#this is gonna make me picnic at hanging rock crazy I already know it

[himblebo]

Just started reading Olivia and oh man 8 pages in I’m already going crazy going stupid “love has always been the chief business of my life” shut up “nothing ever seemed spontaneously my own” shut UP

[derekmorganscrocs]

Nancy Drew 2x6? Thoughts While Watching

Technically its the season 2 premiere but I have no idea what to number it

SPOILER WARNING!! SWEARING TOO.

A YATCH? OH GET IT BESS.

OH PLATANCHOR

ACE GOT A NOTE FROM HIS MOM AWWW. I want a picnic date on a mountain, no cap.

Nick and George teamwork is so cute. AW NICKS MOM! “Nice non pagan game night.” I’m sent.

I LOVE MORGUE GUY HES SO FUNNY

HAHAHA DETECTIVE TAMARA MAKING FUN OF NANCY IS GOLD. Nancy don’t make an enemy of another cop you already did that to McGinnis and that was kinda bad (until he switched on you). TELL NANCY WHAT SHE WANTS TO KNOW TAMARA. SHELL FIND OUT WITHOUT U HOE.

OH NO. WH-WHAT. THE BODY FRIDGE BOXES ARE SPEAKING TO U MISS NANCY.

OMG CARSON AND NANCY ACTUALLY HANGING OUT? Aw I kinda love that. The way he just knows exactly what she’s doing.

WHY SHE PUT THAT IN HER POCKET.

Ace nancy is about to die stop talking about food. I love you but read the room babe. DON’T HANG UP BITCH-

OMG ITS A BODY WHAT THE FUCK

Georges sister being a fish right activist. Omg me when I stand up to fast(that’s not supposed to be about the fish rights it’s about George just dying against a shelf)- I think Odette may have attached herself to George.

“Did you burn your knuckle hair again?”

“Game night Ace crushes.” Aw I love him.

Bess “did you kill someone” “oh it smells” STOP.

“Tamara already thinks we have a thing for dead bodies” Ace please never ever stop talking.

AH THIS WHOLE SCENE IS SENDING ME.

The way george goes EGH after she picks up the mouth thing.

Pls not us arguing over where in Nancy’s house to do an autopsy.

HAUNTED TREE-

Aw Carson still views her as a kid, I love. oh she’s so offended.

NOT THE KITCHEN TOOL AUTOPSY. Ace snapping the rubber glove made me snort omfg. He’s everything.

OK CORONER BESS. Nick is so grossed out and I love that he can’t say bug names. Detective crew 1000.

GEORGE IS HAUNTED. A MILLION PERCENT. Nick knows at least.

OH I DONT LIKE THAT WHAT THE FUCK WHY DID ACE OPEN THE BODY LIKE HE WAS PULLING OPEN ELEVATOR DOORS.

Nick is a genius, and nancy hyping him up is serving me bffs. Pls Hannah is serving angry hippie vibes.

I LOVE GEORGES TATTOOS SHES SO HOT.

OMG THE BOYS

“What like that time that she literally died?” Ok nick. OH COUPLE BOYFRIEND THERAPIES, YES BOYS TALK ABOUT UR GIRLS.

I HATE BUGS EW. OH ITS LEAKING. ITS LEAKING. AH NO

The sheer panic on their faces when someone knocks. Not morgue guy. Oh nancy gaslight him, periodt.

It blinked- (yeah I screamed this what about it.)

Is game night back on tho?

The way ace’s curls look so much better than mine, I’m so jealous. I want to play with his hair. Yes I am obsessed. What about it?

Morgue guy raging is funny. “Kidnapped cadaver”. Ahahha. NO NOT CHARLES’ ARM! It’s a voodoo doll or something- WHY IS THE CORPSE CRUNCH? OH NO HES GONE

The way bess says “come on,” is just perfect I love.

The house freaks me out a lil. Nick reassuring nancy, I really need a nick y’all.

THE KID’S CHARLES ACTION FIGURE OH NAH OH HELL NAH, WTF. WTF. HES ACTUALLY TALKING TO THE TOY NO.

George is freaking me out y’all. Ace platanchoring everyone. ACE AND GEORGE FRIENDSHIP 😭 I LOVE. ACE IS SO SWEET. NO GEORGE OPENING UP. She’s so scared, omg no. “What if I never feel normal again” broke me. Broke. I felt that so much.

Morgue guy going crazy. Babe stop repeating yourself, chill. It’s jus a ghost 🙄.

Ok come on Leo don’t be a pussy- sorry that was aggressive. Bess STOP I CANT HANDLE THIS, “BOXY”??? ACCENT NICK ACCENT NICK!

NOT GEORGES SISTERS. NO. Astronaut cat is so cool. OHNO OH NO OH NO.

RUN RUN- WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? No George begging them to hurry and the way her voice breaks. STOP STOP NO- Nick having to hold her back and the way her voice is just breaking and raspy, WOW. NO WAY, Ace is holding back the little sister. SO HE’s GOOD WITH KIDS? Amazing performance by Leah Lewis here, I love her. As an older sister, this is totally an accurate reaction and was excellently acted. just wow.

“Those ghost kids were awesome” thanks for saving me from tears Ace.

NICK IS A ROCK. HI I CANT HANDLE THIS RN BESTIE. Nick stop being such a good guy.

SHE CALLED HIM DAD. SHE CALLED HIM DAAAD. HI CARSON PLS STOP BEING ADORABLE U R ATTACKING MY EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT ISSUES. Ooh lawyer investigator nancy? Aw she’s staying at the Claw too though. LUNCHES ARE INCLUDED! Sobbing.

SHE IS SPEAKING TO ODETTE. OOH ODETTE GOT A LIL SASS IN THAT “enchanté” ok maam.

Yo I deadass forgot morgue guy’s name-

SISTER’S THOUGHTS :

Ryan and Carson need to be an old married couple (I suggested arguing over nancy like a divorced couple)

“Lilith is that you??” @ the white eyes corpse

EW SHE PUT IT IN HER POCKET.

“I thought it was gonna be like a yeti, blow her hair- BODY”

Both mom and Alexis hiding and shrieking as nancy looks around her house for the banging.

Punky Brewster ad, she goes “paget Brewster??”

“Those aren’t human! They’re not supposed to be in there” @whatever the fuck was in that body, said cheerfully and stupidly. 5 seconds later “Bess and Ace were too prepared for that apotoposty. (Pause for thinking)... autopsy.”

Starts calling the bugs “mouthboards” (she actually was calling them that the whole time)

Repeats “blinked” for thirty five seconds before pronouncing the i in any other way she can think of.

Fails at sliding down the railing because she couldn’t run downstairs fast enough before the show came on. Proceeds to crabwalk gallop back to her chair.

“That was scary!” (Said like Dean Winchester in “yellow fever”)

It’s called a vessel. 🖐🙄

WHY DO THEY DO EVERYTHING AT NIGHT.

“Scotland” but she said it in an awful British accent that was supposed to be Scottish-

“Seriously? Do they just lose Ted once every season now, or?”

*cryptic smooth beatbox dancing to end credit music?* update: she says it’s interpretive dancing...

She wants to know where Ryan is. “Why was he just MIA this whole time?”

[flannelpunkcalum]

The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7

oh my god you guys we’re so close to shit finally going down it’s gonna rock your fucking worlds and I cannot WAIT for you to undergo it it’s gonna be so much fun. also i know jack shit about charity galas so like... watch out for that. or botanical gardens, for that matter. anyway enjoy! pls tell me what you think this is my baby

Calum invites Aspen to a gala and it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her.

Well, technically it’s a fundraiser for the Gotham City Children’s Organization. Also, she’s gonna be more of an employee, strictly speaking, than a guest. And Mr. Hood really only asked her to work there this Friday evening, she’s not, like, his date or anything. He kinda sprang this whole thing on her. To be completely honest, too, it’s probably only the most exciting thing to happen to her in, like, two months, because she’s cool, goddamnit.

Anyway, Aspen is going to be working overtime this Friday evening and she couldn’t be happier.

She’s been wound up about this since he told her Tuesday. She’s gonna dress up all nice, she’s gonna rub elbows with the Gotham elite, she’s gonna unhinge her jaw like a python and eat an entire tray of canapés - it’ll be good for her.

They’ve all been stressed.

For her, it’s just that it hasn’t been long since the Liam fiasco. That was rough. And for his part, Calum looks more and more worn down. The tabloids in the grocery store checkout line told her he’s not seeing that nurse or reporter or whoever it was anymore. He’s been stiff lately, with bags under his eyes despite whatever million-dollar face cream he’s doubtlessly using. If she wasn’t being very disciplined about their relationship she’d tease him to switch away from decaf. Maybe he’s sick, she thinks. Could be the flu. Compromised immune system and whatnot.

He’s under a lot of stress, now, after the murder.

Trident Incorporated was next, in the string of CEO attacks, and it was so much worse, this time around. The police found the Barton Mathis’ body shot in the head with hundred dollar bills stuffed in his mouth. Aspen knows because she made sure Mr. Hood got to the funeral on time.

