#this comes from biting the bullet and starting the process of getting an AO3 account

[allisonreader]

I always forget just how many Cars fics that I have written and posted...

16 out of 29 fics, is what I believe it is.

[retro-memo]

A Shot In The Dark

Hey guys, how's everything?

Okay, so this one-shots like this is going to be exclusive to my Tumblr account while the other, more bulked up stories go to my ao3.

Also, heads up this one-shot has blood and bullet wounds. If you don't like it, please don't read it. I'm certain that 99. 9 % of this fanfic is bullshit and makes no sense whatsoever because I'm no doctor. Nor have I been shot.

So, if any of this is wrong, don't bite my head off because of it please.

~~~

The first time Peter got shot, it was six weeks after the Vulture. Six weeks of radio silence between them and the kid since Peter turned down a spot on the Avengers.

Tony knew he should've seen it coming, should've known that once the kid stopped leaving his usual voicemails to Happy, that disaster was bound to happen.

It didn't help that it happened when the Compound was practically empty with Cho on holiday, Rhodey was in D.C helping to smooth out the accords and Pepper was on a business trip to Hong Kong.

He received the notification that the kid had been hit at almost ten o'clock at night just as Tony pulled up a holographic display, flipping through suit upgrade ideas using nanotechnology.

"Boss, Peter appears to be in distress."

Tony blinked, tilting his head up towards the ceiling and quirked an eyebrow with a slight smirk. "What's wrong? Did someone steal his churros?"

His AI paused before answering. "The suit appears to have two breaches in it, I got an alert that Peter's vitals are declining at an alarming rate."

"Breaches?" Tony shot up from his seat on the chair, ignoring the way it clattered behind him when it fell over. "How many?"

"Two are situated by the lower abdomen and there appears to be a fracture by his left shoulder." That's all Tony needed to hear for him to spin on his heels and sprint towards where he knew Friday would have his suit ready.

"Get his vitals up and show me his location now." The suit barely finished folding around Tony before he shot off, just missing the balcony railings.

Immediately, Peter's vitals showed up on his helmet’s display of kid's suit, everything else forgotten. His stats were dropping…the kid's blood pressure, oxygen levels…all dropping. And he was still upstate. Hundreds of miles away.

"Shit, go faster!" Tony knew he was probably at max but he needed to get to the kid and was probably breaking several sound barriers in the process but he didn't care. "Use the boosters — now!"

"Boss-"

"Just do it!" He knew Friday was going to protest against it but he couldn't afford to be slow. He needed to get to the kid yesterday already.

Tony should've learnt from the Vulture that holding the kid at arm's length wasn't going to work, that he shouldn't have left Peter in New York. That he shouldn't have sold the Tower because he was too far away if something went wrong.

Just like today.

He could start to see the city's lights shining almost like a beacon in the distance. It seemed so close and yet it was like an eternity away. Crap. He wasn't going to get there in time.

"Give me more juice, Fri!" This time, his Al didn't protest, probably knowing better than to question him again. He could feel his boots starting to shake under his feet and Tony shot above the city's skyline like a missile on a mission.

“The suit is approximately 100 meters to your left.”

He banked hard, his suit barely scrapping against one of the buildings and he could feel the G forces pressing down on him but he didn't care. His only concern was Peter.

He distantly heard Friday say something but it died with the roar in his ears when his eyes attached to a speck of blue and red under the lowlights in an alleyway.

His breath left him all at once.

"Friday, stop right there!" Tony barely stopped to look around him, where he was as he angled himself for a landing.

The pavement cracked as the suit slammed down on the ground and Tony tore himself out of it, scrambling for the kid that was laying next to the dumpster. "Peter!"

“M’ St’k?” Tony watched as the kid's head fell lazily to the side while his mask was rolled just above the nose and blood trickled out from the side of his mouth.

“Y-yeah kid, I'm here." Tony's lips trembling as he tried to smile and pressed his shaking hands down against the worst of where the bleeding was situated. "You're going to be okay, Underoos.”

Tony didn't know if he was trying to reassure himself or the kid at this point…

"Boss, I did a scan." Friday's voice cut through the haze panic coating his vision. "His advanced healing is kicking in but there is still metal shrapnel embedded inside."

He could just hear the hesitance in his Al's voice. "We won't make it back to the Compound before it fully heals. You're going to need to remove it here."

"What?" Tony hated how shrill his voice sounded in that moment and winced when Peter let out another pathetic small whimper at his sharp voice.

Tony's attention immediately snapped back to Peter and he gently patted his cheek in hopes to keep him lucid. "Hey, hey, easy kid. Stay with me."

"F'el t'r'd." The kid's voice was slurry and Tony's heart rate about doubled.

"Nope. Keep your eyes open." He ordered, slipping the kid's mask off and was briefly surprised at how level his voice sounded, even with his insides feeling as if they were cracking, tumbling, like a massive dam wall breaking with nothing to stop it. "No sleeping for Spider-babies yet. Naptime is cancelled."

The kid only gave him a gurgled whine and looked at him with those big owlish eyes, which were clouded over with barely anything behind them.

Shit, why didn't he at least make an effort with the kid after the whole Vulture fiasco? Why didn't he learn?

"Boss…" Tony sucked in a sharp breath at Friday's voice, he knew what he had to do. Even if it was in the middle of a dirty alley, and all he had was probably the suit's medkit.

"Alright, kid, start talking." Tony stood up and lifted his hands that were dripping blood but he ignored them because he knew if he looked at them he'd spiral.

He stepped back to the suit and opening one of its compartments, pulling out an emergency first aid kit that Pepper had made him install at one point. He silently thanked whatever deity up there for small miracles that he had such a stubborn wife.

"Stay awake. List off all the numbers of π, I don't care but keep babbling because I'm going to go digging for gold." Tony snapped a pair of gloves before rubbing alcohol on his hands.

"G'ld?" Tony would've laughed at the kid's sleepy reply if he wasn't terrified out of his mind. "Yeah, gold buddy."

"C'n I h'lp?" Tony snorted as he knelt next to the kid, laying the first aid box not too far away. "Sure, name the densest element."

"B'ri'm."

Despite everything, although Peter was bleeding out in front of him, Tony chuckled. "That's it, Underoos."

He picked up the tweezers, and a scalpel, almost afraid when he turned his attention back to Peter. Why did it have to be in an alley? Why did he have to dig bullets out of the kid's guts in one of the least sanitary places in New York? Where the wound could easily get infected?

Tony drew a deep breath, steeling himself for the job before grimacing. "Sorry kid, this is gonna hurt."

"H'rt?" Peter mumbled, voice sounding as if he was speaking through a sock and looked up at him. Tony could see a tiny bit of awareness creeping back into his eyes "Wh't h'rt?"

"Don't worry about it." Tony squeezed the kid's shoulder, even if Peter probably couldn't feel it. "Tell me more about your friend, Ted right?"

"N'd," Peter grumbled, barely conscious at this point but Tony didn't pay attention to that.

He already started to cut the suit open where the two bullets entered with the scalpel listening as Peter started talking, words slurring together and making no sense. The fabric was harder than he thought, the scalpel barely making a dent in the material.

With a couple of hard jerks, he managed to rip the suit making a big enough tear for him to see the two bleeding holes that were smaller than they should be for bullet wounds.

Friday wasn't kidding about the kid's enhanced healing. Tony heard Peter take a sharp breath as he started cutting into his flesh but ignored it, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Tony pushed all other thoughts back, trying to hold back from hyperventilating. Trying to not think of the fact he was digging bullets out of his kid's stomach at almost midnight in a dark alleyway.

"Mis'er S'ark?"

"Stay with me, kid." Tony snapped, taking the tweezers when he heard Peter's voice falter but didn't dare look up, for both their sakes. "Keep talking."

He only got a garbled response because the kid practically speaking gibberish at this point. Peter made another strained little whimpering noise just as he grabbed hold of one of the bullets.

Tony gagged before moaning, "Oh, no…"

He could handle blood, guts, manure, even infected, puss riddled wounds but digging into Peter's abdomen made his stomach churn in the most unpleasant way and he gave a cough as he forced himself to get it together, dammit.

This kid needed him. He already failed him twice. He wasn't adding a third to the list. Hell no.

That wasn't going to happen over his dead body.

"It hurts, I—I think I—I’m gonna get s'ck.” Tony felt himself go cold, but quickly shook himself and there was a plink as he dropped one of the bullets next to him. "Don't blow chunks just yet kid, almost done. Keep those baby brown's open for me or I'll call May."

He got another whine for that and Tony smirked a little as he continued digging for the last one. "Hey, I got an idea. How about we make the internship real? After this?"

"R'al?"

"Yeah." Tony nodded, ignoring the way Peter's organs squished between his fingers as he dug deeper. "Come to the Compound, make it a proper thing with being mentor and mentee. I'm sure Pepper would love to meet you."

"R'ally?" Even in his current state, Peter sounded so genuinely surprised and so hopeful, it made Tony's heart twist.

"Yeah, we can work together in the lab and everything." Tony grabbed on the edge of the last bullet. "What do you say?"

Whatever Peter's reply was going to be was cut off by his guttural and raw scream when Tony pulled the last bullet out.

Tony could only stare in horror as the kid went completely slack as if strings on a puppet had been cut, and for a horrifying second, he thought Peter wasn't breathing.

"You did it boss."

"Huh?" Tony blinked, looking back at his suit, not sure he heard Friday right.

"Peter's healing is kicking in again." His ever-patient Al responded. "He should be fine now, you can leave him to rest. I don't recommend moving him until the wound is completely healed before we can go back to the Compound."

"Okay, okay. That's good." Tony sat back on his haunches, running a stressed hand through his hair before staring at Peter's unconscious form.

That was it. No more brushing the kid off to Happy. He was going to pull his socks up and take a proper roll into mentoring. Actually being there for the kid.

The first thing that Tony was going to teach Peter was self-preservation.

[chuckbass-love]

Imma just put this out here. Imagine Steve Rogers and y/n making out a in Her bed in her apartment a few hours before his next mission. Their just snuggled together whilst Steve grinding into her and just having a amazing time making out and grinding on each other. But when Steve goes to fuck her he’s looking for a condom and he can’t find one. When he finds the box there’s actually no condoms left cause neither of them went to buy any lately. And y/n won’t let him go inside her without a condom so they can’t exactly have sex. So Steve finds over ways to satisfy them both 😉

This is going to be short ish but sweet but i hope you still love it...

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad and Ao3 accounts without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warning: Fluff & soft smut. Language, Oral (f and m receiving), fingering (vaginal and anal), hand job, overstimulation well kinda and last but not least, daddy kink. 18+

Word Count: 2,264

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @softietom go check them out 💙

Make You Feel Good

You nuzzle your head into the crook of Steve’s neck as his arm drapes around your body, pulling you in closer, if that’s even possible. You’re at the point where you can’t tell where he ends and you begin. 

Both of your legs tangled in each others, you’re naked and he’s just in his boxers. You’ve done nothing all weekend except fuck and make out. Obsessed isn’t the word for how you feel about him. He’s everything you’ve waited 25 years for. 

Being younger than him isn’t an issue though. People were skeptical at first, he’s older than old. Should be dead by now but since he was stuck in the ice for all those years, he didn’t age. But since they saw how happy the two of you make each other, they stayed out of it, letting you live how you want to.

His age rarely shows though. He’s more than capable of keeping up with you. If anything he has you gasping for air a lot of the time. Runs circles round you. 

His index finger lifts your head up so he can look right into your eyes.

“I have to go soon” he lowers his head to kiss you quickly but you pull him back in. Only breaking away to talk before claiming his lips again.

“Please stay” you beg, he never gets to stick around for long, there’s always something that requires his full undivided attention.

“I can’t princess. I’ll be back tomorrow though and besides, i have a little bit of time before i need to go”

You know exactly what he means by that so you beat him to it. Getting on top and straddling him. The kissing continues as his hands rest on the round globes of your ass. His favourite feature on your body. An ass man all the way. 

