#this just looks like an informational book about domestic cats. like each chapter would be about breeds from each country

[fxa]

the french warriors covers are so funny to me. i hate the realistic cat covers and the french ones are worse than the english. imagine picking up this book dans la librairie because it has a photograph of a cute kitty on the front, only it turns out the cat has thoughts, which is cool until you learn approximately 9 out of 10 of those thoughts, for a good portion of the book, are about murder. specifically, cold-blooded first-degree homicide. this cat spends most of his young adult life actively fantasizing about feeling the life bleed out of his enemies. well, one enemy. a guy he knew for like a month and did absolutely nothing to him. this chéri petit chaton, for moons upon moons of his life, at the expense of his own relationships and loyalty and love for life, imagines pinning down a near-stranger, unsheathing a single claw, and slowly cutting his throat, practically with religious ecstasy, barely short of needing to resist the temptation to lap up the blood as it squirts out of the jugular he just sliced as gently as, and with the relish of, chopping a tender carrot that will flavor one's soup. a petite parisienne girl of a humble 8 years/96 moons/firestar death age just can't get that from this cover. and she'd love it

[fremedon]

Brickclub 3.3.7, “A Bit of Skirt,” and 3.3.8, “Marble Versus Granite”

I feel like I don’t have much to say here that @everyonewasabird hasn’t said in his writeups of these two chapters, so I’m just going to stick a pin in Marius’s internalization of the word ‘ingrate’ and the recurring image of a character turned to stone and write up what else I’ve got, since tomorrow we hit Almost Historic. (And we’re spending the rest of the week, and the next two, on the six chapters of 3.4, “The Friends of the ABC.”

Observations, in no particular order:

--We’re revisiting the notion of destructive curiosity--rapacious curiosity, even, in the way Gillenormand and Aunt Gillenormand pry into Marius’s affairs here. And I’m struck by how well Théodule comes off despite also getting drawn personally into discovering Marius’s secrets: “And no longer acting for someone else but out of personal curiosity, like dogs that hunt on their own account, he started to follow Marius.”

He even gets a dog metaphor! Those are never good! He literally stalks Marius on tip-toe, which is a hilarious image. But, like Fauchelevent, he satisfies his curiosity and doesn’t use what he’s learned--he doesn’t inform on Marius, for money and favor or for scandal-mongering.

--Théodule deals much better than any other member of the Gillenormand family with being proved wrong. He jumps to the same conclusion Gillenormand does--Aunt G feels “her conviction grow irresistably from that word ‘sweetheart’ delivered in almost exactly the same way by great-uncle and great-nephew”--but when he actually sees that Marius’s rendezvous has been with a grave...it weirds him out, a lot, but he does actually take this new information on board and modify his behavior accordingly. Good job, Théodule.

--The narrator is lying, or misdirecting more than he usually he does here: “[Théodule] came to Paris rarely, so rarely that Marius had never seen him. The cousins knew each other only by name.” Marius has never seen Théodule, at least not to put a name to him and remember him, but Théodule recognizes Marius perfectly well.

(I assume that Marius met Théodule years ago, when he was a child and Théodule was a teenager, and remembers Théodule as being a foot taller than him with bad skin and mismatched features. He has never made the connection to the handsome man of middling height who sometimes visits his aunt. And no one’s thought to introduce them, because of course Marius has met Théodule!)

--Marius speaks “stiffly, with eyes downcast.” Like Fantine, he noticeably avoids eye contact when under stress.

--Just before that:

Marius reddened slightly and replied, “It means I’m my father’s son.” Monsieur Gillenormand stopped laughing and said harshly, “I'm your father.”

The contrast between Gillenormand’s insistence on paternity and Valjean’s attempts to disavow his is sure...something.

--Priest imagery alert: “[Marius] was the priest who sees all his holy wafers thrown to the wind, the fakir who sees a passer-by spit on his idol.”

--Fatalité alert: “There are always these little accidents of fate that complicate domestic dramas. As a result, resentments increase although no additional wrongs may have been done.” In this case, Nicolette drops Marius’s locket on the dark staircase, and Marius assumes it’s been destroyed.