It’s… worrying. Worrying because her pattern holds; they’d been just about to sign a big contract with Trident when the man was killed. She knows it’s crazy, Calum wouldn’t kill someone. No matter how cold he may come off. She hopes so, anyways. Sometimes his mood changes like that, and even if he didn’t pull the trigger, this is Gotham. There are any number of people who would do it for the right price. It’s the money down the victim’s throat, of all things, that makes her change her mind. She’s seen his car - money certainly doesn’t disgust him.

So Calum isn’t the killer, probably. But that still scares her.

Because he’s probably next.

He doesn’t get a bodyguard. He doesn’t amp up security, he doesn’t tell Aspen about a panic room or anything. It’s like he hasn’t fucking realized the danger he’s in. Aspen knows it’s not her job to stress about that, but that doesn’t mean that creeping horror hasn’t settled into her ribs. All she can do is keep her mouth shut and help him through the financial quarter ending, which is no fucking picnic either, in case you were wondering. She gets used to working late. 

So, yeah, she could use a break. They all could.

Friday morning, she brings her dress with her, folded up in a plastic grocery bag. That morning, when she hands over the coffee, Alfred passes her a suit in a garment bag as soon as her hands are free. “Do try not to wrinkle it before the event, Master Calum.” He says, giving Aspen a little wink like he knows she’d never do such a thing.

Calum rolls his eyes at both of them, but he’s the closest to smiling he’s been in days.

“And you’ve got your outfit?” He ask her as they step into the elevator.

She nods and wiggles the plastic shopping bag hanging off her wrist. “Don’t worry, sir, I’m going to look very fiscally responsible.” She’s taking donations at the event, so she’s already wearing her most accountant-like cardigan, but she’s gonna class it up this evening. Her nails are painted, and they’re not chipped yet or anything.

Anyway, he smiles distinctly at that. She likes being able to do that. It’s like a magic trick. “It’s good to see you smiling again. Thought maybe you forgot how.” Aspen says, and this time she doesn’t even try to stop herself. She’s been very good for the past few weeks, and she needs a rest from acting soulless and polite. Really, she’s just being nice.

“What?” Mr. Hood turns to look at her. Maybe she’s been more serious than she thought, if he’s that surprised to hear her tease him.

“I mean, you’ve had some rough days. ‘M glad to see you looking a little more relaxed.” Aspen delicately refrains from making a joke, and just gives him a little shrug and the truth. It seems like this means a lot to him, anyway - it feels like the first time he’s looked at her and seen her in ages. That feeling comes back, the one she buried. “And, y’know, it makes my job a lot easier when you’re in a good mood. No offense. Sir.” She covers it again, hastily, and like a spell’s been broken the elevator doors open and she steps into the lobby.

“None taken,” she hears him murmur from behind her as she maneuvers herself and the bag through his office door. “You know when the car’s coming, right?”

“At three.” She slips easy into the day-to-day talk, like an old sweater. It’s welcome. She feels like she’s burning under her skin and from nothing. This is why it has to be so stiff; there’s so much she risks with too-kind words. “Guests start to arrive at four thirty, your talk is at five-thirty, and then at 8 there’s the after-gala at Note Bene.”

“You’re invited to that, too.” Aspen turns around from hanging up his garment bag. Mr. Hood is looking at her from behind his desk, adjusting his sleeves - maybe just so he has something to do with his hands. “You could come along. I didn’t know if you would want to but- you seem excited for this.”

Aspen tells herself he’s offering to be polite, which- he must be. She can’t fool herself like that. It’s the stupid chemistry, that’s all, it’s getting to her, and if she ignores it long enough it’ll go away. “Thank you, but that’s not really my scene, I think.” She smiles, shrugs. “Anything else I can help you with while I’m in here, sir?”

“No. Thank you for all you help with the event, though, Aspen. I’m glad to have someone I can trust in charge of donations.” He says. She remembers in her interview, only three weeks ago, how he had eyes that pinned her to the wall. She feels it in his gaze now, too.

She can’t linger.

“Just doing my job!” She chirps, darting out the door and closing it softly behind her.

She thought she was over this, what the fuck?

It’s not a great time for these feelings to resurface, since he’ll probably be looking real real good in his suit this afternoon. There’s isn’t really a good time to get a crush on your boss, though. Being so impersonal had been driving Aspen crazy, but the second she relaxes around that man she gets weak; maybe this time she’ll learn her lesson.

She gets to work. She’s sifting through emails when the first phone call of the day comes through, and she checks the clock - it’s not even nine yet. That’s interesting. She’s not suspicious, though, not yet.

“Hood Enterprises, how can I help you?” She asks in her very best secretary voice.

“Hello, Detective Gordon, GCPD. I need to talk to Mr. Hood.”

Aspen feels like a stutter. Shit. Does this mean - is her boss some kind of Patrick Bateman or - the lie comes to her in a split second. “Well, he usually doesn’t come in until nine, but I’ll see if I missed him coming in. Just one moment, alright?” She smiles, even though the man on the other end can’t see it, and as soon as he agrees she puts him on hold and transfers to call Calum.

Aspen’s been touched by Calum. She knows he’s not a killer. But if he’s mixed up in- if this is about Don Falcone, or- no matter how she tries to justify it, her first instinct was to protect him however she could. That’s foolish, she knows. But here she is.

Calum picks up before she can lose her liar’s nerve. “There’s a detective from the GCPD on the line for you.” She explains, praying she at least doesn't sound paranoid. “I was wondering if you were in.”

It's calculating, the silence on the other line. They're both careful not to say too much, even in normal situations, but this… it's a little more delicate.

“Did they mention their name?” He asks, which relaxes Aspen a little. It's not the worst answer he could have given.

“Ah, a Detective Gordon.” She says, which seems to be the right answer, because he asks her to connect him.

Aspen does, and then she has to hang up and live with what just happened, which is better than talking to a policeman. Only just, though.

She thinks Calum can't get mad at her for thinking he could have something to hide if he didn't want to talk on the phone.  Worst comes to worst, she'll say she wasn't sure if he'd want a lawyer or not. She knows he won't buy it, but it's a fair defence.

Now that she's got that figured out, she turns her attention to what her boss is hiding. Some offshore bank accounts? Or maybe Gordon is some cop he's paying off, to hide a secret double life. Maybe he's doing something wicked, just for the thrill of it. She’d say something related to escorts, but Aspen's pretty confident there's no one he couldn't have if he really wanted, so that's out.

Usually Aspen loves thinking up great and improbable theories for things she doesn't understand. It's different now, with Calum. She's got respect for him, and she doesn't want to lose that. It's probably healthy for her to drop her romanticized vision of him so she can get some fucking work done, if she's honest, but… god, she doesn't want to. Even after three weeks of being snapped at, she still sees a beauty in him, and that's rare. She kind of wants to chase that.

She keeps herself from thinking too much by listening to the phone messages that people left last night. Shit, she’s probably gonna have to come back in after the gala, isn’t she? Lots of emergencies and news happens at the end of the day, she should really- shit, no, this isn’t working, she can’t focus. She’s still turned upside down by what her boss might be involved in.

She tells herself she’s just worried for her job security. It doesn’t change anything.

She’s watching out of the corner of her eye and she sees when the line Calum’s being called on goes dead. How long is he going to wait before he called her in? He’s gonna want to talk about this, and ooh, who knew who could be listening? Wait, that’s a little cloak and dagger, even for her.

That’s what she thinks at the time, anyway. She has no idea.

He gives it only about a minute before he calls her and asks her to come into his office. It must be important, then. Aspen’s almost more curious than nervous; she’s pretty sure something is up, but she’s excited to see how Calum tries to brush it off. She steps in and smiles like she has no idea what to expect, like nothing’s wrong. “How can I help you?”

He’s writing something when she comes in, which she’s starting to think is a defence mechanism. He doesn’t make her wait, though, he puts his pen down as soon as she speaks up. “Oh, I just wanted to say that appreciate your discretion.” He says, face carefully controlled.

Very eloquent, he’s very good at this. She’s almost reassured. “Absolutely, sir. Should I do the same thing every time the police call, or-”

“You can transfer Gordon through directly, but otherwise… please. Yes.” He smiles stiffly, and Aspen can’t help it, she takes it as a challenge. She’s gonna find out what’s going on.

It’s like he can read her mind, because he says “None of that, Miss McMichael, don’t give me that look.” Aspen startles. Was it really that obvious? Does she have a look? She’s almost in trouble, judging by how he’s addressing her. 

Her heart starts to pound despite herself. “A cat may look at a king, sir.” She tries to cover, but that asshole sees right through her.

“I don’t want you getting the wrong idea about this, alright? Detective Gordon was letting me know about the security at the fundraiser. After the- um, I think you understand why it’s essential for our guests to feel safe.”

Shit.

Okay, maybe Aspen was a little hasty. “Of course, sir.” She says, making her most sympathetic face. Fuck, one of his peers was just murdered, no wonder he’s in touch with the police. She’d be nervous and shifty, too.

...it doesn’t quite explain why he only wants to hear from Gordon, but she’ll save that for later.

She makes a quick exit, now, after mumbling updates about all the messages she’s sifted through. A lot of people want to talk to Calum this morning, and as soon as business hours start he’s kept on the line pretty solidly through the morning and afternoon. In the middle of one of his phone calls, around noon, she sneaks in and puts a granola bar on his desk, and she’s out before she can see if he smiles at her for it. It’s been a, um, weird morning, and she wants to avoid anything that champagne could catalyze tonight. She’s just being a good PA, to be sure, but still.