He relishes in the way it bounces each time he slaps it or whenever he’s fucking you from behind and his skin collides with yours. It’s the most mesmerising view.

His tongue slips into your mouth, exploring yours like it’s the first time. Winning the battle for dominance but let’s be honest here. When is Steve not in charge? You allow him to be simply because he’s so good at it and you love being owned by him.

Whenever he’s around, you’re stuck in this bubble where all you see, feel and taste is him. He makes you’re whole body turn to jelly, your pussy wet and your vision blurry. Everything about him has you walking around like you’re floating in the air. 

“God i’m so hard for you” his whisper like moans escaping as soon as you grind your naked and soaked core along his crotch, from the tip of his cock to just where his balls are most likely sitting. 

His nails dig in further and as soon as you wince he releases his grip “shit, did that hurt? I’m sorry baby, you just drive me crazy” 

You place your index finger over his mouth “shush, it’s fine. I liked it” 

Even during intimate moments, he remains a gentleman. Sure he can talk dirty and fuck you like a whore but he always makes sure you’re having a good time, that he’s not being too hard on you.

Typical Steve Rogers move.

Once you can feel yourself making a mess of him, you decide it’s time. You sit up slightly, making room for him to release himself out of the confines of his boxers.

“I need you so badly” you kiss him, not wanting to wait any longer, you speed up the process by practically yanking his boxers down.

“So desperate huh princess?”

You bite your lip “can you blame me? I need to make the most of having you here”

He agrees as he watches you wrap your hand around his shaft, pumping him a couple times before shimmying down so your mouth is level with him. He knows exactly what you’re about to do and he can’t wait to feel the warmth of your mouth around his cock.

“Mhmm, such a tease baby” he chuckles, breath hitching as you lick from his balls to his red tip.

One hand tugs on them the other pumps him as he gradually hits home, reaching the back of your throat. As he does, you gag, still not used to how big he is compared to other guys you’ve been with. He’s always loved the sound of you struggling.

“Is my cock too much for my princess?” he taunts

“No daddy” your words muffled by his cock, the sound vibrates onto his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.

You continue to work at him, now using both hands to twist around him gently, your saliva lubing him up beautifully. So much so that some even drips from the corners of your mouth. You’re making a real mess of yourself now.

“Fuck, gonna have me cumming in no time” 

“Cum for me daddy” 

As your hand pumps him, you sink down further, taking his balls in your mouth and sucking, bringing him even closer to his peak. The way his mouth is hanging open in the perfect O shape, his eyes closing gradually but keeping them open just a little, so he can see you making him feel good.

“I’m gonna c-cum” he stutters, groaning, his eyes shoot back open, he sits up slightly and you feel him twitch. You wrap your mouth around his tip, licking the slit before deep throating him, sending his world spinning. 

“Oh god” his hands grip the sheets into a fist, he spasms once more and before you know it his hot seed is spurting into your mouth, filling you up. Not in the way you imagined but you know he can go again.

You sit back on your heels, looking him dead in the eyes as you swallow everything he gave to you, just the way he likes. And he can’t get enough of it. “Come sit on my cock baby, wanna feel that pussy wrapped around me just like your mouth was” he leans to the side, opening the drawer on the bedside table “wait. Where are the condoms?” he asks. 

You shrug “they should be there” you respond, kissing on his neck, keeping things interesting. Even biting and sucking a little. Making sure to mark him. 

“God, baby. That feels so good” 

“They aren’t here” he moves things around, still not able to find them.

So you try.

Getting off the bed and checking all the drawers.

“There’s none here”

“Did we use them all?” he raises his brow.

You giggle “maybe we did, shit. What are we gonna do now?”

It wasn’t intentional. You had purchased a pack of 24. A pack you were sure were going to last you. But with you and Steve being the way you are, they didn’t last. 

Clearly you’re sex addicts. Who can blame you both? He’s hot and obsessed with you so you can never hold back. Morning sex, mid day sex, evening sex. Early hours of the morning too. Just name it, you’ve both done it.

He can’t stop himself and quite frankly neither can you but you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“We don’t have a lot of time before you need to go”

“That’s fine” he starts “come here” he starts tapping his face as he lies down on the bed “let me help you out”

You’ve had your fair share of orgasms from this mans mouth. That same mouth of his can have you shaking and trembling. But you’ve never ridden his face before. He’s asked plenty of times, you’ve always turned him down.

Maybe this time is where you say yes?

“Please, let daddy make you feel good princess, it’ll be just like the other times just a different position” 

You cave, settling yourself on top of him, your core inches from his face until he pulls you down so that you’re practically smothering him. 

“Mhmm” he mumbles, sucking on your little bundle of nerves and giving you that first shoot of pleasure through your body, causing a moan to leave your mouth. The sound is like music to his ears.

“Like this baby?”

“Yes daddy” you whimper, watching as he sticks his tongue out, agreeing to let you ride his tongue. So you do. You get comfortable. holding onto the headboard for support as you glide yourself over him, the feel of his flattened tongue is driving you crazy and you’ve gone from soaking to practically dripping in seconds. 

“Fuck, daddy” you cry, needing more, craving more.

“What is it princess?”

“It feels so good”

“You gonna cum baby? Cum all over daddy’s face and make a mess” 

“Yes daddy” 

“So even when i go on that mission, i’ll still be able to taste you”

His words are like bullets, shooting through you and killing you off.

Your end is near and you need it desperately. 

“Right there, keep doing that, oh fuck”

“Give it to me, let that pretty pussy cum princess”

Suddenly, his finger glides into you from behind and seconds later, another one circles your puckered hold, pushing it’s way in. Being careful not to hurt you. But from the look on your face, he can see that you love it.

“Love having both holes played with huh? Such a dirty girl for daddy princess”

“More, please, i need more” you beg, pathetically. 

You’re desperate at this point. You’re so close to finishing that you can see those stars in the distance when you scrunch your eyes closed.

Your hands find purchase in his hair and you’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t realise your hips moving faster and faster. Using his tongue to get you to there.

“Such a dirty baby” he mutters as he takes a break for air, shoving his fingers in and out of both holes, his pace getting quicker by the second.

“Oh shit” 

“You close?”

“Yes. Make me fucking cum daddy”

“You got it baby” he winks, sucking on your clit once again.

The all too familiar feeling arrives, starting at your pussy and running through your body. Your clit pulsates in his mouth as your walls flutter around his finger with your asshole repeating the same action. He keeps them in, thrusting them into you to ride you through your intense high. 

“FUCK YES” you scream, quivering and trying to get off of his face, he doesn’t let you. His mouth continues to work wonders on your sensitive nub, flicking across your whole sex with greed. 

But let’s be honest here when is he not greedy for you? He can’t get enough of you and how sweet you taste. 

He pulls his fingers out and uses his hands to lift you arousal covered hole directly over his mouth. He needs it all, all that you have to offer.

“Steve. Omg” your body shakes and your legs clam down on his head, keeping him there.

He starts to slurp and suck, making ungodly sounds as he cleans you up.

Once he’s finished, he taps your thighs and you get off. Collapsing onto the bed instantly.

“Steve” you pant, earning a low and raspy chuckle from him.

“Yes?”

“What the fuck?”

“Are you okay princess?” the innocent act comes out.

“You didn’t stop, i’m ruined”

“It’s my job to ruin you like that baby” he gets up off the bed, strutting into the bathroom as you lay there, unable to do anything. So you just watch him, his bum jiggling as he goes.

“You need a bath princess?” 

You mumble your response. You hear the bath water running and before you know it, he’s scooping you up in his arms.

“Come on baby, i got you”

He sits on the edge of the bath with you in his arms, waiting for it to finish running before he helps you in. Bubbles galore.

“I have to go now though” he looks down at his hands, he hates leaving and it shows. But you know this is his job. Being with him involves watching him go. Just like how you worry every time he’s away. It’s all apart of being Captain America’s girl. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow though. I love you, you know that right?” he says as he starts changing once he uses a wash cloth to clean himself up, brushing his teeth and styling his hair too.

“I do and i love you too” 

He grabs a hold of his shield, attaching it to his back before he leans down to press a final kiss to your lips and letting it linger.

“Stay safe princess”

“I should be saying that to you Captain”

He smirks, blowing a final kiss as he shuts the door and you hear footsteps through the room and out the front door. You already can’t wait for him to return.

------------------

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[dutten-does-the-fanfic]

I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 5

Title:  I Want You Here With Me (Is It Too Much to Ask for Something Great) ch. 5 of 14 (ch. 1) Pairing: Isak Valtersen/Even Bech Næsheim Word count: 8450 Warnings: Language, mental illness, internalized homophobia

AO3

Summary:  The one where it’s been two years since Isak last saw or spoke with Even, and no one knows that Isak ever knew Even at all.

Present

Despite having attended classes with these same thirtyish people for two semesters, Isak never actually went through the effort of learning their names. He’d thought that was going to be a reason for anxiety when their tutor read out who was supposed to be working together, but turns out he was wrong about that.

Because the guy who looks too much like he just rolled out of bed and doesn’t give a flying fuck has paired him up with Sana. He is paired up with Sana. He is going to be doing experiments, group projects and study sessions with Sana.

Who, Isak is sure, is a lovely – or at the very least a good – person. She just so happens to scare the shit out of all of their classmates.

Isak will deny it till the day he dies, but the stereotype about boys who are getting a science major not being able to talk to girls like they’re actual human beings applies to about half of the guys in this room – not something Isak can relate to, but he has his own reasons for that. The rest of the people in here either find her completely unapproachable, don’t want to be on the receiving end of a backstabbing, gut punching comment Sana has become known for after a guy wouldn’t take no for an answer at some party, or they throw out xenophobic and religious discriminatory comments like nobody’s business.

Isak spent about 97% of his first year not caring about anything that didn’t end up with him being drunk out of his mind, so he’s never actually spoken to her. The only reason he knows her is because Eva, Jonas’ sort-of-half-the-time-more-so-a-fuck-buddy girlfriend, is friends with her, and by proxy Isak has heard about her.

She doesn’t seem as scary when he’s heard an account of how fiercely she’ll protect her friends and of the lengths she’ll go to to cheer one of them up. Then again, she is currently sending him death glares that makes Isak dig his toes into the ground.

“You probably already know each other,” the tutor says, makes himself comfortable behind the screen of his laptop, “but go on and sit with your partners, introduce yourselves, make nice, all that jazz.”

Isak sighs as he gathers his coat, laptop and backpack. Dammit, he’d gotten the best seat in the room as well, the first seat of the row right by the door so he could be in and out within seconds. But Sana isn’t moving by the looks of it, so Isak’s just going to have to bite the bullet.

“Hey,” he greets, trying to plaster on a smile even as Sana glowers at him. “I’m –“

“I know who you are,” she interrupts.

Isak has to bite his cheek to keep from giving a retort back of his own. It won’t amount to anything good, and despite how shit this year’s kick off has been, he’s determined that this is his year, and Ev- someone’s sudden appearance and Sana’s bad mood will not be deterring him from completing his goal.

“Alright, then,” Isak slumps onto his seat.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to make new friends. He has Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi and that’s more than fine, it’s pretty much more friends than he’s ever had before.

He looks up to see Sana glaring at him.

“What?” he snaps.

“You might be willing to slack off and practically waste away your life, but I’m here to get an education,” she bristles at him. Her eyes look darker with the heavy ring of eyeliner around them. “This is important to me and I will not be the only one doing all the work only for you to get credit as well, you got that?”

Isak’s mouth snaps shut after it had fallen open from the indignation of being spoken to like that.

It’s, he’s reluctant to admit fair enough that she believes this of him. His first year hadn’t exactly been productive, even if he had ended up passing he had spent way too long getting drunk and partying and trying to forget about everything. There hadn’t been room to focus on anything but, and that meant homework went unfinished if he even started on it, and he’s pretty sure he never actually spoke with his study group.

“I know I don’t have the best track record,” Isak hisses, magnanimously ignoring Sana’s amused huff, “but this is serious for me too. Okay?”

“’Okay’,” Sana imitates. It sounds more like a ‘prove it’ than an agreement.