--T/V variation alert: Gillenormand, “[l]eft with a vast reserve of fury to expend and not knowing how to vent it,” addresses his daughter as vous for more than three months.

--I am fascinated by the convoluted entry we get into Volume III, the Paris half of the book, and its characters. We’ve taken our time getting into Volumes I and II, but our introduction to the characters was mostly packaged up into pretty discrete chunks: We had one book on the bishop, one on Valjean, a digression of one short chapter, and then followed Fantine as as our viewpoint character for the next three books. In Volume II, we had one book of Waterloo, ending with a glimpse of Thénardier and Pontmercy; then a brief, outside-POV look at Valjean; and then book III sketches Cosette’s world in two quick chapters on Montfermeil and the Thénardiers and stays in her POV until Valjean arrives, whereupon we rejoin him.

In Book III, I’ve been trying to follow what you would actually know of the characters when, on a first reading with no knowledge of the plot, and it’s wild. 

We get most of a book on gamins in general; one chapter of Gavroche’s intro, which is completely at odds with the character we’ll eventually get to know; a mention that the family that kicked him out (of their room in the Gorbeau House) is named Jondrette and that his mother loves his sisters, which is the first and so far the only clue we have to the Jondrettes’ identity; and, as the last two lines of book 1, “The cell next door was occupied by a very poor young man called Monsieur Marius. Let us explain who this Monsieur Marius was.”

...and then we jump into a whole book of eight chapters on Gillenormand. The last few lines of chapter 8 establishes that he has a grandson, still unnamed, and says “We shall return to this child”--which we do only after meeting the Ultra salons, then Georges, and then only toward the end of Georges’s chapter do we learn that his son is the aforementioned Marius. (And it takes all of Book IV, and the introductions of all of the Amis, to get Marius into the Gorbeau House.)

We talked a lot in Book I about the time it took us to properly meet Valjean, and all the outside viewpoints we get before we really get into his head, but compared to Marius’s introduction the book is *really direct* about Valjean. The narrative sneaks up on him as if he’s a cat we’re trying to pill, and I’m not sure why.

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Three: Risk It All

Always Golden Masterlist

I hope you’re enjoying this story so far! I have a feeling you’re going to love where it goes from here.

TW: This chapter contains themes and descriptions of domestic abuse

Love is a minefield, Ashley knew that, Harry knew that, the whole world knows that, but after what happened at Harry’s house and how Will reacted to it, Ashley knew she had to cut Harry out of her life again. She avoided his calls, ignored his messages, there was no way she could carry on, knowing what she knew. Since that night she had done everything in her power to rebuild things with Will, and it was working, they were happy. Now here she was, at her third Capital Jingle Bell Ball since she became a presenter, Roman was on the other side of the world in the middle of the jungle, so she had full responsibility for the breakfast show. Ashley was no stranger to the O2, she knew the corridors backstage like the back of her hand, she had lost track of how many times she’d seen the boys there. As she turned around yet another corner, her head in her phone replying to Will about how Daisy was getting on, she looked up to see Harry and his team walking towards her, she spun on her heel, walking away from him frantically, before bumping into yet another pop sensation. “Hey, where are you rushing off to Ash?” She looked up to see Liam, beaming at her.

“I’m just very busy, lots to do now Ro’s not here.” She explained, praying that Harry wouldn’t spot her.

“Do you want to go have a catch up? There’s like five hours until the show starts, I’m sure they can spare you until then.” Liam asked.

“You know what, that sounds like a great idea.”

An hour or so had passed and Liam and Ashley were chatting away in his dressing room, they compared how much Bear and Daisy had grown up, and how much the two little ones needed to meet. “Ash, I don’t want to pry, but is everything okay with you and Harry? I only ask because I would expect to see you here together. I remember the days when the pair of you were completely inseparable.” 

“It’s complicated, we had this massive argument two years ago, and ever since then things have been weird between us, I don’t know if things will ever be what they once were.” Ashley explained.