The day drags on until three in the afternoon. Fifteen minutes before the car is supposed to come (god, Aspen feels so fancy when she thinks that), she shuts her computer down and stands up. Since the incident with Liam, she’s taken to locking the schedule in her file cabinet, just to be safe, so that’s what she does before she sneaks out of her office to get changed.

Aspen knows she’s not supposed to be attracting attention at this thing, so she’s dressed a little like a librarian. She borrowed a black slip dress from her roommate (since Aspen hasn’t bought a dress since, like, prom), and she’s wearing a grey cardigan over it to keep her looking tepid. Now, smoothing out the skirt in the bathroom mirror, she thinks happily that she’s not completely sexless.

She knows that’s dangerous, given her feelings for her boss (ugh), but since he doesn’t reciprocate what’s the harm in looking like a sexy librarian? The confidence will probably fade as soon as she’s surrounded by whatever designer tea gowns the guests will be wearing, but she doesn’t mind.

“You look nice,” Janice tells her once she emerges, and Aspen appreciates the gesture.

“Aw, thanks. I was going for an outfit that said ‘trust me with thousands of dollars’, you think it’ll go over well?” She smiles, and Janice nods. “I think I’m gonna come back after the thing just to check messages, so don’t worry about answering my phone.” She adds as she’s heading back to her desk, grabbing her coat and bag.

When she turns around, she sees Calum.

Here’s the thing; she knew he would look good. He looks good all the time, just business casual, but he looks good now, in a suit that looks expensive and tailored and beautiful. Fuck this, honestly, Aspen’s gonna have to avoid him all night to keep from making a fool of herself.

She blinks to take him in, and their eyes meet. He was looking at her, he must have been, looking properly. She knows she can’t hold a candle to him, not in her begged and borrowed outfit, but the fucking electricity between them makes her hope for a second-

“Ready to go?” He asks her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was smirking.

“Yeah, absolutely.” Aspen says. Her voice comes out so much smoother than she feels.

How’s she supposed to handle the car ride? Being in a small enclosed space with him sounds like too good of an idea right now.

She waves goodbye to Janice as they head out, and she busies herself with the tablet he gave her for taking donations in the elevator so she has an excuse not to look at him too long. It reminds her that, right, she could get in serious trouble if she doesn’t stay focused here today, and that cools her down enough to relax a little.

Aspen had been hoping that Calum would have a limo to take there, so when it’s his usual sedan waiting outside she feels a little let down. It doesn’t make sense for him to take a limo if he’s showing up before everyone else, she guesses, no one to show off for, but she had been hoping... Whatever. Alfred opens the door for her, and she slides in and immediately finds herself next to a kid with black hair and the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. He’s little, wiry, and he’s maybe twelve. Calum follows her in, and maybe he senses her confusion. “Aspen, this is my ward, Dick Grayson. Dick, this is my assistant, Ms. McMichael.”

Dick Grayson puts out his hand to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, miss.” He says, with confidence you don’t usually find in a pre-teen.

Aspen is used to things being weird by now, so she reaches out and shakes his hand, just to be polite. “Likewise. Hey, you can call me Aspen, people only call me Ms. McMichael when I’m in trouble.” She smiles, just to put the kid a little more at ease. It’s eerie, seeing someone so young so formal.

It seems to work well enough, because as the car starts Dick smiles so wide his face almost cracks open. That’s better. “I read one of your research papers. About, um, the protein in the cell membrane, the, um, it was a sort of, um, ATP pump, the-”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, the effects of the SNP mutation- I remember. How’d you like it?”

Dick screws up his face and then immediately tries to smooth it out, regain his composure. He’s still trying to be polite, Aspen thinks, which is adorable but so not her style. Plus, he’s like eleven, he shouldn’t have composure. “It was-” he says-

“Godawful to read, right?” Aspen slouches back into the car seat, hoping if she relaxes the kid will relax. This might be the first time she’s slouched in front of Calum, she thinks, but she tries to ignore how she knows that.

She knows what she’ll see if she looks over at her boss; him watching her intently with those eyes like stars, some bright fire burning inside him. His eyes have a light to them she can’t escape. She thinks he does it with everyone - he’s been giving her looks like this since the interview, after all.

Sometimes she likes to pretend it’s just for her, though. She can feel the fabric of his suit pants brushing against her bare leg, and sometimes the warm weight of his thigh when the car turned the corner. This backseat doesn’t nearly feel big enough for the three of them, all in a row. She can’t believe her brain’s going haywire just because he’s close. 

She focuses on the child beside her, on the science. That’s what she knows, not people. She knows the proteins and serums they’re made of, but even her own human heart is confusing. “Scientific writing can be - it’s hard to be accurate and interesting at the same time. It’s kind of stupid. But, hey, we’ve got like, fifteen minutes of this car ride, if you have any questions I’ll answer them.” She says.

“You don’t have to,” she hears, and Calum touches her elbow softly. It burns through her cardigan. How does he do that? “Dick knows you’re not here to entertain him.” She turns to look at him, catches his eye, and oh- it’s that look, she knew it.

Her mouth goes dry. She tries to ignore it.

“Nah, it’s my pleasure. You haven’t let me talk about science for two weeks, I’m deprived.” She finds it in her to scold right back. She controls her movement as she turns back to Dick Grayson, so it doesn’t look like she’s trying to break his gaze before she combusts. “Anything I can help you understand?”

“What’s an ATP?”

That’s how Aspen spends the car ride, then, instead of thinking about the man beside her. It seems to work; by the time they reach the venue she’s not as jittery, as raw, as she might be. And hey, to his credit, Dick is a good kid; he’s excited to learn what he can and he laughs at her jokes. Aspen likes that in anyone.

The venue is the Gotham Botanical Gardens, which Aspen is also real excited about. She’s going to sneak into the greenhouses if she gets the chance, but for now she keeps pace with Mr. Hood and Dick Grayson as they weave their way through the armed guards. There’s at least two cop cars that she can see - it all seems a little extreme to her, but it’s Gotham. She glances over at Dick - he seems a little freaked out, too. At least it’s not just her delicate sensibilities.

As soon as they’re into the ballroom - ballroom, Jesus, this city is extravagant when it gets the chance - Calum is dragged away by a harried man in a very nice suit. Someone shows Aspen to a table and introduces her to the woman who’ll be making sure any checks that are written don’t go missing. Renee Montoya has a gun at her hip and iron in her stare, but Aspen gets her talking about her work and eventually the woman warms up. Things seem to be going smoothly with the preparations (she’s keeping an eye on Calum, it’s her job, okay?) when suddenly there’s a BANG and someone screams.

Montoya actually pushes Aspen behind her as she takes out her gun, all in one smooth motion, and half the cops around the room are doing the same, searching for the source of the noise.

It’s happening. This is it. Aspen looks for Calum instinctively, can’t find him, oh, shi-

“Shit, goddamn it- we’re okay, everybody, Jesus, this kid-”

Time unfreezes. The police officer who swore is clutching his wrist, almost doubled over, but there’s no blood. Aspen lowers her fists. She’s not sure when she got into a fighting stance, but as she relaxes and the officers lower their guns she feels a little silly for it.

They’re all on edge, she supposes.

Her next thought is to find Dick. There’s only one kid in this building, at least as far as she knows, and she does not underestimate his capacity for trouble.

Another look around find both him and Calum - Aspen feels like she’s intruding, seeing them hug on the other side of the ballroom. Plus of course he’s a good father figure, because apparently the universe hates her and wants her to suffer.

She supposes she’s gotten attached to Dick, that’s why she strides over as they start to part. Dick isn’t crying, but he does look a moment from it when she comes up. Aspen’s not exactly nurturing, she doesn’t know if she can help, but she wants to. “Hey, you doing alright? What happened?” She asks him.

Dick looks up at Calum, who nods at him to tell her. It’s sweet. “I was looking for the bathroom and the officer found me. I think he thought I was lost, but he grabbed my shoulder an’ I didn’t know he was there and I panicked. I made a mistake.”

Aspen can’t blame him for being shaken. “Well, it is bad manners to grab people.” She says. Dick kind of cracks a smile at that. “Hey, it’s only a mistake if you let it happen again, that’s what I think. Don’t worry too much about it.”

When she glances up, Calum is smiling. “Do you mind staying with Dick until the guests start to arrive?” He asks her. “The planner’s had three separate crises since we got here.”

Aspen nods. “I’m good with that as long as you are.” She says to Calum’s ward, who looks unsure, but nods.

That’s a good sign. She’s glad he’s okay.

As soon as Calum’s gone she focuses in on the boy, who looks at her solidly. He is a little old for her to be babysitting him, but for now she’s free to goof around, so she doesn’t mind. “Did you find anything cool while you were looking for the bathroom? I’ve been trying to sneak into the greenhouses since we got here.”

“Just the kitchens.” Dick says, shaking his head.

Fuck yes. “Just the kitchens? Buddy, we gotta check it out. I’m sure if you look sad and cute enough they’ll give us all kinds of leftovers.”

“You think?”

“Give me your best puppy-dog eyes.” Aspen says.

Dick complies.

“Jesus, you are good. Those chefs aren’t gonna know what hit them.”