Isak doesn’t call her out on it. So be it on her if she doesn’t believe him, or doesn’t want to believe him. Isak’s not going to let that hinder him from turning this year around.

They’re painfully silent and it’s only amplified by everyone else in class talking around them. It sounds a bit too cheerful and carefree for being about possible topics, but Isak isn’t bothered enough to start listening in on mindless chatter.

Still, he should probably say something to Sana. He’s going to be working with her for six months, and he isn’t going to let it bother him, but mutual animosity rarely rakes in the 6’s.

“So,” Isak clears his throat. Sana looks up at him, not in a glare, but not particularly friendly either. “Evolution and genetics. Is there… something in particular you like?”

Sana shrugs. Helpful, thy name is Sana.

“Depends,” she finally settles on when Isak is about to lose it – or he isn’t, because he isn’t bothered.

“On?”

Maybe he’s a little bit bothered.

“Well, we could always focus on evolutionary genetics,” Sana suggests. She opens up a blank document on her computer, “but I have a feeling most of the other groups are going to do that.”

Isak snorts. Understatement of the year. He might not know any of their names, but he can already tell just from looking that half of these people are just going to settle on a topic that’s a variation of the name of the class subject instead of examining all the other topics they have to review.

“Right,” Isak agrees. “So what’s left? We have genetic mutations, heritage, we could do something on evolutionary processes?”

“Maybe.” Another shrug. “I quite like topics like behavioral genetics, you know, the topics in that area.”

Isak’s heart skips a beat and bears his fingernail down on his the skin of his thumb to avoid just blurting out ‘No. No, no, no, absolutely not’.

He manages to utter a, “Cool,” instead, but it sounds too stiff and Sana picks up on it and raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him with a frown.

Isak winces. Fuck, so much for playing it cool.

“We don’t have to do that.”

“No, no, I know,” the tone feels foreign in his mouth. He’s not usually the one to placate somebody, that’s Jonas’ territory. “It’s a good idea. Write it down.”

Anything to get her to look away from him again. Behavioral genetics hits just a tiny bit too close to home, if Isak’s honest. Sure, he’s already done a ton of research on it in his spare time, even if it has been a couple of years by now, so they would have an advantage that wouldn’t go amiss.

Still, he isn’t sure if he can go through with it.

“We should consider some more evolution-heavy topics as well,” Isak suggest. He skims the table of contents in their main book. “Maybe something like patterns of human evolution or genetic databases. Those are quite alright as well.”

Sana nods as she dutifully types, but she doesn’t look enthused, so Isak tries to suggest something else closer to what she wanted to do.

“Maybe we could find some more within genetic heritage,”

“I’m hearing a lot of talking, yet not a whole lot about science!” A voice overpowers everyone in the room.

Isak’s and Sana’s heads snap to attention. Yeah, alright, they’ve only started brainstorming, surely he isn’t expecting them to have an outline ready just yet –

“I know it’s exciting to talk about whatever celebrity it is I can hear you talking about, but try to focus now!”

Wait – celebrity?

Please, let it be an actor, a singer, hell, a politician everyone is obsessed about and not –

“Honestly, it’s not like they don’t know Even Bech Næsheim is from Oslo,” Sana mutters as she turns back to her computer.

Oh, damn. This is not happening. This is not happening.

“You a fan then?” Isak’s tongue nearly trips over the words from how it feels like it’s glued to the roof of his mouth, but the garble of noises that comes out is at least intelligible enough that Sana answers.

With an infuriating shrug. “You’re not?”

No, Isak wants to bitterly snap, but he doesn’t.  Just shrugs back. “Don’t really care that much, to be honest. One of my roommates is crazy about him, though.”

That’s good, divert the attention away from himself. If only he could the topic away from Even at all.

He always feels like he’s being so goddamn obvious, like he’s practically screaming out ‘Even, Even, Even!’, always has felt like that no matter how hard he tried to make it stop. It’s stupid, because there’s no reason why anyone would even think about him and Even in any relation to each other, there’s no reason why he should be worried or suspicious, but every time his name mentioned, Isak’s mind goes off on a tangent of they know, they’ll find out, they’ll know.

“Oh, yeah – Magnus, right?”

Isak startles slightly, sliding down in his seat before he pushes against the edge of the table to stop it. God, that’s weird Sana knows that, but then again, Isak knew about Sana, so…

“Yeah,” he stutters. “Magnus.”

Sana doesn’t even look over at him, just writes down another topic and asks him what he thinks about that one.

OOOOO

It doesn’t get better the rest of the day.

Even during the lecture, people can’t seem to stop buzzing at the news. Every sentence either starts with ‘I was there’ or ‘my friend was there’ or ‘did you hear’ and Isak thinks all of it is not only overrated but entirely exaggerated because, sure, Even is famous, people love his movies and there aren’t a whole lot of people who haven’t at least heard of one of the titles, but still. He isn’t an actor, he’s a director, and Isak hasn’t really ever heard of any other director creating this sort of frantic commotion.

Just his luck, huh?

Yeah, alright, he gets it. Oslo isn’t LA, or New York, or, hell, even London. There aren’t a ton of celebrities just wandering around on the street, let alone showing up at a university party. It’s natural that some people would be talking about it. Not this amount, though.

Isak ends up slamming the door to the bathroom shut so harshly he can hear it echoing out in the hall, but he doesn’t stop moving until he’s locked up in a cubicle and has sat down on the closed toilet seat, ignoring the voice in his head talking about the amount of germs.

His skin feels too tight and he tries to alleviate the pressure by tugging harshly on chunks of his hair, grabbing onto one of the bigger curls to make it easier.

It doesn’t help. It just leaves him with a slight headache that was already too close to forming from stress and anxiety.

He turns on the sink too high. The water splatters onto the porcelain so forcefully it lands on his shirt. The cool water doesn’t even help, it just makes him too aware and he ends up dry heaving for a good ten minutes before he tries to take a sip of water and compose himself enough to go back to the world.

This wasn’t how he planned on his year starting out.

“What do you think he was doing there?” is the first thing he hears when he steps out of the bathroom.

Two girls are walking near the end of the hallway, but they’re talking loudly enough that he can still hear them.

“He used to go to UiO for film, didn’t he? Maybe he was just visiting some old friends.”

“Don’t think he was looking for a girlfriend, then?” the girl on the left playfully nudges her elbow into her friend’s side until she starts laughing and pushes her away.

“Pretty sure he already has a girlfriend.”

“Who, his PR or PA or management or whatever else she does? Sonja something?”

“Yeah, weren’t they –“

Isak runs to his right, away from the girl, and takes two steps up the staircase. If he doesn’t get away now, he’ll just have to go back into the bathroom until he really does throw up.

He can do this, he tries to convince himself even as he stumbles over the last step and nearly faceplants in front of a group of people. He ignores the snickering as he passes them and tries to focus on remembering the next auditorium he has to be in instead. He just has to focus on his coursework, on meticulously taking notes – more so than he already does, thank you very much – even when it’s boring or he’s already understood the subject.

He’s a good student, he knows that – has always been one apart from last year. Now he just needs to prove it to everyone else.

Isak sits through a lecture he doesn’t understand shit of. It doesn’t help that all the people around him are nodding and agreeing and acting like this is basic knowledge you should already know when applying for this program, and Isak is just sitting there, staring at the slides the professor runs through.

Everything being said goes in through one ear and out through the other, and Isak only manages to rile himself up even further at the thought of how many hours he’ll have to stay up tonight to read through the content until he understands it.

He tries to get out of the hall quickly, but he’s stuck behind a couple of stragglers blocking off his only exit, so he has to stand there awkwardly as they finish packing away their stuff. It’s just his luck that there’s a group two rows in front of him talking about Him, and then there are curious inquiries as to what is going on, what happened, who is it they’re talking about, and before Isak’s managed to get out of there, people are throwing around whatever bullshit they’ve heard.

Isak’s pushing his lips together in irritation to all the rumors as he bounds out of there, catching the tram right before it leaves. He’s winded and a bit sweaty, but the carriage is mostly empty, so he takes a seat the furthest away from the two teenage girls near the back.

He also shoves his ear buds in for good measure. The girls might be talking about some boy at their school right now, but before you know it, it’s all about the latest gossip and Isak can’t, he can’t handle hearing that stupid, goddamn name again today, he can’t.

Like that name hasn’t been floating around in his head for goddamn years, now it’s also being thrown at him from every single direction, and Isak feels like screaming. And crying. Isak feels like crying, can feel the lump in his throat grow so big he can’t breathe, can’t swallow his own spit, but much to his own surprise he doesn’t break down in tears. He doesn’t cry at all.

He feels so fucked up, so messed up and torn apart, like a tornado has gone through him, and it feels just as bad as when Even left in the first place, because back then he’d thought he’d gotten it right and he had finally started to think that again with his boys, that he could be someone’s friend and not fuck it all up, but he was wrong about Even and he’s apparently wrong about this as well, because he hasn’t gotten it right. Had he ever, or was this just something that had been waiting to happen?

He’s fucked up being a friend, has fucked things up with his boys, had nearly fucked up his entire first year of university, that’s two whole semesters worth of fucking up. The first one he’d spent most of simply black out drunk, and the next one he’d spent slightly more sober, but still unable to connect with anyone and not be a complete asshole. He hadn’t been able to focus on his classes at all, but had at least been able to spend his sleepless nights studying instead.

Jonas had tried so hard during their breakfast to pretend everything was normal, and Magnus and Mahdi had tried as well, but Mahdi had been more careful with his words than he has been since Isak first met him, and Magnus had constantly switched between not being able to stop staring at Isak like he’s never met him before and not being able to look at Isak at all.

It’s awkward and Isak feels awful about it even as he knows he shouldn’t. Or, partly, because part of it is his fault; he wouldn’t have worried them that badly if he hadn’t run off like that and stayed away for so long. He wouldn’t have been in this mess if he’d only –

Isak stops that thought by getting off the tram so quickly he nearly falls over when he trips over his feet going down the stairs.

The thing is, even though Isak hasn’t told them about – not even about Even, about himself – he considers those three guys his best friends. He doesn’t think he’s ever had friends as close as those three, not counting Eskild and Even, because Eskild had always been a bit of the older ‘guru’ despite only being four years older than him, and Even, well Even was just in an entirely different league of his own, so he shouldn’t, doesn’t, count either.

Isak hates how much he’s still like that fifteen, then sixteen, then seventeen, then eighteen, then nineteen year old who didn’t want to tell anyone that he doesn’t like girls. Sometimes it feels like he’s supposed to have had some type of character growth that the movies always make out to be so important, but he’s just been stuck for five years in the same mindset, with the same fears and worries, and he still doesn’t want to tell anyone.

There’s a small voice in the back of his head whispering to him how good it is that he hasn’t come out, because if he had, wouldn’t the boys have come to the conclusion that the reason Even knows him was because he ‘knows’ him? Isak tries to convince himself that he doesn’t hear that voice, even as it’s the only thing filling his head.

It’s not something he’s deliberately keeping away from them and only them, it’s everyone Isak doesn’t want to know that personal fact about him, and that’s fine. He’s allowed to not want to share everything, even if this is a bit bigger than taking the last bit of milk and forgetting to buy a new carton.

They had all moved in together because they wanted to move in together, the four of them, ‘Just how it should be,’ Magnus had crowed into their ears as he’d folded his arms over their shoulders and drawn them into a hug that smelled too much of beer and sweat to be as pleasant as it was in Isak’s memory.

But ‘just how it should be’ most certainly isn’t this. It isn’t Jonas biting his lips before saying something, it isn’t Magnus acting oddly around Isak, and it isn’t Mahdi being so goddamn reserved. It’s putting Isak on edge, more than he already is, which at this point is quite a lot, actually, and he shouldn’t be walking around feeling like this in his home.

He has tried so hard. He has been trying for so many years now, and for just a moment in time, he thought he had it. He had friends, he had a home, he had a home with his friends, and it had finally felt like life was turning around for him, and now he’s left with tension and more difficulties and Isak doesn’t know what to do.