“It’s cliched I know, but give him time, eventually, it will work okay.” Their conversation was interrupted by a light tap on the door, “Come in!” Liam called, the door opened and there stood Harry, in a casual t-shirt and trousers, paired with a pearl necklace. 

He stared at Ashley as she stared at him, “I really need to crack on with getting ready, can’t present the ball wearing trackies can I? I’ll see you soon Liam.” She made her way past Harry, taking in his familiar scent as she rushed back to her dressing room. 

It was almost midway through the show and Ashley was standing beside Liam watching Harry prance around on stage. He made his way through a few songs, stopping to talk to the audience as he always did. When he began singing Watermelon Sugar the arena erupted in screams, Ashley hopped along to it, because admittedly, it was a bop. But then it hit her, like a slap in the face, he’d changed a lyric and put her name in it, she wasn’t stupid, she knew what his game was, and Harry knew exactly what he was doing. “Did he just?” Liam asked.

“Yeah he did, and I’m going to throttle him.”

After the show and another several hours of successfully avoiding Harry, Ashley made her way back to her dressing room, dressed in her sparkly silver mini dress she had been wearing all day. “We need to talk.” Harry said, as he stood waiting for her outside her dressing room.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” Ashley told him bluntly, unlocking her dressing room door.

“You and I both know that isn’t true.” Harry replied.

“Yes it is, now fuck off.” Ashley said, entering her dressing room as Harry followed behind her, “What the fuck is your problem Harry?” she asked as he closed the door behind them.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel it.” Harry said, standing directly in front of her.

“Feel what?” She looked up at him, he was so close she could feel his breath on her skin.

“Tell me you don’t want me, tell me to leave and never come back and I promise I’ll walk out that door and you’ll never see me again.” Ashley stayed silent, not knowing what to do or say, “You can’t, can you? You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same because you do, we both know how we feel why should we have to-” His ramblings were interrupted by Ashley’s lips locking with his, her hands combing through his messy hair, Harry took hold of her waist, holding her close and not daring to let go. Ashley didn’t have a clue what she was doing, all of her wanted to stay strong and not give in, but it was like she needed it, she needed him. “You have no idea how long I've waited to do that.” Harry whispered, resting his forehead against Ashley’s, “Trust me, I do.” She whispered, taking a hold of his hands and interlocking her fingers with his.

19th December 2019

Harry and Ashley hadn’t spoken much since the Jingle Bell Ball, part of Ashley felt dreadful for kissing Harry when she was in a relationship with Will, but part of her didn’t even think anything would come of what happened with Harry. Will had reluctantly accepted Harry’s invite as Ashley’s plus one to his small album release show, it was somewhat relieving for Ashley to know that he was willing to be civil with Harry. Lou had offered to babysit Daisy for the night so that the pair could treat themselves to a proper night out. Thankfully Camden was only a short tube ride from home, so they promptly made it to the venue where hundreds of fans were already camped out in the harsh winter weather of London. Harry’s security recognised Ashley immediately and led her and Will to the backstage area, where some of Harry’s close friends and family were already waiting. “Ash! It’s so good to see you!” Gemma ran over to them both, greeting Ashley with the biggest hug, making up for lost time, “How’ve you been?” 

“Good, busy but good, how are you? It feels like it's been forever since I’ve seen you.” 

“I’m good, life’s busy once again, my brother is so glad you’re here tonight, since you two got back in contact with each other he’s had a real spring in his step.” Gemma smiled, “Are you coming up north for Christmas this year?” in a bid to avoid Harry, her last two Christmasses had been spent with Linda and Daisy in London.

“We’re at my parents’ in Norfolk this year,” Will chimed in.

“Will, we’ve been through this, Dais and I are coming down on the 28th after we’ve had christmas with mum,” Ashley sighed, “Oh, Gem, this is Will, Will this is Gemma, Harry’s sister.” she felt as though she was babysitting him, that she couldn’t truly be herself while he was hovering beside her. 

“Lovely to meet you,” Gemma smiled.