[sascerides]

The Thing About Curses - a short story

This year, I challenged myself to write 12 stories. You can read more about that here.

The rest of my stories are here

This is story number 6

“When did you first know?” she asks, twirling a lock of her long, sea blue hair around a finger, as her tea stirs it self.

Her island is ten miles off the Norwegian coast. No one else lives here. She seems to like it this way. She insists I call her Madam Blue and will call me nothing but Miss Briggs. Names are important on the island she says. Even if there’s only the two of us. Names have power she says. Time must have power too, because there is not a single clock on the island. She warned me not to bring one.

“When I left” I say.

She nods and adds five more teaspoons of sugar to her tea.

“Tell me” she urges “I need as many details as I can get”. 

"I was driving out of town for the last time when it dawned on me. I was cursed. I am cursed.        “I was sad, I guess.The rain was falling hard on the windows. Bob Dylan wailing at me through the speakers that A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall. It was already falling. Had been for years. I guess I knew. Susy said as much, when she left. “It’s like you’re fucking cursed Blanca”. That’s what she said when she left. Stomping through the rain after our third date.”

Madam Blue lifts up her skirt and puts her boots on the table. She leans back in her chair, sipping her tea.

I’ve been trying to guess her age since I arrived. At first glance I thought she was my age. Twenty-five, perhaps thirty, no more. But now I see the lines in her face, at the corners of her eyes, in the places her smile goes when it sneaks into her face. Maybe fifty. Maybe more.

She lifts her tea cup with both hands and in this light her hands look older. The tired, knotted fingers of an old woman. Then she flashes me a smile, lipstick and white teeth. The smile of a playful girl.

“You loved this Susy?” She says. More a challenge than a question.

"I didn’t love Susy. I had a crush on her. For fifteen years. It’s not like it was ever going to work out between us.” I say

"We went to the farmers market. Susy in a sundress and red rubber boots. Me in my raincoat. Susy jumped in puddles and held my hand as we walked through the market. Old Mrs Johnson picked up her bible and ignored us when we said hi. I think Susy liked it. I was nervous. The rain kept stopping and starting that day. The rain in her hair, on the tip of her nose. Her eyes bright with laughter. That was the first date.”

“So the rain isn’t constant?” “No. I mean yes. It stops sometimes, but not really” “Hmm…” she seems to make a mental note. Waving her hand for me to continue.

"I tried to plan around the rain. I’d figured out what was going on by then. Everywhere I went, it rained on me. I was trapped in a blues song. My life had become a children’s book. A nursery rhyme. The girl it always rained on. A dirty joke in a locker room. I was always wet. And never in that good way."

Madam Blue almost chokes on her tea, but only almost.

"But Susy didn’t seem to mind. I took her to the museum and afterwards we had tea. She watched the raindrops chase each other down the windows from the café. Just a cute little drizzle outside. She talked about how romantic it was. She misquoted Shakespeare at me. That was the second date.        "I tried to plan around it. But Susy, always the optimist with her freckles and flowers in her hair, Susy planned a picnic. She wore dungarees and a crop top. I wore my trusted rain coat. That was the third date. We sat under a tree and Susy leaned in to kiss me.      “The thunder storm broke out the moment her lips touched mine, and that was the moment Susy got enough. She left stomping through the rain, ruining her golden ballerinas. Three days later I left town.”

“And how did you find me?” Madam Blue asks. She is adding more sugar to her tea. Biting into a biscuit. She hasn’t offered me tea.

I chew on a biscuit. The rain is a mere drizzle now. Just casually running down the windows, splashing on the rocks, melting into the waves. But it’s there. It’s always there. 

“Google” I say.

"At least it started on Google. Google told me about a pub in Islington. There, a man with a magnificent beard and a taste for Vodka told me about a café in yard in Berlin. This café was not on the maps. The floor was sawdust and wet with rain by the time I arrived. The bartender served me a strong mojito. Kissed me right on the lips and gave me the email address off “a bloke I know… well shagged… who knows a bloke”.

Madam blue is nodding along with my story as if she knew it all along. She is stuffing a pipe with something I’m not quite sure is tobacco. Melancholy in her deep blue eyes, biscuit crumbs on her lipstick, lipstick on the rim of her cup. In this light she looks ancient. But for the blue hair she could be my grandmother. Then she sits up straight, boots on the floor. Her lips in a smile, the lines in her face smoothing away.

“And the bloke… he was Tim?” She asks with the enthusiasm of a 15 year old. “Tim… yes”

"Tim of Tibet. "In reality, he was from Manchester, but he lived in Tibet and he was a Shaman, or so he said. Tim insisted I should come to Tibet. He had to experience the rain himself he said. He had to sense the curse. I decided I’d already left Kansas so why not continue?. Why not keep on chasing the sun?. So off I went, to somewhere over the rainbow. Or. Somewhere deeper in the raincloud”

Madam Blue is blowing smoke over the table at me. Definitely not tobacco.

“Tim’s a fraud” she says “You know him?” “He’s my brother”   “He’s your what?” The room has gone quiet.   “Continue your story”

“Right, I met him on a mountainside in the Himalayas. What is it with you magics and remote places?” “Tim’s not magic. He’s a fraud” “And you’re not?” “Of course not”

“Sure… So I met Tim in the Himalayas. His hut was clinging to a mountain side, a river rushing by it’s side. Judging from the smell, he was burning incense on the fireplace. I was walking there through the rain, completely soaked by the time I arrived. I was worried I’d been ripped off. That the hut would be empty. That this was all a mistake.” “He made you pay in advance?” She laughs “Oh for god's sake. Why are you people always so naive?” “I was desperate. I’m cursed” “Of course you are” she says with the voice of a kinder garden teacher. Bored, condescending, overly sweet.   “So I knock on his door and I hear him shouting from inside in Mancunian. That’s when I knew he wasn’t for real.” “Manchester has lots of sorcerers” She says, suddenly defensive.  “But Tim isn’t one of them” “Good point”

Madam Blue leans back in her chair again, boots back on the table.

“”Hang on a minute” He shouted from in there and he sounded far away. Then I heard him stomping through the hut for about five minutes before he finally opened the door. His hut was tiny, I don’t know if there was a secret basement or something.”

“Bigger on the inside.” Madam Blue says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.   “Huh?” “We’re British.”

“Okay? Well, he opened the door. “Hi ‘ere” He said “y’awlrigt. Come on in. Want a brew?” He seemed nice, really”

“Don’t do the accent” she says. “Oh… want a brew?” “Sorry… yes please”.

She pours me a cup of tea, grabs her hip flask and gestures towards me with it, raising her eyebrows in a question. I nod. The tea is strong, and so is the whiskey. I’m grateful.

“All in all I was with Tim for about two hours. I told him my story. He listened. Then he told me to make lemonade. I think he meant like if life gives you lemons and all that.      "I told him the whole story, about Susy, about the rain. And I told him it's a curse. I told him how bloody miserable I’ve become because it always rains on me. He agreed it’s a curse. Then he sat there rolling a joint. He seemed to be thinking or meditating or something for about ten minutes, before he stood up. Looked like he had an epiphany. He’d got his beard all in a tangle and he was looking crazy.      "To be honest I was a little scared at this point. But part of me was hoping. You know. Maybe. Just maybe he could help me.”

I stand up stretching out, imitating the Mancunian shaman in Madam Blue's tiny kitchen. Standing on my toes, arms towards the heavens and Madam Blue's painted wooden ceiling. Making my voice deep, trying hard not to do the accent I shout out in mock enthusiasm:

               "Let your smile change the world, but don't let the world change your smile"

Madam Blue stifles a giggle.

“That’s it." I say "That’s all he gave me. £4000 I sent him and he gives me an inspirational quote. I asked him if he could cure me. He told me it wasn’t an illness, and then he made me leave. Meanwhile the rain was going crazy outside. Proper downpour. Only got worse when I left his hut” “He tricked you” She says "Want me to curse him?” “Can you?” “Wouldn’t be the first time”

“Anyway… I scrambled down the mountain side. Well, slid almost. It was a flood. As if the heaven’s themselves was trying to wash away my anger at this”

“He’s always been odd” she says. Thoughtful. Her blue eyes dancing purple in the candle light. Outside the clouds obscure the sun. I must have been on the island for hours, but no time seems to have passed. The Norwegian afternoon has grown no darker. The only sound giving away the passing of time is the waves crashing rhythmically on the rocks, gently rocking Madam Blue’s tiny motorboat.

“I was about halfway down the mountain when I heard him shouting at me. “Miss.” He shouted. “Miss. Come back up here. I might be able to help”"

Madam Blue chuckles. As if she knows something I don’t know. As if she’s heard this story before and she knows the next chapter by heart.

“So I walked back up. Well, climbed. There was a thunderstorm trapped between the peaks. Fought my way back up to Tim’s hut. He gave me a brandy and a piece of paper with the name of your island on it. Didn’t offer I could stay. But I guess he gave me something. A lead, I suppose. Or… I hope. Do you even think you can help me?”.

“If it’s a curse I can lift it” “It is” “You sure?” “I mean… I guess not” “We’ll see. So Tim led you to me?”