There are pictures of them together scattered around the living room, originating back from when Eva had come around and scolded them and said this place needed to feel less like a pigsty and more like a home, that they were grown-ups and their house should ‘reflect that’.

The most grown-up things they’d been able to think of buying were pictures and sofa cushions, so now their grey sofa has yellow and orange cushions, and there are pictures hung up on the walls and scattered around on whatever flat surfaces were left. They’d gone to IKEA and gotten the frames and then printed the pictures off of their Instagrams on the university’s printer.

There are the stupid pictures of them fooling around, then there are the sweet group pictures where they’re all smiling. There’s one of Isak studying in their kitchen, the sun behind him, there’s one of Jonas and Mahdi shouting at the camera and holding up bottles of beer, and there’s one with Magnus smiling dopily at an out-of-frame Vilde. Isak’s picture is the only one with no smiles to be seen. Isak tries desperately not to reflect on that.

Just like how he doesn’t reflect on how in each of their individual rooms the others have put up pictures of their families, their current friends, the friends they don’t see as often because of life. Jonas has pictures of him and Eva and Eva alone, and Isak has nothing. Not a single picture.

He doesn’t think about the shoebox, whose contents feel forbidden, that he has hidden away in the top back of his closet, on the only shelf there. It’s stuffed underneath a pile of clothes and behind stacks of books from his previous semesters that he’ll probably never use ever again. It’s the perfect hiding place, because even if the boys decide to brave the contents of his closet, there’s no way they’d even think of going up there.

Isak’s doing a lot of that lately, of carefully strategizing, of hiding, of faking, of pretending – all of which he hates and has berated whoever was close enough to hear after a few too many drinks about, and here he is, doing the same shit as always.

It feels like he’s always doing it, never stopping. He never gets a reprieve and he hates that he desperately wants to blame Even for it, but he can’t. First of all, it’s not fair – this particular case excluded, because Even showing up in Oslo after having been away for so long has certainly been the catalyst in Isak’s rapidly declining wellbeing, but other than that, it’s all Isak’s doing.

That just makes him feel worse. The fact that it’s himself who is causing all of this pain makes Isak feel dizzy, his stomach swooping uncomfortably.

Stepping in through his front door makes his stomach curl in on itself instead. For a moment, Isak seriously contemplates just not walking in, just walking back out onto the street and never coming back. Would it be easier? Would it be better?

It wouldn’t. He can already tell himself that, at least. It wouldn’t be better, even if things are so incredibly shitty right now, leaving would do no good for Isak.

So he steps inside. His keys rattle in the lock, but not so loudly that the guys hear him before the door slams shut behind and he yells out the customary “Hello?” they always do to check who is home.

Fifteen minutes. He’d gotten a fifteen minute break between leaving the university and arriving home, and now he’s right back to pretending that everything is alright, that there isn’t a giant fucking pink tutu-wearing elephant dancing around in the room that Isak put there.

Isak’s pretending when he tries to smile at the boys. He’s pretending when he’s listening to them talking about their day, about whatever parties are coming up, about the girls they want to get with. He’s pretending when he’s in school and he’s pretending when he’s at home and he’s pretending with the people he’s supposed to call his closest friends, the people he considers his closest friends, even if they might not consider the same about him.

He’s pretending that the boys aren’t all pretending as well when they skirt around topics, when even Magnus refrains from talking about movies or his coursework, because media studies and Even might be too closely related to each other for Isak not to freak out again.

He only stops pretending when he closes his bedroom door behind him quietly, but only so much that he isn’t putting on a fake smile for everyone, because in truth he never really stops pretending, even around himself. He pretends, because maybe if he keeps on doing it for long enough, it’ll be so engrained in him it’ll be the truth, the only truth.

He slumps down against his door, sliding all the way down until his bum hits the ground with a too loud bump. He puts his head in his hands.

He still can’t breathe.

 Past

Moving into the Kollektiv goes surprisingly seamlessly.

Isak can chalk it up to how everything leading up to it, how it’s been his dad leaving, the tirades of religious zeal, his mom being sick enough to being moved into a facility care, the constant worries and self-destructive behaviors Isak has picked up on over time, has been so much more difficult than anything Isak has ever experienced before, that the process of moving that everyone usually complains about just doesn’t really compare.

A lot of it is also because of Even – lovely, lovely Even who is spread out on his bed, laptop open on his stomach as he’s typing away. Isak doesn’t know whether it’s homework or ideas or an actual script, but they’re nearing midterms and Even is a senior, so Isak hopes it’s homework he’s working on.

Isak doubts it, but there’s a first for everything.

He can’t tell if it is schoolwork or not Even’s working on. They don’t attend the same high school and they don’t follow the same study line. Even goes to Bakka while Isak goes to Nissen, because he for sure won’t be going to any of those pretentious-ass schools – he’s not an obnoxious hipster and he isn’t rolling in wealth. Still, he’s looked over Even’s shoulder enough that at this point, he probably knows enough to be able to do Even’s program at Bakka, but beyond Even, Isak’s not interested in movies or media in the slightest, so Nissen will have to do.

It also helps that Elias and his crew of tormentors don’t go there, so it not only physically but also mentally felt like a new beginning, a fresh start.

Isak chances a look at Even’s screen, but Even’s flying through documents and tabs and browsers and videos faster than Isak manages to grasp. Honestly, Even can’t possibly be taking any of it in, either. Then he’s back to a document, typing away for a second before he repeats the process.

It’s… quite a bit more than what Even usually is, but Isak has only been living in the Kollektiv for nearly a week now, everything is still new and a bit exciting, so it’s understandable why Even is more wired than Isak has previously seen. It’s not like it’s a lot, just more in some way.

Plus, there’s also the extra added factor of nervousness at Eskild catching Even in his room. They already have a cover in case it happens – friends from school – but that excuse doesn’t really work if Eskild catches them during the night and asks why they’re cuddled up to each other half-naked.

Not exactly what ‘just friends’ do.

“What are you working on?” Isak asks as he turns off the lamp at his desk. His Norwegian essay can wait until tomorrow.

The joints in his back pop when he stretches back to look at Even, who is already watching him, smiling coyly as he lets his eyes linger over the length of his torso, his arms. Isak flushes, which only makes Even’s grin widen, but he lets it lie and looks back at his computer instead.

“Hmm?” Isak tries again when Even still hasn’t answered.

Isak’s twisted around on his desk chair – or, Noora’s desk chair. It still feels weird that he’s essentially using someone else’s furniture, someone else’s belongings, but Noora hadn’t been able to bring anything with her to Spain, and it’s not like Isak had a lot of his own that he wanted to bring instead – so he can look at Even, his arms resting over the back on the dark blue padding.

“Is it a secret?”

Even’s smile takes over his face, like that in itself is a much better story than whatever he’s working on. Isak can see the thoughts flying around in his head as his mind comes up with endless possibilities, but Isak isn’t really interested in all of those for a change.

It’s causality; Even smiles so Isak smiles, no question of correlation here. It makes something in Isak’s stomach twirl happily as he rests his cheek on his folded up arms.

Even hums noncommittally. “The most secret of secrets.”

The sun is hanging low on the sky, just barely shining in through Isak’s windows. It makes the white walls look golden with white patches in the shape of the window frame. Gold and red leaves frame the glass and all of it is positioned just so perfectly that the sun shines directly on Even while his face is blocked off. It makes his hair a lot more golden than it really is and Isak thinks he looks ethereal.

“So not your homework, then,” Isak teases and hides his smile in his arms when Even leans his head back up against the wall and groans dramatically.

“What are you, my mother?” Even groans.

No, Isak thinks to himself as he gets up off of his chair. I’m your boyfriend.

It’s not as difficult to say in his mind anymore, but actually saying the words out loud? Yeah, that’s not going to happen, no thank you.

It’s like Even hears him anyway, because his eyes go soft and he gets that look on his face Isak always endlessly teases him about, even if it means Even gets to tease him right back for the similar look Isak gets whenever he sees Even.

Isak vehemently denies he looks at Even with anything that could be described as ‘fondness’. He is a rock, a cold, hard rock – none of that mushy stuff for him.

Isak pads across the distance between the desk and the bed on socked feet until he can knee his way up the mattress, up over Even’s body. Even accommodates him by pushing the laptop off of his stomach and onto the bed. His breath leaves his body in a harsh ‘umph’ when Isak drops his torso onto Even’s legs so his face is pressed into Even’s stomach.

“You comfy?” Even wheezes, but Isak can feel him breathing so he knows it’s pretend.

Isak hums and nuzzles his face into Even’s stomach, following the flat planes and the dip of his bellybutton. Even’s hand reaches into his hair, twirls around a few strands to tug. It makes Isak’s toes curl and he looks up to smile shyly at Even.

Who looks at Isak like he’s pretty sure he’s actually a mirage. And then reaches over and starts typing something onto his computer.

“Sudden inspiration?” Isak teases. He presses a kiss on Even’s stomach through his t-shirt. The click-clacks of the keyboard pause for a second before Even continues.

It’s been less than five hours since Even had poured out a soliloquy about why he was showing up right now, because Isak seemed to be his muse and it was of utmost importance he was around him to work properly. He’d promised Isak he would dedicate odes to his entire being, to which Isak had reminded him he wrote manuscripts, he wasn’t a poet. Even had tutted at him and talked about artists and working in different art forms, and Isak had silenced him by kissing him until Even started talking about what he’d come over to do.

Honestly, it was more down to luck than knowledge that Even had showed up exactly when he did. Usually, they work off of precise time schedules that calculate when Eskild will be either a) busy – doing what, Isak does not care nor does he particularly want to know – or b) out of the building entirely and Linn is a) out or b) asleep so that Isak can get Even in and out without either of them noticing Isak has someone over to visit.

“Absolutely,” Even agrees, typing some more. “So if you could just stay there and be absolutely adorable, that’d be a real help, dear.”

Isak’s nose scrunches up in disdain. “’Adorable’,” he huffs, sinks his teeth into Even’s shirt just hard enough Even will be able to feel the scrape on his skin. “Piss off. I’m not adorable in the slightest.”

Even’s hum tries to be placating, but Isak isn’t fooled into believing him for even a second, so he presses another bite further up on Even’s ribs.

“Hey,” Even shudders, reaches out to grab onto Isak’s hair again. He tugs once a bit harshly, but he doesn’t direct Isak’s head away from his torso. “Menace.” And then he launches into a ramble about plot points and key elements and Isak doesn’t actually know which story he’s working on, so it all flies over his head.

Even’s also talking so quickly it’s difficult to keep up with, even if Isak had known the thoughts and theories behind it.

Isak grins as he rolls off of Even to land heavily on the free bit of mattress along Even’s side. It’s cool to the touch and it feels nice again his cheek, but it’s quite like the same temperature as the rest of the room in general. Isak should really get to asking Eskild about the heating situation before it’s dire or he’s already gotten ill for the first time this season.

Still, it feels nicer when Even curls his arm around Isak’s shoulder and pulls him in close until he’s more so lying on Even than on the bed.

It’s so easy to let his body relax completely, something Isak rarely lets himself do. It’s so easy to just close his eyes and breathe, because Even is warm underneath him and is happily rambling at him and it just feels so easy.

It’s definitely easy enough that he’s about to fall asleep.

Even must be able to feel it, some type of extra heaviness on his chest from Isak, can probably feel his breathing evening out to these deep in- and exhalations.

He doesn’t let him, though. Instead, Even sits up, forcing Isak to sit up along with him, and he doesn’t stop no matter how much Isak groans and tries to shuffle his nose into the crook of Even’s neck, right against his collarbone. Even just presses a kiss to his forehead and starts tugging at Isak’s sweatshirt, helping him get his arms in order so he can pull it off of him.

With enough persuasion, Even gets Isak to stumble onto his feet and go to the bathroom and brush his teeth for the night. The tiles in the shower are still wet, so either Eskild just left or Linn is home and probably asleep by now. Either way, they’re not going to be disturbed.

When he gets back to his room, Even is still lying on the bed, gazing out of the window like there’s something more important out there, something that should have his focus other than Isak, and Isak obviously can’t allow that, so he flops face-first sideways onto the bed. His stomach ends up over Even’s thighs, and he more so knocks out his own breath than amounts to have any impact on Even.