Everyone had been sat in the green room for a good hour and Harry was still nowhere to be seen, Ashley felt her phone buzz, she pulled it from her pocket to see a message from Harry: dressing room x

“I’m just going to pop to the ladies room, I won’t be long,” She smiled at Will, standing up from the sofa they shared before heading out into the corridor, she quickly found Harry’s dressing room and gently pushed the door open to see him sprawled out on the sofa reading a book, “So this is what a rockstar does with his spare time.” She said, crossing her arms as she leant against the frame of the door.

“What can I say I’m a man of simplicity,” Harry smirked, standing up to greet Ashley, he moved towards her, stretched his arm over her shoulder to push the door shut, “How long have we got?” 

“How long does it take to have a wee?” Ashley asked.

“What?”

“Will thinks I’ve gone to the toilet.” She smirked.

“That's long enough for me,” Harry told her, cupping her cheeks and pressing her delicate lips against his, Ashley steadied herself, holding onto the delicate fabric of Harry’s shirt.

“Do you want to come back to the green room?” Ashley asked softly.

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Harry whispered. 

“I don’t want Will thinking I was taking a shit, come on, I’ll say I found you on the way back.” Ashley insisted, taking his hand and proceeding to exit.

“Just one more,” Harry pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her waist as they became entwined with each other.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Harry Lambert shouted as the pair entered the green room, drawing the entire room’s attention to the pair of them.

“Found him loitering in the corridor just now.” Ashley lied, returning to her seat beside Will, where Harry joined her.

“Good to see you again Will, thanks for coming,” Harry smiled.

“Thanks for having us.” Will replied, Ashley felt caught in the middle, she didn’t know what to say or who to say it to.

“Harry your guest is here,” Jeff informed him from across the room.

“You’re going to want to see this Ash,” Harry told her, taking her hand and leading her out of the green room, leaving Will on his own. 

“Have you bought Santa along or something?” Ashley asked as Harry led her down the corridor, still gripping her hand.

“Not quite, you’re going to love it though.” Harry led her around the corner, to where none other than Stormzy was standing talking to Sarah and Mitch.

“Hey Harry! My G, how’s it going brother?” he said, greeting Harry with a hug.

“I’m doing well, thanks for coming along today, it means a lot.” Harry smiled, “This is Ash, from back home,” Harry put an arm around her shoulder, holding her close.

“We’ve already met, Ash is on Capital, she knows what's going on.”

“Oh bless him, we’ve ruined his little surprise,” Ashley remarked, squeezing Harry’s little pouty face, “It’s good to see you again though, we need to get you back on the show soon.”

“Definitely, tell Roman to give me a bell, I’ve got to go get ready, but I’ll see you two later,” He left the pair standing on their own, now Sarah and Mitch had returned to the green room.

“Proper little industry know it all aren’t you love?” Harry grinned, wrapping both his arms around Ashley and swaying her from side to side, “I’m so proud of you, I don’t think I tell you that enough, what you’ve achieved since moving down to London is remarkable.” 

“You soppy bastard, I’m bloody proud of you too.” Ashley giggled, staring up at him.

“You alright?” Will was standing at the door, Ashley wasn’t sure how long he’d been there for.

“Good, yeah,” Ashley smiled, stepping out of Harry’s embrace. “Just catching up with me old mate Stormzy.”

“Right, I guess we better leave Harry to it, let him get ready and all that.” Will huffed.

“Have a good show H, smash it out there,”  Ashley smiled, “I’m so proud of you rockstar.” 

“Right back at ya golden girl.” Ashley knew what he meant, the first time she heard Golden it freaked her out, but she’d slowly come to terms with Harry’s openness.

Ashley stood in the vip section with all of Harry’s nearest and dearest, waiting for the show to start, she stood between Anne and Gemma, whilst Will was near the back with Gemma’s boyfriend. She’d seen the set list so she knew Harry would sing her song first, eventually the lights went down and Harry and the band appeared on stage as the venue erupted into screams. As he got into it Harry made sure to look up at Ashley, it made him happy to see the three most important women in his life. “I know that you’re scared cause I’m so open” he sang, looking up at Ashley as she blew him a kiss back before dancing with Gemma.