“He did. Well, he told me about you. I’m glad I remembered the name of your island, because by the time I made it back down that piece of paper was soaked. Although the rain did let up a bit on the second time going down So yes, I guess Tim led me to you. But I didn’t go straight away.      "At this point, I was getting used to the rain. I even started liking it a bit. I was starting to feel a sort of Stockholm Syndrome attachment to the black clouds hovering over my head. I’d accepted my curse. I suppose if someone cursed me, maybe I deserved it?”

“Perhaps” She sips her tea. "So you’ve learned to live with it then?” “I tried” “How?”

“Well… I fled. From humans. From sunshine. From civilisation. Well… to Germany.      "I rented a cottage in the Alps. Figured I could hide out there for a while. Weather the storm if you like. Although I suppose... I am the storm”

Madam Blue half laughs half coughs, putting down her pipe. She ties that blue hair of hers in a knot on top of her head. Her eyes have the colour of the roaring sea outside her windows. For a moment I forget where I am again. Forget why I came. I have no doubts she's aware. Aware and pleased.

She chuckles. No. She giggles. Giggles like a little girl or and old crone with new gossip. Her eyes fixing mine.

“Did it work?” She asks, sipping her tea, never breaking eye contact.   “What?” “Did you escape?” “Oh. I guess. Yeah. For a while. “ “I lived there. In the rain. I worked online. I taught myself German. I woke in the mornings and I slept at night. I went for walks in the rain-sodden hills. It was a quiet existence. My days were grey, but they were there.      “I had those days when the world seems loud and angry and unforgiving, before you even open your eyes. But I also had those days where the rain is barely a drizzle and you can drown it out with jazz. Jazz and wine. So yeah. I guess it worked. For a while”

“What changed?” she asks. Her eyes still fixed on me. “Susy did. She sent me a letter. I don’t know how she found me. But she did.”

Madam blue lifts her eyebrows. Not so much in surprise as in amusement.

“She wrote me to say sorry. “Sorry Blanca,” she wrote. “Sorry I left. Sorry I ever took your hand. I guess I didn’t realise you meant every word of it. I never meant to trick you but I also never believed in it. I’m sorry. I hope you are well. I hope the sun shines on your path” That’s what she wrote. She hopes the sun shines on my path.      "Oh that, and a wedding invitation. Church wedding. Back in Kansas. She wanted me there. Me who kissed her in a thunder storm. Me who whispered her name into my pillow when I was fourteen years old.” “Susy. Susy. Susy”. I repeat to my self again. The name sounds strange here on Madam Blue’s island. Here in a place that barely exists. That isn’t a part of the same world Susy is.

"Me who thought the gods had finally smiled at me when she decided to go through a phase. Susy wanted me at her bloody wedding” “Did you go?” Madam Blue is adding more whiskey to her tea, and more sugar. She looks about ready to bust out the popcorn. “It was a perfect chance to rain on her wedding cake. Literally. But no. I mean. I did go to Kansas I just didn’t go to the wedding. I stood at the train station one town over. I smelled the smog and the fields and the rain in the air. I could smell a downpour about to start. I looked at this place that was my home and somehow would never be home again. This place that looked like someone else’s home but didn’t want me. And then I left before anyone could see me, and before the rain got bad. I guess I didn’t want to ruin Susy’s wedding after all. I left and came straight here.” “And that’s it?” “That’s it. That’s my story. Well… The story of my curse" Madam Blue stuffs her pipe again. She gets up and rummages through her drawers. She disappears upstairs for a long time. I hear her boots on the wooden floors. Then I hear nothing but silence, silence and a few drops of rain. For a moment I think I hear the trumpet of an angry elephant. Then, I hear Madam Blue shouting “Oh shut up you big dumb brute” and then she stomps down the stairs in her big, black boots. She tosses me a snow globe and fills the kettle again. “Shake it” she says. Impatiently.

I oblige. Watching the snow whirl around inside, covering a plastic Santa from hat to toe. 

“I don’t think I get it?” I say. Watching the waves outside, as the wind picks up and the rain starts falling heavy again. Inside the snow globe, plastic Santa is being drowned in a snowstorm.

“Curses are like snow globes” Madam Blue says, putting tea leaves in her pot. “They sit still unless somebody shakes them” “What?” “Who cursed you, Miss Briggs?”

I empty my tea mug. The tea has gone cold, the whiskey still bites. Madam Blue fills the cup. “The thing about curses” Madam Blue says, sitting down across from me. Legs spread wide under the table. Steaming mug in hand. “Is that in the fairy tales it’s always easy to know who did the deed. There’s always an angry witch or a disgruntled sorcerer. There’s always a prince who didn’t let an old woman in his castle or a man who steals a flower he should have left alone.” she explains "In real life, it’s pretty much the same. If someone curses you, you notice. They may not kill a chicken in front of you and do Latin incantations, but you notice. So who cursed you?” “I… “ I sip my tea, burn my lips. “I have no clue” Madam Blue adds whiskey to my tea without asking. She nods, leans back in her chair and lights her pipe.   “That’s what I thought” She says.

"So..." I say. Tasting the suspense on my own breath "can you fix it? Can you lift the curse?”

Madam Blue stands up and half dances, half marches over to me. She holds out the palm of her hand. Outstretched and waiting. Hanging there like the hand of a child waiting for candy. And at the same time weary and ancient like a hand that has been begging for decades for gifts from above. The room is more silent than it has been at any point before. I hear the waves crashing. I hear Madam Blue's boat dancing on the waves. I hear my own breath and my own heartbeat. One thing this moment lacks, I only notice now, is the sound of rain. As if the rain clouds themselves are holding their breath, waiting in anticipation. Holding in their rain whispering to each other above our heads "can she fix it? Can she stop the rain?”

Madam Blue does not answer my question. She stands there with her hand outstretched for thirty long seconds. I ponder whether to give her the snow globe or a hi five.

"Do you have the payment?" she asks.

Unlike her brother, Madam Blue did not charge me ahead. She demanded only that I bring a single pebble from the place I was born. A single pebble from the banks of the Missouri River. She spent hours of her time and tea listening to my story before asking if I even brought it with me. Meanwhile, I'd forgotten everything about the pebble hiding in the depths of my raincoat pocket. Small and smooth and far from home. Buried under train tickets. Gum wrappers. A soaked, unintelligible piece of paper with the hand-scrawled name of a Norwegian island. I reach in, dig it out, and deliver it safely in the waiting palm of Madam Blue whose eyes light up like a child's.

Madam Blue sits down, the pebble disappearing into a hidden pocket in the folds of her skirt never to be seen again. She sips her tea. Looks me in the eyes. Sighs. Then, finally, she speaks.

"I can't lift the curse”

My heart sinks. The sound of rain on the roof. The clouds opening. Letting out all that rain they'd kept inside. A downpour splashing on the window and the rocks.

"I can't lift the curse" She says again. "Because you're not cursed" 

And just like that. The rain stops. Silence again.

I say nothing.

A single ray of sunshine creeps in through the window. It plays with Madam Blue's hair. It reflects in her eyes. Honest, ancient eyes. It lights up her face as she smiles to me.

"It's not a curse" She says "it's a power"   "It's a what!" "Shake that snow globe again, will you?”

Plastic Santa is again helplessly drowned in a storm of plastic snow flakes.

"Snow globes only snow when someone shakes them" Madam Blue tells me, again. Her voice is that of a schoolteacher who has explained this fifteen times before. "You assumed, god knows why, that someone else shakes your globe. But no one touched it but you. You lack a culprit". "But it always rains on me” I protest. Knowing it’s futile before the words leave my mouth. "Not right now” She says. I look at the sky and at the sea. Both as blue as her eyes and her hair. "Everywhere you go it rains on you. Because you bring the rain”. "So... how do I stop It?" I ask. Expecting her to demand another pebble. "How do I control It?”  

Madam Blue takes a sip of her whiskey. Straight from the hip flask. She throws her hands in the air. Outside, clouds are gathering again.

"I'm not professor McGonagall!" She says "or Nick Fury" She almost sounds annoyed with me. Annoyed and amused. "I specialise in lifting curses. Not controlling the weather, or handling powers. Tell you the truth" she says, lowering her voice "you're probably more powerful than me. But don't tell Tim”.

The rain is still there when I leave. Steering Madam Blue's motorboat through a drizzle. Behind the cliffs of the coast, the sun is rising, although I never saw the night.  In my pocket, wrapped in a zip-lock bag. Is the address of a Siberian sorceress who "might be able to help. Might send her pet lynx to chase you away”. 

By the time I reach the coast, the rain has settled to a dampness In the air. Tiny beads of rain clinging to existence in the air, on the boat, on my coat. I let the boat drift back towards the island. Watch it disappear into the sea mist, that has already swallowed up the island. According to Madam Blue, the boat will “find her own way home”. I walk away from the shore, the sea reaching for me, licking my footprints like wounds. I walk there, salt on my skin, rain drops gathering in my hair. And I catch myself nurturing a tiny seedling of hope. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps the rain can stop. No. Perhaps I can stop the rain.