Even just laughs and scoots up the bed until he can pull his legs free and roll Isak over onto his back.

Isak’s limbs already feel sleep heavy, despite the brief pause to the bathroom that usually would’ve had his brain and body awake and ready to go again for at least two hours. He’s lethargic when Even pulls him up to sit so he can slide his t-shirt off of him in a similar manner as he’d done with the hoodie.

Next goes his jeans, once Isak has flopped back onto the bed, bouncing twice before he settles. Even presses a kiss to his bare stomach, right above the hem of Isak’s jeans. It feels nice, so Isak make sure to hum his appreciation as he scratches his nails along the nape of Even’s neck.

The bed is still warm underneath him from where they’d just been lying and where Even has been for the past couple of hours. That makes it so much easier to just sink into it, even as Even starts tutting at him to cooperate.

Isak doesn’t do much more than lie there, but Even still manages to work his jeans down his legs and discard them. The button clangs slightly against the floor, but Isak only just hears it over Even getting him to shuffle up to the pillows and under the covers.

“Go to sleep, baby,” Even cards his hand through Isak’s hair. It feels nice and Isak is quite fond of this bubble that’s seemingly formed around the two of them where they’re safely tucked away in his room.

“Lay down next to me, then,” Isak counters.

Even rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling and complies with Isak’s wishes without a single protest.

Isak falls asleep to the feeling of Even getting up again.

There are times where Isak wants to shout out that he likes Even, that Even likes him back, that Even is his boyfriend, and just as quickly as the impulse comes, it dissipates and Isak is left with the urge to huddle up in his room with Even behind closed doors.

He doesn’t know if that makes him a coward or if it makes him smart. There’s no one around for him to ask, no one to get a second opinion from, and that’s fine, really, it is. For every second that Isak gets the urge to just say it, he has hours and days where he’s so inexplicably relieved that no one knows yet he still gets to go home and be with Even.

It’s a system that works for them. It’s no one’s business but their own, anyway.

Isak falls in and out of consciousness for the couple of hours the night lasts. He wakes up whenever Even starts moving around, going from the bed to the floor to the desk, whenever Even gets so excited about whatever his mind has managed to conjure up that he can’t keep the laughter in or he just has to say that line out loud.

When he wakes up for longer than just a few seconds, the sun has started to peek in, and Isak can feel that it is way too early to be up, even if it wasn’t the weekend.

Isak stretches lazily as he turns over on his side so he can look over at Even who is sitting by the desk, laptop open and fingers flying over the keys. There’s nothing that tells him Even knows he’s awake.

“Even,” Isak whines, pushes his bottom lip out a bit in a pout to exaggerate but also entice. “Come and lie with me.”

Even twists around on the desk chair and Isak can see it forming on his lips, the rejection, the explanation that he just has to finish this next bit, Isak, and Isak’s already bracing himself for it.

But then, when Even really looks at him, it’s like something in his eyes softens and he kind of slumps a bit in his seat. Exhaustion is probably catching up to him, Isak thinks, and he stretches backwards to scoot his body further back, leaving a warm spot on the bed open for Even to curl up next to him in.

“Alright,” Even agrees – he’s rolling his eyes at Isak’s theatrics when Isak can’t help but grin widely at having gotten his way, but Isak has gotten his way, so he doesn’t feel the need to call him out on it. “I’ll lie with you until you fall asleep.”

Isak’s pout returns. He knows Even hasn’t slept the entire night, but there is something about him, some restless energy buzzing around in him that just won’t settle.

Even raises his arm so Isak can curl in close up against him, his own left arm curls around Even’s chest as his head comes to rest on Even’s shoulder. Isak’s still sleep warm and Even’s slightly cooler temperature feels nice against him, like a fresh change that makes his eyelids fall heavy as it becomes a struggle to keep his eyes open.

“Noooo,” Isak sighs, nuzzles his face against the hard line of Even’s shoulder. “Tell me about what you’re writing.”

Isak doesn’t have to be looking at Even to know how he looks right now; that fond look that simultaneously makes Isak both want to curl up in bed with him and look around nervously to see if anyone’s paying attention to them. Still, it makes him feel warm and safe and Isak might, might, be falling too hard too fast.

“I’m not telling you if you’re going to fall asleep halfway through,” Even pushes gently at Isak’s body, making him rock back and forth a couple times before he settles again.

“I won’t,” Isak protests, but he knows he will. He’s already struggling to stay awake, and having Even’s voice almost narrating what’s going on in his head will set him off even quicker.

“You will,” Even tells him matter of factly, but he still launches into the story he’s working on.

Isak stays awake halfway through. He gets out a murmur of, “You still owe me a beach story,” before he’s out like a light.

He wakes up again in the middle of the day. Even’s still being a busy bee, but now it’s from beside Isak on the bed and he’s scribbling something on a notepad so he wouldn’t have to move to get the laptop still perched open, screen dark from inactivity or maybe lack of battery, on the desk.

It’s so late that Isak can hear both Eskild and Linn bumbling around in the flat, and it makes his heart pick up a beat too fast. Even notices he’s awake.

“Yeah,” Even says in lieu of a good morning. He does bend down to press a kiss to the top of Isak’s head. “Didn’t want to wake you up before them. You’re too beautiful when you sleep.”

It’s risky doing this – any of it, really, but not getting up before Eskild and Linn are stumbling around the flat is almost like asking to be caught. Isak knows this, Even knows this, and Isak can feel his stomach starting to twist up in anxiety already. Any thoughts he’d had yesterday about his room being a bubble for just the two of them has popped at the prospect of other people’s proximity to them.

Isak doesn’t tell him it’s fine, because he isn’t sure if it is. It’s Sunday, probably around midday judging by the light, and Isak knows Even has plans with his parents this afternoon. Plus, it’s not like they’re able to just hide Even away in Isak’s room for an entire day, as nice as the thought is.

Isak does tilt his head back until Even appeasingly bends down to press a lazy kiss to his lips.

As uncomfortable that Isak is that Even has stayed, he’s also incredibly pleased that he got to wake up to this.

Even presses another kiss to his forehead and then turns back to whatever he was doodling on the pad of paper. When Isak turns to look at it he can see it’s some type of storyboard, but it’s too doodle-y for him to see what the story is actually about. It could be aliens, it could be penguins, Isak can’t tell.

He can the leftover strips of ripped papers see by the edge of the pad, revealing just how large an amount of papers that have hastily been torn out while Isak was sleeping.

Glancing over his room, it’s quite easy to see that Even hasn’t been sleeping next to him this entire time.

It looks a little bit like a very small hurricane has swept through while Isak was asleep. There are scrunched up paper balls littered all over the ground, discarded ideas of Even’s, but some of them look like they’ve deliberately been placed there, with Isak’s school books set up like walls of a mini-set, and every single blue article of clothing Isak owns strewn out on the middle of the floor in something that could vaguely resemble waves.

Isak doesn’t really know what to do with any of this.

“Did you get some sleep?” Isak asks even as he’s 100% certain of the answer being negative.

Even doesn’t even give him a proper answer. He grins like he’s just let Isak in on a funny secret and kisses him until he has to go.

The next ten minutes pass with Even humming theme music for spy movies under his breath, grinning whenever Isak hisses for him to stay quiet as he goes into the hallway to figure out where Eskild and Linn are in the guise of going to the bathroom.

They’re both in the kitchen which means Isak hasn’t got a chance of sneaking Even out of the front door or the backdoor. Shit.

“Alright,” Isak whispers when he ducks back into his room. His hear is pounding and he tries to convince himself it’s just from Even and nothing else in order to calm down. “I’ll have to go keep their attention on me. Then you can sneak out the front door.”

“Proper Romeo and Juliet, don’t you think?” Even kisses Isak again before Isak can protest that now may not be the time to do anything but focus on getting out without bringing attention onto themselves.

Still, it works and Isak feels his body slump down a bit in relief of being so near Even. They can do this, they have to.

Isak sneaks out into the hallway, but he has to pause before he enters the kitchen to suck in a deep breath. He can do this.

“Hey.”

Eskild jumps from where he’d had his back to Isak, one hand flying out to clutch the kitchen counter, the other to grab onto his chest over his heart like the dramatic ass he is.

“Jesus,” Eskild whines. “You’re going to end up giving me a heart attack! Make some noise when you enter a room, why don’t you?”

Isak snorts and doesn’t apologize as he goes over to get a cup of water. His heart is pounding as he simultaneously tries to think of something to say and to listen out for if he can hear Even get out safely.

“Don’t need to when you make enough noise for two,” Isak teases, chugs the water and opens the fridge to see if they have any juice as well. God, does this count as a tell that he’s hiding something? Drinking a lot?

Linn snorts, but she turns away from the sink to look over at Isak, finally facing away from the entrance to the kitchen. “Fucking hypocrite, you are. What, have you been redecorating your room? You look a bit too well-rested to have spent all of it awake.”

Isak tilts his head to the side in confusion. What on earth is she talking about?

“Oh,” Isak breathes out. Shit, had Even been making so much noise? Not enough that Isak woke up from it, but enough that Linn would? “Shit, sorry.”

He should probably tell her to come knock on his door the next time it happens, so he won’t keep her up again – he probably would’ve had it only been him in his room. The problem is it’s not just Isak in his room.

Linn huffs loudly enough the sound of the front door closing isn’t audible.

Isak’s heart doesn’t stop pounding until he has finished grabbing a bite to eat with his housemates and has checked the entire apartment for Even, just in case.

OOOOO

Two days later, Even shows up at Isak’s front door.

It’s too early. Isak knows Even’s class only finished ten minutes ago and the tram doesn’t leave for another five minutes after that. He looks at him questioningly, but Even doesn’t say anything, even as he probably knows that Isak’s realized he has played hooky.

Even’s swaddled in a winter coat that looks too warm for the just chilly air outside, and he looks tired.

He still smiles sweetly at Isak and kisses him hello, but afterwards he falls into bed and sleeps for eleven hours straight, barely tossing and turning like usual. Four times, Isak curls in close to him for no other reason than to check he’s still breathing.

When he wakes up the next morning, Isak jokes that he must’ve been tired, teasing him that he shouldn’t spend so many nights awake just so he can write. Even gets a distant look in his eyes at that and his smile seems more like he’s putting on a mask.

Isak can’t help but feel like he’s missed something, a bigger part of the story, the clue that foreshadows the climax, exactly what Even always berates him about needing to be the most advanced and difficult thing to write, to perfect.

Isak bites his tongue, looks at Even sleeping in his bed and reminds himself that his life isn’t a movie and that he shouldn’t think of it as plot points that perfectly fits into the Narrative Arc.

Next part

[mearcatsreturns]

We Part Only to Meet Again, ch. 10

A problem springs up with Luka’s work visa and he is on the verge of having to leave the country. Abby can’t stand the thought of him leaving and offers a solution: a green card marriage. It might kill them both, but they're committed.

Mark's funeral brings sadness to our couple, as well as some old friends to churn up insecurities.

@somekindofflowergirl and I are back! This story is, as always, also on ao3 if that’s where you prefer to read. 

And a quick disclaimer:  We both like Carol, we really do. One of the things we love about ER, though, is that even the characters we love the most are very human, and thus allowed to have very human faults. Some of Carol's faults are on display here, but it doesn't mean we don't love her, so please keep that in mind as you read!

Ch. 10: Near Death at a Funeral

Abby leaned back into Luka, his hand at the small of her back grounding and comforting her. Mark’s funeral was...harder than she expected.

She and Mark hadn’t been close, but she hadn’t been lying—she looked up to him and saw a lot of the traits she wanted to have as a doctor.

And it was awful seeing how broken and devastated Dr. Corday was.

Corday was so strong and capable, one of the most gifted and empathetic surgeons Abby knew. Yet here she was, crippled by loss, held together only by the need to do so for her daughter and step-daughter.

Abby shivered, glad that Luka was a warm and solid presence at her back. Glancing up at him, she met his questioning eyes. She shrugged at him and turned back to face the funerary proceedings, trying to hold in a smile when she felt Luka kiss the top of her head.

