.” Jason replied. He tried to pull his friend up again, but failed. Even if Jason hadn’t been exhausted and starved, leverage and physics meant that it would have been impossible.

“Drop me,” James repeated, “or we’re both gonna die.”

“Shut up, James.”

“Jason…”

Any further conversation between them was halted by the screams of the first feral as he slid into the darkness below them. The second pushed off the ramp and jumped, much as James had done.

At that point, the ramp had stopped tilting at a 60 degree angle, meaning that if the feral wanted to reach the safety of the floor that Jason was on, he would need to jump at least 10 feet. Unfortunately for the two friends, the feral had jumped with the intention of grabbing something else.

The feral’s bony fingers closed around James’ ankle, and the instant they did, Jason felt himself being yanked forward, into the void.

“Jason!” He heard the others cry out just as he slipped over the edge.

He struck the ramp with enough force to knock the wind out of him, and break his grip on James’ hand. He had a glimpse of both James and the feral that had dragged them both down with him flailing as they slid down the ramp before the light disappeared as he himself slid away from the opening connecting them to the Labyrinth.

Fluid spurted out of several pipes, coating the ramp beneath him with a bright red slurry, sending him careening downwards along the slippery tunnel with no hope of slowing or stopping.

Twenty five meters. Fifty. A hundred.

The smell of a slaughterhouse permeated everything. Opening his mouth to shout was a mistake, as the instant he did so the smell became a taste as well, as the fluid from his descent sprayed into his face.

Gagging from the taste and unable to see from the rapid transition from glaring light to impenetrable darkness, Jason flailed out blindly, trying to grab hold of something that would allow him to halt his rapid descent, but there was nothing to be found. The smooth granite lacked any handholds, and even if there had been anything to grab onto his own hands were slick with blood and sweat. The best he could do was guide himself side to side slightly by shifting his body weight and leaning, a skill which rapidly proved essential to his survival as he slid further and further downwards.

Over the sound of running fluid, he heard a mechanical whirring that reminded him of a buzz saw from up ahead. Jason scrambled to lean aside and avoid the obstruction, unknowingly missing it by bare inches.

Several more implements of death passed by before the tunnel ended, leaving Jason flailing through the air as he fell. There were a good three or four seconds of free fall before he splash-landed into a pool of fluid.

The moment his head slipped below the liquid, Jason knew it was blood. He surfaced quickly, sputtering for breath, senses filled with the cloying, iron rich stink of old blood.

Once Jason managed to wipe the worst of the blood from his eyes, he took in his surroundings.

He was back in the rough stone caverns, though none of the ones he had been in previously had been quite like this one. There were several openings in the ceiling, with blood flowing from each one into the pool in a constant stream. Every now and then, there was a wet splash as something solid dropped into the pool just as Jason had.

The sound reminded Jason that he hadn’t been alone in falling into this place.

“James!” He called out, voice echoing throughout the cavern. “James, are you there?!”

The only reply was the constant sound of running water as more blood flowed through various pipes and tunnels to join the pool.

He spotted a source of light further ahead and began to swim towards it, calling out for his friend every few minutes. Eventually, the pool started to get shallower, going from neck deep to waist deep, forcing him to wade rather than swim. Every now and then, he stumbled over a rock that had been hidden in the murky liquid, eliciting a curse from him each time.

As he got closer to the light, the sounds of pained breathing became audible. Jason quickened his pace, thinking that he’d finally found his friend.

“James?” He asked, sloshing his way towards the source of the noise. He caught sight of a small rocky island that had a familiar figure leaning against it, sitting half submerged in blood.

“James.” Jason breathed in relief. He walked around the island rather than over it, not wanting to slip and hurt himself.

“Are you o-“ The words died in Jason’s throat. The instant he got close enough to see through the gloom clearly, he saw the source of the breathing, and what had happened to his friend.

Even rendered in red monotone, James’ injuries were horrific. Deep cuts and gashes adorned his torso and limbs. The sole exception was his left arm, which was missing completely, ending in a neat stump just above where the elbow should have been.

James was undoubtedly dead. Even without all of the other wounds, it would have been clear from a cursory glance at his skull, the front of which was broken beyond recognition. Bits of bone and brain marked a spot on the rock where it had been smashed in.

James’ feral killer was there too. He lay next to the young boy’s broken body, teeth grit as he forced himself to take deep breaths. Just like his young victim, he too was decorated with wounds, and was clutching at a large gash in his stomach with both hands as he held his internal organs in place in his broken body.

His left eye was a mangled ruin, though his unharmed right eye still looked at Jason with an expression of pure hatred, undiluted by the pain he was sure to be in.

Jason met that stare levelly, feeling his own anger and frustration rising to the fore. The wounds and positions of the two bodies told him what had happened.

James and the feral had fought even as they fell through the tunnel, and both had been sliced apart by the death machinery that Jason himself had only avoided through sheer luck. Even without an arm, James must have fought hard, carving his feral opponent apart with his knife, then plucking out his opponent’s eye when he’d lost his weapon. Of course, the end result demonstrated that the feral had given as good as he had got, killing Jason’s friend by grappling his way into a superior position and then smashing his skull against the floor

Any sympathy Jason might have felt for his dying foe ebbed away as they stared at each other, his twin blue eyes meeting one eye yellow with jaundice. This… thing wasn’t a man anymore. Nothing human could lay dying like this and still glare up at him with such stupidly bestial hate. Without a word, he turned and plunged his hands into the gory murk, searching.

He wasn’t looking for his friend’s missing knife. The pool of blood was so big that he could spend days searching and never find it. No, what Jason was looking for was much more simple than that.

After a few moments, he found a decently sized rock, almost half as big as his torso. Every muscle in his body strained as he lifted it from the pool and he carried it towards his wounded foe.

With a cry of bitterness, fury and frustration, Jason reared up and brought the stone crashing down onto the feral’s head.

A bone breaking crack rang through the cavern, not unlike the sound of an egg shattering.

Whatever fragments of the feral’s skull remained intact after the impact,  it wasn’t enough to keep him alive.

The deed done, Jason turned without another look. He left the corpses behind and continued on alone, moving further into a darkness dripping with blood.