For hours on buses, on trains, on a boat through the Baltic sea, through a night and a day and a drizzle of rain, I try. The hope is watered with rain and sprouts in my mind. Sometimes the rain stops. When I focus. But then, just as I think I’ve got it, a downpour begins. Walking up my mountain side to my secluded cottage, the rain is washing my feet. My socks already drenched. Clouds are gathering over the mountain even before I arrive. The address of the Siberian sorceress still in my pocket. Dry and burning. Calling to me. In front of me is my cottage, and my garden and then I stop. When I moved in. Last spring. The garden was barren and dead. A mini wasteland in the living Alps. Nothing but moss growing there. Now, the garden is blossoming in a bounty of wild flowers. Fox gloves and thistles and cow vetch swaying side by side. Rampions and bell flowers and yarrows. I have no idea how this happened. And in my garden is a lady. A little old Oma, hunched over in the rain, her head covered in a scarf. She lifts her head and she looks at me through sea blue eyes in a wrinkled face.

"Oh don't mind me" she says "I was just admiring your beautiful garden" she says.

Slowly walking out of it with tiny steps. Shuffling feet and moving her walking stick with each step. As she makes her way pasts me she glances at me, a smile in her eyes, muttering under her breath

"must be all the rain”.

I watch the woman walk away towards the valley, and as she heads downwards the clouds part. A dash of sun caresses the old woman as she shuffles away.

I turn towards the house. Just as I glance back for one last look, a gust of wind releases a strand of the old woman's hair as she disappears from view.

Behind her, gracefully dancing in the wind, one long lock of sea blue hair.

Thank you for reading. If you want more. You can find more of my stories here. This story was inspired by the song “Rains on Me” by Tom Waits. Give it a listen.  For the style I was largely inspired by Nights at the Circus by Angela Carter, which I’m currently reading and I chose to do a story-within-a-story kind of thing because of this book and because of Frankenstein, which I just finished. Both are great reads. You can read more about my 12 stories project here. Again. Thanks for reading. Feel free to share, comment, whatever floats your boat - it’s all appreciated.

[ryukodragon]

New Years Past

Mike Schmidt has seen a lot of New Years.  Some were good, others… not so much.  These are some of the years he remembered most.

December 31, 1987:

“Michael?  Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

Cynthia Pearson followed the muffled cries upstairs towards the bedrooms.  The small gathering of friends continued with their light banter in the living room; her husband Hank was the host in her brief absence, and he played the part well… considering everything that had happened lately.

To her surprise, Mike wasn’t in his room at all.  The sound came instead from the master bedroom.  Worry quickened her pace as she turned the corner, and the sound guided her to her bedside lamp, illuminating her crying nephew huddled on the floor beneath it.  Surrounding the child, photographs had been strewn everywhere, scattered from the box toppled over next to him.

“Mike!  What happened, baby?” Cynthia swooped over him, gently easing him upright and keeping her voice calm and soothing.

The boy yanked himself out of her grip, glaring up at her with glassy eyes.  "Go away!!“ he howled.  "L-leave me alone!”

Motherly instinct wanted to reprimand him, but Cynthia knew this wasn’t a tantrum out of bad behaviour.  The doctors had cautioned her about moments like this.  She spared a glance at the bandages around his head; thankfully, nothing seemed to be bleeding this time.  All she had to do was calm him down.  "Michael, come here,“ she commanded softly, "it’s past your bedtime.  Let’s get you tucked in…”

“You’re not my mom!!”

The accusation was not a new one, but it would take a while for the sting to fade.  "Yes, that’s true, but your mom would want you to–“

"Then why isn’t SHE here?!”

“I– we don’t know, Mikey, no one knows where she is…”

“D-does she HATE me now?  'Cuz I’m ugly?  Cuz I c-can’t remember her?  Why isn’t she here??”

Fighting to keep her building emotions under control, Cynthia settled on the floor beside Mike and reached for his shoulder.  "None of that is true, sweetheart.  Your mother loves you so much.  She would be here with you if she could.“

Mike’s face pinched in growing frustration.  "You.. you said that before… I remember that you said it… so why can’t I…”

He plucked a photo from the pile, examining it closely.  Cynthia recognized the moment - the annual family picnic from this past summer.  There was Mike, laughing brightly as Lisa - his mother, Cynthia’s own little sister - swung him around in the warm noon-day sun.  Neither had a care in the world.

Neither of them knew… no one knew what would happen just a few months after that picture was taken.

Cynthia took a moment to collect herself.  Wiping tears away with a quick breath, she remarked with the best smile she could muster.  "See there, Mike?  Look how happy you both are!  Oh, you love each other so much…“

The pair sat in silence, studying the captured moment together.  It seemed that Mike was calming down.

Then, as Cynthia moved to guide him back to bed, his grip on the picture tightened.

"I can’t remember… anything… not even my mom.  And if I try too hard, i-it hurts.  Why?”

His little shoulders shook.  Cynthia tugged him against her, and this time he fell into her open arms with no resistance.  He dropped the picture with a pained squeal, clutching at his own head.  His frantic fingers were beginning to tug at the bandages.

Carefully, Cynthia pulled Mike’s hands away, smoothing the wrap back into place and offering to carry him to the bathroom for his medicine.  However, Mike shook his head and curled against her side, bunching the fabric of her blouse in tight fists as he began sobbing all over again.

“Why do I miss her?” he wailed.  “I don’t even know her!  I don’t know anybody!  What’s wrong with me??”

Now at a loss herself, Cynthia held her young nephew close, muttering words of comfort as she rocked him back and forth.  She wasn’t sure how much time passed; her own children wandered in, curious and worried, but she quietly ordered them back to their rooms, promising to explain in the morning.  Eventually, she was able to guide Mike back to his bed, administer his medicine, and re-apply his bandages as he nodded off, completely spent.  The party downstairs had gone quiet for a moment; then, everyone began singing, welcoming the new year.

Cynthia hummed along as she watched over Mike.  Silently, she prayed for a better year for her family… and especially for her dear little nephew.

*~*~*

December 31, 1990:

Someone knocked at his door.  Mike barely acknowledged it with a silent eyeroll, then returned his attention to Super Mario Land. He was finally getting the hang of a challenging stage; of course, that meant that an interruption was due.

“Mike?  Hey kiddo, you awake?”  The young pre-teen felt his gut knot.  Uncle Hank spoke lightly, but Mike could hear the stern, no-nonsense tone from the other side of his door.  Considering he was the reason Mike was currently grounded to his room for the night, he was very tempted to fake-sleep until the man left.

Still… something nagged at him to face the music now instead of later.  Mike had to admit, it made some kinda sense.

“Yeah,” he sighed reluctantly, turning off the Game Boy. “I’m up.”

The door opened, and Mike sat up to make room for his uncle to sit on the bed.  The older man sighed, adjusting his glasses.  "You feeling okay to talk?“

Mike shrugged without looking at him.

Uncle Hank leaned forward, mimicking Mike’s brooding posture.  "Right… you understand why we sent you up here?”

A beat passed before the pre-teen nodded.  His expression was unchanged - a blank, halfhearted glare directed at the floor. 

“Mmm'kay - well, how about you tell me what happened?  Aunt Cynthia and I heard from Jenny, so let’s hear your side of the story.”

There was a slight shift from Mike; Hank could feel him tense up.  He knew Mike wasn’t the best at expressing himself anymore, and with puberty on top of that, situations like these had to be handled with more care than usual.  Luckily, his own daughter Kim was a feisty 17-year-old, and was giving him a run for his money - in a sense, he’d been trained to handle Mike’s moodiness, and would be more than ready for Jenny’s teen years after this.

He patiently waited for Mike to speak.  When he did, it was in an uncomfortable mumble.  "She kept makin’ fun of me.  Kept messin’ up the game… I wanted to beat the game but she didn’t care…“

Hank nodded, "Jenny said that she was wanting a turn.  Did she ask nicely?”

“I wasn’t done yet!” Mike spluttered.  “So she bumped my arm and pushed buttons a-and jumped in front of the TV to make me die on purpose!  She thought it was funny!!”

Hank looked his nephew in the eye.  "And that’s when you hit her.“

Mike blinked, suddenly abashed.  "Y-yeah.  Yeah.”

“Do you think it was necessary to hit your cousin like that?”

“… no…”  Mike looked away again, heaving an angry breath.  He rubbed his bare scalp with a restrained groan, apparently fighting down a new headache.  "I just… I was so angry, and Jenny didn’t stop.  It’s like she didn’t care, she didn’t…“

The boy felt a warm, steadying hand on his shoulder.  "She didn’t understand how upset you were, and so you felt that you had to make her understand.  Is that right?”

“I - I guess?  I dunno,” Mike muttered.  He blinked hard, and Hank caught sight of angry tears beginning to form.  "I didn’t wanna hurt her, I just wanted her to stop…“

"Hey, I know, I know,” Hank assured him; Mike was breathing heavily, keeping what composure he had left.  He rubbed Mike’s back in an attempt to soothe him.  "Jenny’s still growing up, and so is her ability to handle disagreements.  Heh, I remember you pulling a few tricks to get what you wanted when you were her age–“

"I don’t remember being eight years old, Uncle Hank.”

The older of the two nearly choked - that was a fair point, and he told Mike as much, even as the pre-teen fixed him with a dour look.  "Very true, Mike, very true, you - you’re absolutely right there.  The point is, Jenny is still learning how to interact with others as she grows up.  She won’t learn these things the exact same way that you already have, but we’ll do our best to teach her.  Yes, she was an aggravating playmate for you today, and your aunt and I will explain this to her when I go back downstairs.