Near the end of the funeral, she felt Luka stiffen next to her, but she couldn’t tell what he was looking at. (The perils of being short, she thought with a sigh.) Hopefully, everything was going smoothly as possible, for all their sakes.

Afterwards, they piled into cars and headed to the reception/wake. She noted with some relief that it wasn’t at a bar, though there would undoubtedly be plenty of alcohol flowing. Fortunately, she had Luka beside her to help keep her accountable. Reaching across the center console, she rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed lightly, hoping she could wordlessly convey the depth of her gratitude and affection.

He smiled at her and took her hand, twining their fingers together. “It was a good service.”

“It was. And Elizabeth seems...well, she seems okay, under the circumstances.”

“It’s hard. But it’s good she has Ella and even Rachel.” His reply was quiet, matter-of-fact, and her heart broke for him. He knew the pain Elizabeth was in, and his loss had been compounded by losing his children at the same time.

Pulling his hand to her lips, she pressed them to his knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. And I had my parents there for me. It seemed...I don’t know, I hardly remember the day of the funeral, but I’m glad they were there to see me through.”

“I am too, you know.”

Arriving at the restaurant, Luka helped Abby out of the car. She wrapped her arms around his waist in a quick hug before they headed in. “Ready?”

“If you are,” he said with a nod.

They walked in hand-in-hand. They had just made their way to the refreshment table when Abby heard a soft and familiar voice call out, “Luka!”

Carol. Carol Hathaway, Luka’s first crush at County, here in the flesh. It hadn’t escaped Abby’s notice that Luka hadn’t started showing interest in her until after Carol was gone. So now she stood, frozen in place as Luka lit up, beaming at his former maybe-flame.

He let go of her hand to go hug Carol, and she continued to stand there, rooted to the floor.

“I saw you at the funeral, but I’m glad we have a chance to say hello here,” Luka said. Ah, that explained his moment of distraction. “Are the girls with you, or…?”

“We left them with my mom, actually. And it’s too bad it had to be such a sad thing bringing us back out here, but I’d love for you to meet Doug. If you’re okay with that.”

Luka nodded, smiling at Carol before blindly reaching behind him. “Oh! And you were right, you know. About me finding someone. Ah, you already know her, but Abby Lockhart? She and I are married now.”

Abby peeked around from behind him, coming to stand beside him.

She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or insulted by the way Carol’s eyes widened in shock. It definitely veered more toward insult when Carol’s mouth tightened and she raised an eyebrow at Abby.

“Congratulations,” she said, falsely cheerful. “Oh, here comes Doug. Doug!” she called out to him. A smiling man of average height with salt-and-pepper hair made his way over to them.

Huh, so this was the (in)famous Doug Ross, former heartthrob and heartbreaker of County. Abby supposed he was good-looking, but she was unimpressed when she compared him to Luka. Still, she pasted a smile on her face.

Glancing up at Luka, she sighed internally when she saw the mildly contemptuous sneer hidden behind the polite mask. God, she hoped he wouldn’t be a complete idiot.

Carol softened as she looked at Doug and took his arm, and Abby let her guard down a fraction of an inch at the sight. “Doug, come meet my friend Luka and his wife, Abby.”

Oh, lovely. Being introduced as a friend’s spouse and not one in her own right, or even as the person who had delivered their children.

Doug shook Abby’s hand first. “Nice to meet you. Your name rings a bell—were you at County back in ‘98 and ‘99?”

“Nice to meet you too. And um, kind of? I took shifts up in OB as a nurse while I was in med school. That’s actually how I met Carol.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I actually helped deliver Tess and Kate—how are they, by the way?”

Paternal pride exuded from him at that. “They’re great. I can’t believe they’re going to be three this year.”

“That’s crazy,” Abby agreed. Turning to Carol, she asked, “How are you liking Seattle?”

“It’s nice. The people are decent, and I gotta say, the weather has Chicago beat,” she said.

Luka grinned. “But what about the food? There’s not pizza like here.”

“Okay, so no good pies, but the rest of the food probably wins, especially the seafood.”

“That makes sense. I’m looking forward to taking Abby to Croatia in a couple months, the seafood there is amazing.”

“If it’s like most of the dishes you make, it’ll be great,” Abby said, smiling at her husband.

Carol looked between them, smile growing forced. “So...how did you two happen? It’s been, what two years? You were still married last time I saw you, Abby.”

“Well, like I mentioned a few times, it was nearly done. I was in the process of getting a divorce.” She had a growing suspicion all of the sudden that latter nugget of information hadn’t been shared with Luka.

Doug picked up his drink from the table and took a long sip.

“And I found out she was single about a month or so after it was over, right?” Luka asked.

“Yep.” Normally, she’d love to elaborate—their story was cute, dammit—but she was starting to get the feeling that no matter what she said, Carol wouldn’t be thrilled.

Luka, however, had no such reservations. “She had to quit med school, and when she was back as a nurse, I still let her place a chest tube, and Kerry was very unhappy about it. We were in the ambulance bay when she kissed me out of nowhere.”

“You were being so sweet and encouraging, I couldn’t help it,” she said, smiling in spite of herself.

“I remember how kind Luka can be. He’s lucky half the hospital hasn’t kissed him for it at this rate,” said Carol.

Abby gritted her teeth.

“Then we were in lockup a couple days later, and she asked me out,” Luka continued, oblivious.

“Oh, she asked you,” Carol said in a knowing tone.

Jesus. Did the woman think she’d drugged and kidnapped Luka? She couldn’t help her snappish response. “To which he said yes very quickly. He suggested that same evening, in fact.”

Doug finished his drink.

“Well, it must have moved quickly from there.”

Abby and Luka exchanged a look, not sure what they could share. Abby decided to bite the bullet. “We dated for about a year before breaking up, actually.”

In spite of herself, Carol looked intrigued. “Oh? But you two obviously got back together?”

Luka smiled. “It was a while apart, but yes. I went back to Bosnia and Croatia for a couple months, and we missed each other like crazy.”

“He got back and we just...connected again.”

“Marriage seems a bit extreme though, even if you missed each other,” said Carol.

Luka shrugged. “When you know, you know,” he said, looking down at Abby, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

Abby softened, the tension coiling in her back releasing a little. At least until Carol spoke again. “Well, that’s sweet. Unless congratulations are in order and you just haven’t said yet,” she replied, gesturing to Abby’s obviously non-alcoholic beverage.

It was a wonder her glass didn’t shatter with how tightly Abby gripped it. She didn’t want to talk about this, especially when children were such a sensitive subject for Luka. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss it yet, and she had mixed feelings about how it would be received, especially given that she needed to tell him she’d had an abortion before, at least if they ever broached the topic.

But rolling her eyes, Abby shot back, “This isn’t the 19th century. As you’re well aware. Even if I were knocked up—which I’m not, though you can join Frank’s club in doing a belly watch if you’re so inclined—we wouldn’t have to get married. We did that because we wanted to.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, and you look great,” Carol said, rushing to smooth things over.

“Thanks, I think. So. You two married yet?” Abby asked, gesturing between Carol and Doug.

Doug nearly choked on the mini quiche he was eating, and Carol turned a mottled red. Luka smirked and raised a challenging eyebrow at Doug.

“Uh, not yet. It hasn’t been high on our priority list,” Doug finally managed.

Luka wrapped an arm around Abby, and she let herself lean in toward him. “I highly recommend it,” he said.

Susan made her way over to them then, greeting Carol and Doug with hugs. After a couple minutes, she turned to Abby, “Hey, could I get your help in the bathroom? Jing-Mei has that, uh, issue again and you remembered how to handle it last time.”

Since Abby had no idea what Susan was talking about, it had to be about something else. Reluctantly, she agreed and followed Susan.

Once they were in the bathroom, she couldn’t rein in her exasperation, “What’s going on?”

“I was just trying to keep you from challenging Carol to duel. We’ve had enough of that this year.”

Abby snorted. “Oh, come on, I wasn’t going to take one of the salad forks and charge her or anything.”

“It just looked a little...tense,” Susan said tactfully.

“It was,” she replied, sighing. “I don’t know what the deal is. I know Carol and Luka kind of dated before he and I did, but nothing much happened between them before she went to go be with Doug. It just seems like she’s, I don’t know, trying to protect him from me. He’s my husband, for god’s sake.”

“How did you two get along back in the day?”

“Mostly fine. When she found out I was a med student and not ‘just’ a nurse, she got a little bent out of shape, but I thought it blew over. We weren’t close or anything, but I thought we were on decent terms.”

“Yeah, that’s not what decent terms looks like.”

“I’d kind of figured that out,” Abby said, softening the snark with a smile. Susan was a good friend to her and doesn’t deserve for Abby to take out her frustrations on her.

Susan chuckled, then asked, “So is Luka always that oblivious, or…?”

“Oh my god, he’s the worst. Would you believe he’s actually gotten better?”

“I don’t get what you see in him,” she said, pausing, “well, except for the classic good looks, kindness, and being incredibly in love with you.”

Abby flushed fire hydrant red. “Is he now?”

“Attractive and kind? Duh. And nauseatingly into you? That can’t be news to you. And I still need brain bleach after catching you two post-coital last week.”

Shaking her head, she asked, “So...am I freaking out over nothing?”

“I really don’t think you need to worry about Luka.”

“It’s just...I’ve seen some pictures of Danijela, Luka’s first wife. Carol has the same curly dark hair, they’re both more...uh, curvaceous than I am, and it’s hard not to wonder, you know?”

“Abby, has Luka even mentioned Carol since she left?” Susan asked, exasperated.

“No…”

“I don’t know Luka very well, and I’m still getting to know you, but have you considered that maybe he’s not looking for a redux of his first wife? From what I can tell, he seems to like you. You’ve even said it, you’re best friends. Maybe his type changed, and it’s you.”

Abby wasn’t sure how to respond, or even think about it, for that matter. It was times like this where the secret of why they got married weighed on her. She wanted to confide in Susan, for god’s sake. “Huh.”

“Just some food for thought. So...once more unto the breach?”

“As long as Jing-Mei isn’t actually suffering from anything, sure.”

They headed back out, finding Luka, Carol, and Doug right around where they left them.

Luka smiled and reached out to wrap his arm around her shoulder when she got back to him, and Abby leaned in, hooking her arm around his waist. She relaxed at the familiar feel of him pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Maybe Susan was right; maybe this wasn’t a complete disaster.

Then he spoke. “I invited Doug and Carol over for dinner tomorrow night. We can do a nice double date, especially since we haven’t had a chance to celebrate you going back to med school in the next months.”

“You’re going back to med school?” Carol asked sharply, eyeing Abby with renewed suspicion.

Oh, screw this, she thought. “Yep, I sure am. Luka wants me to, so I figured I’d go along with it. Gotta be the good little wife, you know.”

Doug froze, Carol looked taken aback, and even Luka stilled.

Susan took a deep breath, and then blurted out, “Did you all hear that Carter and I dated? What a wild time.”

Doug and Carol just blinked at her, nonplussed, but then she dragged them away, telling them she couldn’t wait to tell them more, that they just had to find Carter.

Abby’s shoulders slumped. She was still angry, but now she had to face the music.

&&&

Luka was confused.

The funeral had been hard, even if he and Mark hadn’t been close. Seeing Rachel, the same age Jasna would be had she lived, always made his heart twist.

He’d been excited to see Carol at first, but it had been weird, to say the least. Doug wasn’t ever going to be in his good books, not after missing the birth of his children and most of their first year. Luka had been a little less than welcoming, but he hadn’t expected the real tension to be between Abby and Carol. That had come out of nowhere.

Abby was keyed up, though he wasn’t sure why exactly. Her brown eyes were snapping and throwing darts while her cheeks darkened and she looked good like that, whatever the reason. It was distracting. He couldn’t focus on what they were saying.

She couldn’t possibly be jealous, could she?