“You bloody legend, you absolutely smashed it!” Ashley shouted as she ran down the corridor towards Harry, the show having just finished. 

“Thank you love,” Harry replied, picking her up and spinning her around. 

“He’s playing with fire there mum,” Gemma whispered to Anne as she noticed the resentment across Will’s face. 

“Ash, I think we should head off, we’ve both got work tomorrow morning. Some of us do have to work for a living.” Will said, walking over to where his girlfriend lent against the wall, giggling away with Harry.

“We’re actually going to a pub for a couple of drinks in a bit, if you’re up for it.” Harry told them both.

“Cheers mate, but I’ve got a splitting headache, Ash I’ll wait for you outside.” He said before walking off.

“Do you have to go?” Harry whispered, stroking Ashley’s hand with his thumb.

“You know I do,” Ashley replied.

“I don’t like the thought of you being alone with him Ash, worries me.” 

“I’m a big girl H, I can look after myself.” Ashley assured him, “But thanks for caring.” She ruffled his hair, “I should go, See you at Christmas?” 

“Not if I see you first.”

The tube ride home was painfully quiet, the pair hardly spoke to each other until getting home, Will kicked off his shoes and headed straight to the kitchen, pulling a can of beer from Ashlley’s fridge. “Thought you had a headache?” Ashley said as she followed him in.

“It was a lie,” Will glanced at her, “But you’d know all about that wouldn’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ashley asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

“You and Harry looked very cosy back there.” Will remarked bitterly.

“He’s my best friend, you aren’t jealous are you?”

“Don’t belittle me like that Ashley, I can see what’s going on.” Will replied, swigging beer from his can, “He’s pathetic anyway, I can’t see why you’d want anything to do with him.”

“Get out.” Ashley said bluntly, “We’re over Will, we were over three months ago, when I stayed with you out of pity, get out of my house, the house you’ve treated like your own since we got together.”

“It’s him isn’t it? You’ve been shagging him haven’t you?” Will replied.

“No I haven’t shagged him, because unlike you, he isn’t a cheap bastard who needs his ego polishing every week.”

“You fucking bitch,” Will muttered, grabbing the first thing he could from the shelf beside him and flinging it at Ashley, causing her to fall to the floor, “I hope you two are very happy together.” He said before he kicked her harshly in the stomach.

Ashley had been sitting slumped against the wall of her kitchen for a good half an hour when she heard the front door open, it couldn’t be Will because he didn’t have keys to the house, “Ash? Ash?” Lou entered the kitchen, seeing Ashley leant against the wall, blood rolling down her forehead, “Ash darling, Carly said she heard loads of shouting, I used the spare key to get in, what happened?”

“I broke up with Will, he threw that at me, he was jealous of Harry.” Lou picked up the photo frame, the smashed glass falling to the floor as she did, it held a picture of Ashley and Harry in Brazil, Ashley was 18 and Harry was 20, it was the summer after she had finished her exams, and she felt on top of the world. 

“Ash, I’m going to take you to hospital, when Carly called I asked if she could watch the kids, Daisy’s in safe hands I promise.” Lou explained, helping Ashley up onto her feet.

“You can’t tell Harry about this, I don’t want him doing anything that could ruin his career.” Ashley replied. 

“Let’s just concentrate on you sweetheart.”

For someone who hated hospitals, Ashley slept like a baby, due to the nature of her head injury the doctor wanted to keep her in overnight, just in case there was an internal bleed on the brain. Ashley woke up to a throbbing pain in her head, evidently the morphine had worn off, “Hello sleeping beauty, how’s tricks?” Harry was sat on a plastic stool beside her hospital bed, dressed in a casual hoodie and joggers, he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink.

“My head’s banging,” Ashley whispered, “How long have you been here?”

“A few hours, I called Lou because I never heard anything from you, and I was worried, she explained what happened and I jumped in a cab and made my way here as quickly as I could.” Harry explained.

“You should know that I broke up with Will last night, hence this,” Ashley told him, gesturing to the stitches and bruising on her face.