“Now, as for you, Michael - you clearly know that you went too far, so I don’t need to explain that, right?”  He waited for Mike’s sullen nod before continuing.  "Right.  Then that’s half the battle already won.  You know that resorting to violence out of anger alone is wrong.  The other half of that battle will be controlling yourself.  Learning how to think before reacting.“

He shifted around to better face Mike, who was still looking gloomy, but paying attention.  "It’s like this, Michael.  If you’re gonna fight, it has to be the only option you have left, because chances are, you’re either gonna hurt someone else… or you’re gonna get hurt yourself.  So that can’t be your first choice - especially when dealing with your little cousin.  If this happens again, you come to us to settle things.  Is that clear?”

Mike’s frown remained.  Even so, his breathing had grown calm, his eyes had softened, and he nodded.  "Yes sir.“

Hank smiled at this.  "All right then!  That’s a step taken.”  He clapped Mike’s shoulder and rose to his feet.  "Okay, I’ll go talk to Aunt Cynthia and Jenny, and we’ll call you down so the two of you can make up.  You’re still grounded for the night - lights out and Game Boy off by ten.“  Then he suddenly chuckled.  "No games until next year, looks like.  Think you can handle it?”

Mike scoffed, but managed a wry smirk.  "Yeah, guess so.“

His uncle snickered as he left, giving Mike a few minutes to himself.  He wasn’t too keen on staying up for New Year’s anyway, but losing his Game Boy so early really sucked.

At least he would get it back for the new year.  And as much as Jenny had driven him crazy tonight, he hoped they could make up and be friends again.

Maybe next year would be better.

*~*~*

December 31, 1994:

Having spent the last New Year’s Eve staying up for the countdown, Mike wasn’t completely ecstatic to do it again.  His aunt and uncle were hosting another get together with family and friends, and the noise was quickly getting to him.  Music, lights, chatter and laughter - he’d nearly reached his limit.

Luckily, the others were considerate enough to give him space.  If anyone tried to rope him into a group conversation with strangers, he could count on Uncle Hank, Aunt Cynthia, and even his cousins Kim and Jenny to intervene and redirect attention elsewhere.

About five minutes away from the countdown, Mike decided to stock up on food, participate in the toast to the new year, down a glass of champagne as fast as he could, and retreat to his room for the rest of tonight.  And possibly for the whole day tomorrow.  Beneath his beret, he could feel his scars pulsing with growing agony.

Discreetly, the teen darted between guests and grabbed a handful of sugar cookies from the kitchen table.  He was just digging through the fridge to grab a can of soda, when Kim called for him from the parlour.

"Mikey!  Telephone!”

Ugh.  Figures.

But… who’d be calling him this late?

He eventually made it to Kim, soda in one hand while the other reached for the phone.  She held it away from him.  "You might wanna take it upstairs - it’s quieter,“ she reasoned, nodding at the continuing party.

"Mm'kay, thanks.”  Well, it was an excuse to avoid cheering and singing with the crowd.  He took the stairs two at a time.

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Kim cheered at him with a wink.

He shot her a confused look, and moved faster to get away.  She must’ve been having champagne already…

Soon Mike was in the peaceful master bedroom, sitting at his uncle’s desk as he picked up the phone.  He waited to hear the click of Kim hanging up before speaking.  "Uh, hello?“

"Heyyy, Mikey!”

The teen choked, nearly dropping his soda.  "Wh- uhh, hey [Doll]!“  When had he given her his phone number?  There were certain details like that he couldn’t remember precisely, but he quickly dismissed the confusion.  She’d actually called him!  "H-how are you?”

“Doing good!” she answered cheerily; he could hear her smile, and he felt himself grinning with her.  "Yeah, Dad and I are just getting ready to count down!  Sorry to pull you away from the party, it sounds amazing!“

"Ehhh, it’s nice, but a bit too noisy for me,” he admitted, relaxing into the chair.

“Oh, right… i-is your head okay?” she asked quietly.

He slid the beret off and rubbed at his scars, glad that she wasn’t there to see them.  "S'alright, nothing bad.  Actually, sitting here in a quiet room helps a lot, so… thanks for calling.“

She tittered, "No problem!  Guess my timing’s getting better.”  They both laughed, and Mike felt lighter and warmer than he’d felt all night.  Hell, even his headache was starting to fade.

Then his friend asked him, “So, uh, I was wondering - any resolutions for the new year?”

He took a sip of his soda with a thoughtful hum.  "Mmm… actually I don’t really.. make those, y'know?  Heh, if I can make it from one year to the next, that’s a pretty big success.  Can’t lose that way.“

"That’s fair, I suppose,” she replied.  "Still, it could be fun for each of us to make a goal, and help each other get there - er, I mean, only if you want to, of course.“

"Huh… yeah, maybe,” he answered without thinking.  It did sound more interesting than making a fruitless promise on your own and forgetting about it the next day.  “No guilt trips for breaking 'em?” “Absolutely,” she promised. “Mmm, okay then… I just don’t know what to, uh.. 'resolve’.”

“Well, I can tell you mine, and maybe that’ll give you an idea?”

“Sure, go ahead.”  He took the chance to eat a cookie as she talked.

“Okay!  So, I’m gonna resolve to… take a chance at something big.  Something that’s only gonna happen once, and if the opportunity comes, I’m not gonna pass it up.  Maybe I’ll travel somewhere in the summer, or splurge on backstage passes, or go bungee jumping, or whatever!  I just wanna… say I did something, and didn’t let nerves hold me back.”  She finished with a shy chuckle.

Mike couldn’t hide his smile at all.  This girl was something else.  "Wow - that’s a helluva resolution,“ he grinned.  "Maybe I’ll just copy yours.”

“Noooo, you can’t copy my answer!” she laughed.  "That’s cheating!“

"Only if I get caught.”

“Awww, c'mooooon Mikey, there’s gotta be something you wanna–”

Her father called out in the background, telling her the countdown was beginning.  Soon, Mike could hear [Doll], her father, and every guest downstairs calling out the seconds.

Honestly, Mike couldn’t think of his own resolution - everything he wanted to do had either been impossible or a disappointment.  He liked [Doll’s] resolution, though.  It was general enough to apply to all kinds of things, and specific enough to define some kind of goal.

She was pretty smart… well, if he was honest, she was pretty and smart.  He couldn’t remember having a friend like her before.  Talking, laughing, even studying for tests - doing anything with her gave him so much happiness.

His first moments of the new year were spent laughing with his best friend, and Mike hoped it was a good sign for the rest of it.

*~*~*

December 31, 1998:

Everything had gone to s#!&.

The last thing Mike wanted to do was wake up again.  Another day, another year, it could all take a flying leap and he wouldn’t miss it.  Hell, he’d take the flying leap if nothing else would.  His head screamed, with pain, with failure, with agony, with voices damning his very existence and everyone he’d dragged down because of it.  He was nothing and he was sick of being nothing and he just wanted it to stop.

He was sitting on the floor, back against the bed and his knees hugged to his chest as he bit down the urge to cry until he was spent.  He’d tried his hardest this time, he’d tried everything, put all of his effort into this job, fighting to make it work, fighting to keep it.

That morning, his boss had called him.  Said they had enough staff to carry them into the next year.  He didn’t make the cut.  His cheque was in the mail.  Thanks for everything.  Happy New Year.

Thanks for everything?  How about thanks for nothing??

The worst part wasn’t losing the job itself, no - it was losing it after giving his all.  Losing it right when bills were at their worst.

Letting her down.  Again.

Doll was beside him, hugging his shoulders for what felt like hours.  She was grounding his senses to some degree, but Mike was too furious with himself, and life in general, to calm down.

He would never succeed, he would always fall short, he would never be independent, he would never support Doll with a stable life, stable income, stable anything, he was a hopeless mess even when he tried so what was the point of trying anymore why bother–

“We’ll figure this out, Mikey.  Hey, I’m here… you’re not alone, okay?  I’m right here.  I’m with you, no matter what.”

Mike had been trying to drown her out with his shouting.  He was sick of hoping and hanging on.

However, listening to her words, tear-choked and loving, all for him… finally broke him down.

The new year arrived as Mike cried out the rest of his frustration, and true to her word, Doll didn’t leave his side.

*~*~*

December 31, 1999:

Mike had been waiting all night for this.  The evening itself had been nice - a quiet celebration at home, going through a stack of movies, with plenty of snacks and drinks on hand, and his wonderful partner curled up beside him on the couch.  They’d paused “The Mummy” to watch the countdown on TV.

He’d never felt excited about the countdown before.  This year, though, was different from any other.  New Year’s had been discussed for months, even before the Christmas buzz had begun.  There was an atmosphere of panic, excitement, and anticipation for what would happen after the year changed over.  Even Mike was drawn into the hype - but for his own reasons.

The countdown finally began.  He leaned forward, and Doll joined him, counting aloud, while Mike watched the numbers tick on the screen.  He didn’t blink.  He didn’t breathe.  He was probably a fool for hoping.

A stray thought passed through, genuinely worried that what he hoped would come true.  He ignored it.

“3… 2… 1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

He watched it change - 1999 became 2000.  He kept holding his breath, even as Doll cheered along. …………..

Nothing happened.

Nothing exploded.  Nothing shut down.  The lights didn’t even flicker.