God, he’d had feelings for Carol, sure, but looking back, it was more that she was his first friend in Chicago, the first person who he’d connected with since coming to America. Yeah, he’d been interested, and she’d had a slight interest in return, though it was clear where her heart had lain, and it was never with him. It had hurt at the time, but then Abby had happened. He hadn’t even thought of Carol since. Surely Abby knew that. If not, he’d take her home and thoroughly remind her exactly where his interest was.

Luka was only half listening to Abby and Carol. He didn’t fully tune back in until Susan came up and dragged Abby off to help Jing-Mei with something, leaving him standing awkwardly with Carol and Doug.

“Well, that’s…interesting, Luka. I hope that your marriage is…everything that you wanted.”

Carol’s tone was odd, and he found himself wanting to prove to her how good he had it now. She’d been right that he’d needed someone who really loved him, and he was grateful she had done the right thing and left. Maybe Abby wasn’t 100% there yet, but he thought she was getting there. He couldn’t imagine his life without her. If Carol could only see them together in a more natural setting, she’d see.

The three of them traded a few questions about work, but finally Luka couldn’t help himself.

“How are the girls doing? They’re three now, right? Is Kate letting you sleep now? I remember what a hard time she gave you, that phase when she would only calm down for me.”

It was satisfying to see the amusement slide off Doug’s face at last. Abby would probably have told him not to start a pissing match, but he couldn’t help his disdain for this guy. He had left his children. He left Carol to take care of newborn twins on her own. Yeah, so Carol told him to go, but whatever. Luka would never do that, no matter what happened between him and Abby.

“They both sleep like champs now. At least, they save the screaming and running us ragged for the daylight hours.” Carol gave him a strained smile.

“Good, good.” He’d gotten that jab in and now he didn’t really know what else to say. The other two were shifting now, he’d poked at a wound, and he felt like a jerk instead of feeling vindicated. He looked around, hoping someone would come intervene. He’d even take Carter. Damn, no such luck. “So, uh…how long are you planning to be in Chicago?”

“We leave on Tuesday.”

“Would you, uh, like to come over for dinner on Sunday night? Abby and I would love to have you.” That might have been overstating it a bit, but he didn’t want to leave things like they were.

Doug’s smirk was back and he took a long swig of his drink before shrugging at Carol. Luka wished for some alcohol of his own for a second, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t want to make it harder on Abby.

“Uh, we…don’t have any plans, so…yes, I guess that works for us.”

They made plans for seven and Luka gave her their number to confirm the address later. Abby and Susan came back then and Luka smiled at her return. Whatever the issue had been, she seemed alright now, and he hugged her to his side.

Unfortunately, that was a brief reprieve.

&&&

They didn’t stay long after that, just long enough to make the rounds to give their condolences and greet all their coworkers. Abby softened enough during their brief exchange with Corday and Rachel that Luka thought she had calmed down. But when he put his hand on the small of her back, she scowled at him harshly enough to make him jerk his hand back.

What had he done?

An annoyed Abby would usually snipe at him or even confront him, but this time she was sitting rigid as a stone, staring determinedly out the window while waves of rage poured off her. He waited the whole ride for her to yell at him, to tell him what the problem was so he could fix it, but the only indication that she even knew he was there was how hard she was ignoring him.

Once they made it to their apartment, he shut and locked the door behind them and waited for the onslaught, but Abby headed straight upstairs without a backward glance. Luka took a fortifying breath and followed as she made a beeline for the bathroom and the medicine cabinet. He bounced on his feet as she took some pain pills and swallowed them with water from the sink.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

He wished he’d kept quiet when she turned to him with an incredulous glare.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Uh…no? You’re upset that I invited them over…”

Abby stormed off to the bedroom and he followed, hoping that was the right move. He was so lost.

“You seriously need me to spell out why? You’re really that oblivious?”

At his shrug, she groaned in frustration.

“Carol was awful to me through that whole conversation. She acted like I’m beneath you or something, like I had to trick you into marrying me because there’s no other way that could ever happen. And I’m supposed to invite her into our home and…what?”

Luka cringed. He probably should have paid closer attention to that interaction.

“I…I didn’t see it that way. I knew she didn’t approve, and I thought if she saw us together at home, saw how we are together, she might change her mind.”

“Do you need her approval?”

Shit, shit, shit.

“No, I don’t need it. She was just my first friend here, and I thought she’d be happy for me.” Apparently he was wrong there, and that sucked.

“She wasn’t really just a friend, though, was she?”

Luka rocked back on his heels. She was jealous. That was ridiculous, but also…kind of hot. He knew Abby had been insecure about Danijela, but he hadn’t realized she had possessive streak.

“She was cold the first time I met you in the ER, and I thought it was about me being a med student, but now…and then OF COURSE she told you I was married and left off the ‘soon to be divorced’ part of that.”

“Abby…” Okay, that was a little odd. “Maybe she forgot, maybe she was just mistaken?”

“Are you seriously making excuses for her right now, after how she acted today?”

“I don’t know, I guess I wasn’t paying enough attention. I saw there was tension, but your eyes got all bright and snappy, and that suit is…my mind wandered, okay? I didn’t hear everything.”

“You cannot be hitting on me right now, not after all of that and you making excuses for her treating me like shit and then inviting her to our home to do it more!”

Luka sighed and lowered himself to the bed, resigning himself to the argument. “I’m sorry! I saw it was weird and wanted to smooth it over.”

“Why does keeping the peace with her even matter when she isn’t part of our lives anymore?”

Okay, he had to know now.

“Is that what this is about—you’re jealous of Carol?”

As soon as it was out, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Abby flinched and he could see the hurt momentarily, before anger took over her face again.

“No, I’m not jealous, do I have reason to be?”

He was pretty sure that meant he was right, even if that wasn’t helpful.

“No, I just thought—she and I weren’t even really together.”

“Well, that wasn’t your choice, was it?”

Okay, now he was getting pissed off, too. “No, it wasn’t. But I haven’t even thought about her in the last couple years.” Not since the first time Abby had kissed him, in fact, but he wasn’t clarifying that now.

“Okay, but you just…you don’t know what that feels like.”

“I don’t know what what feels like?”

He was so lost. This was why he hated fighting, it was never about one thing, it spiraled, and he couldn’t control it.

“Being jealous.”

Huh? Was she serious?

“Wait, what? You think I don’t…? What?”  But he was the oblivious one? “Abby, what the hell did you think all the stuff with Carter was about?”

“I know you got annoyed because I listened to him instead of you, but…”

“Me being jealous was half the reason we broke up! And what did you think the fencing thing was about?”

“Okay, I guess I do know that NOW. I just..the first time we were together, I didn’t think you cared enough to be jealous.”

Did she still not get how he felt about her? Anyone who knew them knew he was head over heels. Hell, their neighbors, strangers, all knew. Everybody except for Carol, apparently, but worse, maybe Abby too.

It wasn’t the time for a love confession. He was still mad, and so was she, though her breathing had slowed and her shoulders slumped. But how did she not know?

“God, Abby, the reason I was only half listening is because I wanted to be with you so badly. How can you not know I want you?”

He had to show her. He spun her toward him by the elbow and she yanked on his tie until he bent down to kiss her roughly. The kiss snapped something between them, and they both turned their energy toward making out furiously instead of fighting. Luka pulled Abby’s hair clip loose and threaded his fingers through her hair, kissing every inch of her he could reach with his mouth as he worked the buttons of her jacket open. She pulled on his tie hard, and he was forced to duck for her to maneuver it over his head before she tossed it somewhere behind him, where it joined his jacket.

He growled at her top with the tiny straps, the kind that normally drove him crazy in a good way but at the moment was just another damn obstacle, before she huffed and pulled it off herself. As he fumbled with her pants—why did women’s pants have to have inside and outside buttons and hooks anyway?—she painstakingly undid each of his shirt buttons, one by one.

“Just rip them!” He bit out impatiently.

“No. I like this one.” She retorted back.

She was still angry. Well, so was he. But he refocused as he slipped her out of her pants and underwear, finally getting his hands on her bare skin as she got his shirt off and ran her nails up his chest.

It didn’t take long to get the last few articles of clothing off, but it still felt like an eternity to Luka. He mouthed at her breast and slipped his hand down to make sure she was ready, and she gripped his hair hard. She moaned and arched against him, and though everything seemed—and certainly felt—right, he had the fleeting thought that perhaps sex wasn’t the healthiest option. But he wanted to get rid of everything in between them: Carol, the space, their clothes, even their own insecurities. So when Abby whined at him in frustration, he hitched her up against him before tossing her lightly on the bed and climbing over her. She wrapped her legs around him and he slid home.

Usually she was the talker in bed, but this time he was, chanting her name, trying to burn his love and longing for her into her skin and brain and heart. She felt so perfect against him and around him. God, she was everything to him, and he was doing his best to show her everyday but especially now. It wasn’t long before she gasped and shivered against him and he finished with a hard jerk and another cry of her name.

He collapsed onto the mattress before pulling her into his arms, hoping she wasn’t going to draw away. It seemed that both of their tempers had been burned out by their passion as she nestled into him and pressed a gentle kiss to his chest. Luka knew Abby’s temper might rekindle at any moment, though, and he searched for the words to repair their rift. It turned out that he didn’t need to.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I know it’s not your fault that Carol was a jerk. It’s just...she was right, in a way.”

“If she thinks you’re not good for me, she was not right, Abby. And I’m sorry she made you feel so bad.”

“No, I mean...I mean about how we got married. It wasn’t exactly traditional.”

Luka winced when he remembered thinking she was ashamed of it. “It wasn’t, but that doesn’t make it wrong or bad.”

“I know, but it does make me wonder…”

Wonder what? She couldn’t think he would marry just anyone. Instead of continuing, she stared at his chest.

“I wouldn’t have married you if it was just to stay here. You know that, right?”

When she didn’t respond, he bent his head and tipped her chin up with a light touch.

“Hey. I wouldn’t have,” he repeated firmly.

She blinked in acknowledgement, but he could see the questions still lingering in her eyes. Ah, to hell with waiting for the right time, she needed to know how he felt, even if it made his gut clench with the fear that she wasn’t there yet.

“Abby, I—“

The ring of the phone interrupted. Luka closed his eyes, torn between relief and annoyance.

“It’s okay, you can answer.” Abby got up and made her way to the bathroom as he watched. As the ringing continued, he threw on his boxer shorts. A hollow, let down feeling settled in his chest as he grabbed for the damn phone.

“Hello?” He answered with little grace, not caring if his tone was impolite.

“Hello? Luka?” It was Carol. Great.

“Uh, yeah.” He waited for her to confirm that she was coming over for the most ill-conceived double date in history.

After an uneasy pause, she spoke. “Doug just reminded me—I forgot with the funeral and all—we actually have plans with Peter and Cleo that night, so we won’t be able to come over for dinner.”

Thank GOD. Luka still kind of wished he could see Tess and Kate, make sure they were alright, and find out if Doug was actually a good father and partner to Carol, but none of that was worth making Abby feel like crap.

He couldn’t remember Benton and Cleo having any particular attachment to Carol. He’d also gotten the feeling there wasn’t a lot of love lost between the two men, either, but he was too grateful for the escape to mention it.

“Oh, that’s…” fantastic! “...a shame. We’ll have to catch you next time.” He begged silently that there wouldn’t be a next time, or that it would look very different from this one.

“Yeah, and about earlier…” He really hoped she wasn’t going to rag on Abby, this time to him. One yelling match in a day was more than enough for him. “I’m sorry if I was a bit, um, surprised by you and Abby. It was an emotional day and it just caught me off guard.”

“Okay…”

“Haleh and Susan filled me in on some of the stuff I missed out on, and I’m really happy that you found someone who loves you, Luka.”

Well, finally. And oh, he hoped she was right.

“Thanks, Carol. I’m glad things are going well for you too, you and Doug and the girls.”

They quickly said goodbye and hung up, and though Luka was still a little annoyed at Carol, he felt relieved to part on decent terms. He looked up to see a now-dressed Abby hovering in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

“That was Carol, they had to cancel.”

Abby snorted and smirked. “I’ll bet they did.”

He smiled back. “Anyway, we won’t have to sit through that now. It wasn’t one of my best ideas.”

“You don’t say.” His wife was back to normal, if the eye rolls were any indication.

He took her in, trying to screw up his courage and finish what he’d been about to say before the phone call, when she interrupted.

“I’m starving. Can we get Chinese?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

He deflated as she grabbed the phone and called their usual place for delivery.

Abby deserved better, he decided, than a rushed “I love you” as a result of a fight. She didn’t get a romantic proposal--or even a proposal at all, and even their wedding hadn’t been a fairytale, though it had been both romantic and wonderful. It was better to wait, to plan...something...for that declaration. Even if the words burned inside him, she was worth the wait.

[rose-of-pollux]

The Deadly Admirer Affair (MFU fic), part 4/10

Title: The Deadly Admirer Affair Rating: PG13 (for action/danger) Chapter summary: Napoleon questions Marton about THRUSH’s involvement in Illya’s attack--unaware that Illya has found out the hard way that it was an inside job.

If you prefer reading on FFN, you can read it here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12338876/4/ If you prefer reading on AO3, you can read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9472766/chapters/21991994

                                      Act IV: Strike of the Serpent

Illya had continued to rest; he had even drifted off to sleep, dreaming about heading out into the field with his partner.  It was some time later that he had awakened to the unpleasant sensation of something restraining his chest tightly—and to the sound of Baba Yaga hissing and spitting furiously.

He opened his eyes, frowning in discomfort at the tightness around his chest.

“What--?” he began, but a cloth was quickly tied around his mouth, gagging him.  His eyes widened as he turned his head to see a figure dressed in black with a matching mask, and then Illya realized that the reason he couldn’t move was because he was tied down to his hospital bed.

The figure was trying to tie another rope around him—this time, around his abdomen—when Baba Yaga snapped. The cat attacked the attacker, clawing and biting at the attacker’s arm; the sleeve of the attacker’s arm slipped down, and Baba Yaga sunk her canines into the exposed flesh.

The attacker swore, shaking their arm with such a force that the cat went flying off, but she landed on her feet on the floor, hissing angrily again.  The attacker grabbed one of the bowls from Illya’s food tray and hurled it at her, prompting the cat to dodge the bowl and flee out the door of the recovery room, screeching.

Through it all, Illya could only counter with muffled protests as he tried to loosen the rope around his chest, but the moment Baba Yaga had fled, the attacker resumed tying him down further with a second rope around his abdomen and a third around his thighs. Illya continued to struggle against the restraints, and his attacker watched him for some time in what seemed like quiet amusement.

“Not very fun, is it?” the attacker asked, in a harsh whisper that disguised their voice.  “But you probably didn’t even bother to think that this is how Solo felt when you tied him up and tortured him.”

Illya froze as the full realization of his situation came crashing down upon him like a ton of bricks.  It wasn’t THRUSH who attacked him—it was someone from here, one of his own coworkers in this very building who had heard the rumors and had decided to take matters into their own hands.

Illya now let out a muffled protest.

“Save it, you backstabbing little fiend,” the attacker snarled at him.  “I’ve been seeing through your little game—you’ve had it in for Solo for years!  Everyone knows that with him out of the way, you step up to CEA.  And now, you finally had the opportunity to bump him off and make it look like part of the mission.”  The attacker backhanded Illya across the face; the Russian flinched out of reflex.  “And it’s not even the first time, either.  I know about what happened at Club Thanatopsis last month, too.  I bet you weren’t even really brainwashed; you were going to kill him and blame THRUSH, just like you were going to blame THRUSH and Gurnius now!  That’s twice you’ve tried to kill Solo, and I’m not going to let the third time be the charm.”

Illya tried to protest again, earning him another backhand to the face; he let out a quiet, muffled gasp—that one had stung more than the first.

“You poisoned that bagel, didn’t you?” the attacker accused.  “I’ve got a piece of it being analyzed in the lab—once the results come out, then everyone will see what you were going to do.  And once Solo finds out, he won’t be upset to see you gone.”

Illya froze again as the attacker now drew a syringe with a dark green liquid in it; as if to taunt him, the attacker held it a few inches from Illya’s face.

“An eye for an eye—and poison for poison,” the attacker sneered.

Illya let out a muffled “No!”

But the attacker remained unmoved.

“And you know the best thing about this?” the attacker continued.  “I’m actually glad you survived the bullet.  This really will be far more satisfying.  Because, this time, Solo will realize his so-called partner was a traitor all along.  And he’ll stand here and watch you die without lifting a finger to help you, because it’s exactly what you deserve.  You’ll die knowing that he found you out, and that he will never forgive you. And I will be his hero for unmasking you as the enemy.”

Illya struggled to move, but there was nothing he could do, and a moment later, he felt the needle plunge into his arm.  He let out a weak moan as he felt a burning sensation start flowing down inside of his arm.

“I really hope Solo gets here soon,” the attacker mused, beginning to untie Illya as his struggles against the rope got weaker.  “The sooner Solo sees you for what you, are, the better.  And he’ll soon be free of you and your fiendish plots to kill him. He beat you, and I helped him do it.”

Before untying him fully, the attacker grasped at Illya’s pressure points on his neck and pressed them until Illya fell unconscious.  The attacker then removed all of the ropes and the gag; soon, there was no way to tell that Illya had been restrained.

The attacker gathered all of the ropes and the gag, as well as any other signs that they had been there, cast one last glance of contempt at the unconscious Russian, and then left the room as silently as they had entered.

Now, all the attacker had to do was wait; the poison would do the rest.  And then they were sure that Napoleon Solo would reward them beyond their wildest dreams for what they had done for him.

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

Napoleon Solo, in the meantime had driven all the way to Newark and had found Marton’s front fairly quickly. After making sure that there were no THRUSH minions around, Napoleon went inside, right for the main office.

Marton was busy at his desk, going over what seemed to be a THRUSH duty roster, and he only looked slightly inconvenienced as Napoleon strode over to him with his Special in his hand.

“Ah, Monsieur Solo,” Marton said. “An unexpected pleasure indeed. What brings you to seek my aid?”

“I don’t seek your aid, Marton; I seek answers,” Napoleon replied, coldly.

“Really, Monsieur Solo?  If one of us was to ask answers of the others, it should be me, not you?”

“How do you figure that?” Napoleon asked.

“Because I heard from one of my men about what happened in San Rico,” Marton said.  “And how one of our agents, Monsieur Brown, was killed by Gurnius’s men—at the suggestion of ‘Colonel Nexor,’ who was really your Monsieur Kuryakin, who also seemed to have convinced Gurnius to try to take over THRUSH before he was killed.”

Napoleon stared at the calm look on Marton’s face.

“You’re taking this well,” he observed.

“I’m not sorry to see Monsieur Brown go,” Marton said, waving his hand in dismissal.  “I may be with THRUSH now, but I have never approved of Gurnius and his ilk; I was with the Free French during the War, and I have not forgotten what we went through on account of them.  If anything, I actually appreciate what your Monsieur Kuryakin has done to remove those thorns from everyone’s sides.”

“Well, one of your agents didn’t appreciate it, and they took out their frustrations on my Monsieur Kuryakin, and I demand to know who!” Napoleon retorted.

Marton blinked, surprised, as though this was news to him.

“Pardon?”

“I mean that someone shot Illya last night when he was out getting a midnight snack for the two of us, and whoever it was left him to bleed out in an alley!”

Marton stared at Napoleon for a moment.

“I did not order such an attack; in fact, had I known that any of my agents would have considered such an attack, I would have dissuaded them immediately,” Marton insisted.

“Oh, really?  And why’s that?”

“Because of the other details that we received from San Rico—apparently, we have it on reliable authority that Monsieur Kuryakin, in the process of maintaining his cover, had to torture you.”

Napoleon gave Marton an incredulous look.

“And THRUSH agents in the Tri-State area suddenly have a newfound appreciation for Illya?” he asked.  “And somehow want to shoot him because of that?”

“Not at all,” Marton said. “THRUSH agents seldom realize the deep bonds of loyalty that you men have on the opposite side, but I know that Monsieur Kuryakin’s anger at being forced to hurt you would have made him a force to be reckoned with.  I would have doubted that he would have shown any mercy had any of my agents tried to attack him, and I would have told my agents that.”

“…And how would you know?” Napoleon asked.

“Monsieur Solo, have you forgotten that Alexander and I were once partners like you and Monsieur Kuryakin?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why do you assume that the two of us had not gone through something similar to what you and Monsieur Kuryakin had in San Rico?”

“…Do you mean to tell me that you once had to torture Mr. Waverly to maintain your cover!?” Napoleon asked, stunned.

“Oh, no, Monsieur Solo—it was the other way around!”

“Oh, well, if that’s the case…” Napoleon trailed off, the words taking a moment to sink in.  “What!?”

“I can guarantee you, Monsieur Solo, you will never want to see Alexander as furious as he was that day,” Marton said.  “He eliminated an entire cell of enemy agents because they dared to approach us while I was still recovering—even though they retreated after he killed the first three.” He bit back a smile at the gobsmacked look on Napoleon’s face.  “You see now, Monsieur Solo, why I would have stopped any attempt at any of my agents going after Monsieur Kuryakin?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Napoleon admitted.  “But who in the Tri-State area would just refuse to listen to you and go to Manhattan anyway?  Were any THRUSH agents in Lower Manhattan around midnight last night?”

“My word is not the law at THRUSH, though I certainly wish it was,” Marton mused.  “And, to my knowledge, there were no THRUSH agents in Lower Manhattan—Manhattan has been difficult for us to maneuver around in ever since you and Monsieur Kuryakin rendered our haberdashery front useless last year.”

“…If I find out that you’re lying to me…”

“Would I be so foolish as to risk the wrath of a man with a wounded partner?  I told you, I know what the fierce loyalties are like on your side—I was once there.  And, in any case, how would we have known that Monsieur Kuryakin would have been going to get a midnight snack, of all things?  As far as I can tell you, it wasn’t us--this time.”

Napoleon narrowed his gaze at Marton, but then silently conceded that the Frenchman had a point.

“I wish you luck on your little quest, Monsieur Solo,” Marton said.  “And may God have mercy on the guilty party once you catch up with them. Give my regards to Alexander, won’t you? …I would advise against asking him about that old mission of ours.”

Napoleon let out a quiet scoff, and backed away, still not willing to turn his back on Marton.  He only turned around after he was well out of range of the front, and then idly wondered why, if Waverly and Marton had been that close, that partnership couldn’t have lasted.  Why had Marton gone to the enemy side?

Napoleon shook his head. Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t happen to him and Illya, he determined.  This last mission had proven that the two of them could get through anything—even torture.

He pushed the thought aside and got into his car; he was just about to start the car when his communicator let out a whistle.

“Solo here,” he said.

“Napoleon?” George asked over the channel.  His voice sounded strained—as though something wasn’t right.

“George?  Is everything alright?”  Napoleon had a horrible feeling that this wasn’t about the bagels at all.

“No…” George said, and he struggled to find the words.  “It’s Illya. Something’s wrong—very wrong.”

Napoleon’s throat constricted, as though his heart had gotten stuck there.

“What happened?” he managed to say.

“We’re still trying to figure that out…  I was in the lab, still waiting for the analysis machine to be free, and Baba Yaga came in, screeching like a banshee.  I figured something had to have gone wrong, so I went back to the recovery ward to check on Illya.  He’s taken a turn for the worse; his vitals have just plummeted…  They’ve moved him to intensive care now; the Medical staff are trying to figure out what happened, but…”  He trailed off.  “It’s bad, Napoleon; it’s really bad.  You need to get back here right away.”

“I’m on my way back right now,” Napoleon said, expending extra energy just to get his vocal cords to work properly.  “Tell him, George.  Tell him that I’ll be there—and that he’d better hold on.”

“I will.  Please, hurry!”

Napoleon barely managed a goodbye before putting his communicator away and driving off, ignoring the horrible feeling that the ground had opened up beneath him and was swallowing him alive.

Hold on, Illya, he silently pleaded.  Please… Hold on.