Doll clinked her glass of champagne against his, snapping him out of his stupor.  “Happy New Year, sweetie,” she crooned, kissing his cheek.

“Check your laptop,” he responded.

She blinked, somewhat perturbed, but after a moment she leaped up with a worried squeak.  “Ohhh, I hope it’s okay - all of my schoolwork is on there!”

Mike watched her power the computer on.  That minute it took to start up felt like hours.  The stray thought returned, terrified that he’d been right.

The laptop hummed and buzzed… and the desktop appeared with a happy tune.

The stray thought dropped from his mind, heaving a silent sigh of relief.  Mike, on the other hand, cursed and downed his drink in one gulp.

“Thank goodness,” Doll sighed.  “It even has the right date!  Huh, so much for Y2K.”

Mike grunted.  When Doll turned back to him, he was stretched out on the couch, one arm over his eyes in disappointment.  She parked herself on an available patch of cushion beside him, reaching for his face to offer comfort.  “What’s the matter?  Isn’t that good news?”

“Mmmmmmmhhh… kinda hoped something would shut down."  He could picture the robotic nightmares at his workplace, cackling and screeching in triumph, and the image made him want to run all the way to work with a flamethrower.

Doll was able to guess what he meant, and she chuckled sympathetically.  "Awww… well, at least this means you still have a job, right?”

Another grunt.  He didn’t move a muscle.

His girlfriend sighed; she’d hoped this New Year would have been better than the last one.  From outside, she could hear distant fireworks exploding, and some of their apartment neighbors were cheering and singing.

This gave her an idea.

“Hey Mikey… wanna see some fireworks anyway?” she asked him.  He shook his head in the negative.

Expecting this, Doll leaned down and whispered something else to him.

This time, he raised his arm in silent surprise, staring up at Doll.  She just smiled wordlessly, reached for her champagne glass, downed it in one go, gave him a very inviting look, and sauntered to their bedroom.

After a stunned moment, Mike raced after her.

*~*~*

December 31, 2002:

Jeremy was having the best New Year’s Eve of his life.  He was warm, comfortable, and laughing at the movies he’d missed with two amazing, supportive friends.

He was even getting to see a new side of Mike.  The older man sat between Doll and Jeremy, laughing and cracking puns, his smile rarely disappearing.  Sure, he’d had a few drinks, but he was messing with Jeremy’s hair, calling him “son” with that same smile, and the young nightguard knew it wasn’t just the alcohol talking.

This felt like the home he’d always wanted.

Doll gave everyone champagne as the countdown approached.  Mike loudly cheered, “Bring on the booze an’ fireworks!  We made it!"  He looped one arm around Jeremy’s shoulders and continued, "Those Fazf*@&ers can’t stop us!”

“Y-yeah!” Jeremy chuckled, trying to mimic Mike’s energy.  “We’re tough!”

“YEAAHH, that’s the spirit!"  Mike swung his glass in an exuberant cheer, sloshing some of his drink over the side.

"Okay, easy there Mikey,” Doll laughed, reaching for his drink.  “Maybe wait for the New Year to hold that!”

“My booze..” Mike pouted, but didn’t fight back.  Once Doll settled back on the couch, he leaned over and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her cheek.  “Mmmmm, what about the fireworks, babe..?”

Jeremy snickered and looked away as Doll gasped, “Michael!  Jeremy’s right here!”

“Hmm?  Oh yeah, yeah!  Good point…"  The older man nodded and turned back to Jeremy.  "Mmm'kay, listen up son… when a man and his fiancée love each other very much–”

“MICHAEL!!”

“I’m just bein’ a good dad!” he reasoned with a cheeky grin at his wife-to-be, who shook her head with a laugh and gave up.  Jeremy, of course, was grinning the whole time.

“Don’t worry Mike,” he chimed in, “you’re… you’re the best dad!”

He’d said it with a giggle, hoping it would be taken as part of the joke.  To his surprise, however, Mike’s smile slowly faded.  He stared at Jeremy in abrupt silence, expression unreadable.  “You… y'mean that, kid?”

Rising panic threatened to overtake Jeremy’s senses.  Had he said something wrong?  He glanced at Doll for guidance.  She watched the pair and offered Jeremy a kind, encouraging smile - so he was saying something good, right?

With a steadying breath, he spoke honestly.  “Well.. y-yeah.  I mean, my– the people at my place, they’re… they’re not good parents.  Y-you and Miss Doll are, uh… y-you’re fantastic parents.  I mean, you feel like… the kinda people my parents should be.  So.. yeah, Dad.  You’re great.”

Both Mike and Doll were beaming, unshed tears brimming in their eyes.  Suddenly, Mike grabbed Jeremy in a tight hug, ruffling his hair.  “You’re the best son anyone could ask for,” he rasped.  “Anyone sayin’ otherwise is full of it!”

Jeremy smiled so widely, he could feel his face hurt.  He returned the hug with all his strength.

Doll nodded, reaching over to stroke his tousled hair too.  “Thank you Jeremy… that really means a lot to us.  YOU mean a lot to us!"   Then she took a breath.  "You know… maybe this is a good time, then, to bring up something we’ve been talking about.  Right Mikey?”

“Hmm?  Whuzzat?” Mike asked, pulling away from Jeremy with a sniff.  Doll held his hand with a bemused smile.

“The apartment, sweetie.”

Jeremy looked between the two of them, feeling nervous excitement again.  “Uhh.. apartment?”

Huddling close to Mike, Doll faced Jeremy and explained.  “Well, Mike and I were talking about you… how we love having you over, and how we wish we could… give you a better place to stay.  You know, when things aren’t great at home.

"I actually ran into one of the upstairs neighbors last week, and it turns out, they’re moving out at the end of January.  It’s… it’s a two-bedroom apartment, Jeremy."  She smiled when she felt Mike jolt; he remembered this conversation now.  "And, well, if we had someone move in with us… we could afford it, together.”

A numbing rush of emotion flooded Jeremy as he realized what was being suggested.  They.. they wanted him to live with them. They wanted him to move in.  Stay with them.  Stay here. He looked between them - his friends, the people who truly cared about him, who had become his mentors and support through so many nightmares - and was too stunned to say anything.  He could feel his breath growing short, his thoughts starting to rush, and he lost all awareness for a second.

Seeing this, Mike and Doll both reached for him, Mike’s hand on one shoulder and Doll’s on the opposite knee.  “It’s okay Jeremy!  There’s no rush, I know that’s a lot to take in,” Doll tried to soothe him.

“Yeah, take it easy, kid, there’s no - you’re fine, you’re fine,” Mike tried as well.  “S'just an idea, and if you say no, it’s… it’s fine, okay?  You can still crash here anytime--”

“N-no!  No, I… I’d love to.  I’d… I, really… yeah!”

As soon as he was able to get those words out, Jeremy pulled Mike and Doll into a hug.  None of them realized that the countdown had long since passed, and their new year began with smiles, hope and laughter.

*~*~*

December 31, 2004:

Mike couldn’t quite believe the life he was living right now.

At no point in all of his living memory did he allow the possibility for so much.  He tried to recall everything that had happened - in summary, not in detail, not yet - to figure out how it had all happened.

Freddy’s had finally shut down.  Gone forever.  The horrors that had haunted the pizzeria were no more.  Never again would Mike or Jeremy have to count down the minutes to six AM, nor would they have to fight for their lives against possessed animatronics determined to rip them apart.

Now here he was, living in a house, an actual house, with his family.  They’d all spent the past year supporting each other as they recovered, adjusting to their new lives without Freddy Fazbear’s looming over their heads.

Mike had to give credit to his family.  If it wasn’t for them, he knew he’d be in a very different position.

Doll, his strong, incredible wife.  Jeremy, his amazing best friend and adoptive son.

And now, cradled and sleeping in his arms without a care, his six-month-old daughter, Faith.

His daughter.

All Mike had known, and been certain about, was failure.  Every year had ups and downs, but the only consistent pattern Mike saw in himself was falling short of expectations.  Any time he succeeded, most people reacted with surprise, asking questions how it had happened, who had helped him.  Aside from his family and closest friends, no one believed he could do anything for himself.

Now, he was determined to succeed.  If he failed, that wouldn’t stop him.  He’d try again, try new things - he’d do whatever he had to, if it meant his family was happy and safe.

He wanted to be there for them.  See them smile and succeed.  Watch Faith grow into an amazing person.  He wanted to be a part of it all.

And if anything tried to stop him, or do his family wrong, he’d give 'em hell.

“Mikey?  You okay?"  Doll whispered from the doorway.  He’d been idly rocking Faith above her crib, which was in their bedroom.  Mike turned to his wife with an assuring smile.

"Yeah, we’re okay,” he hummed.  “Jus’… bonding.”

She smiled and joined them, wrapping her family in a gentle group hug.  Faith squirmed and gurgled, but didn’t wake.  “Still wanna ring in the new year together?” Doll asked.

He shrugged, kissing Doll’s temple.  “Maybe… don’t wanna wake her though…”

“That’s okay!  I’ve got an idea,” Doll offered as she skipped out of the room.

Soon she returned, with Jeremy following behind and champagne glasses for all three of them.  In the quiet, darkened room, the little family welcomed the new year, raising a toast to Faith, and to their future.

Come what may, they would face it together.