“Yeah I figured, the nurses said they called the police when you got here, he’s already being questioned, Ash when this goes to court I’ll be right there beside you, I’ve already contacted my lawyer who’s given me the contacts for the best criminal law barrister she knows, he won’t get away with this.” 

“I’m incredibly grateful for that H, I just don’t want you to expect anything to happen between us so quickly, it’s going to take me time to heal before I can allow myself to be that vulnerable again.” Ashley explained.

“I’ll wait, however long it takes, I promise I’ll wait for you.” Harry assured her, taking her hand in his, “I'm never letting you slip through my fingers again angel.”

[shakespeareanwannabe]

Play by Play

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!OC/Santiago Garcia x Rebecca Cooke

Summary:  Santi gets in way too deep with this woman that he barely knows, but finds that sometimes a leap of faith can be worth it.

Warnings: References to parental issues, age gap in a relationship (both participants are well over the age of consent), child abuse/child trauma, misogyny, swearing, PTSD, low self-esteem

A/N: Hi everyone! So, I started writing this story way out of order. Started with Protective Instincts, jumped to Best Laid Plans, went backwards to Strange Comforts, then came all the way back to the beginning with New Beginnings. But that’s because I was just writing them as they came to me (or, if I’m being honest, as @darksideofclarke provided me with golden headcanons that I just expanded on). But now, I’ve sat down and written a general plan for this multichapter story that is turning out to be so astoundingly different from everything else I’ve ever written. 

So, I’ll be posting in chronological order now, and I’ll make an announcement here in the A/N about where Protective Instincts, Strange Comforts, and Best Laid Plans fit into the whole scheme of things.

Anyway, here’s chapter 2!

                                                 **********

“Hey Jackie,” Santi greeted as he strolled through the front door of the clinic.

“Evening, Santiago. How’re you?” the red headed receptionist replied with a smile, looking up briefly before resuming her typing.

“Same old, same old,” he replied, eyes scanning the clinic. “How’re John and the kids?”

She smiled brightly at him. “Lorelai got accepted to Clemson with a scholarship!”

“That’s amazing, you must be so proud,” he replied, turning his attention back to her when he didn’t find who he was looking for.

“Why is Jackie proud?”

He smiled and felt his face heat up as he turned to face Rebecca, who was just slightly limping through the front door. She was dressed in her usual artfully professional work attire and toting a gym bag that was undoubtedly stuffed with her workout clothes.

“Hey Bex,” he greeted as he slid over to her. “Want some help with that?”

“Ugh, please,” she whined. “I spent the day running after three kindergarten classes, and my hip and back are aching.”

Santi relieved her of the bag and offered her his elbow, a slight tremor running up his spine as she leaned into him.

Three months. That’s how long he’d been going to physiotherapy with Steve. It also happened to be exactly how long he’d been working up the courage to ask Rebecca out.

That first day they met, he’d assumed it was the same kind of visceral reaction he’d had with other women in the past. She was stunningly beautiful, sarcastic, and witty. In other words, just his type. But he wasn’t looking for anything at that moment. He’d just gotten out of a year of trying the domestic thing with Yovanna, and it had crashed and burned spectacularly. He had a new home; he had his friends surrounding him once more. He was good. He was solid. He decided then and there not to do anything to screw up the upward trajectory he was on. That, plus he didn’t want to make things awkward for Charlie, who had a business to run.

So, he’d ignored it. Pushed down the desire to engage and romance, and focused instead on trying to get his knees back under him. But then, their appointment times had lined up and they spent their entire sessions chatting with each other and sassing Charlie. Then it happened again. And again. And, before long, Santi found himself listening in on Rebecca when she booked her appointment times with Charlie so he could book the same slots with Steve.

Three times a week for three months, he spent two hours talking and laughing with this resilient, funny, and kind woman.

That first week had been the introductory stuff.

                                                **********

“So, what are you in for?” she asked, a sly grin on her face.

He grimaced. “Does a lifetime of poor choices count?”

She snorted, burying her face in her arms in an attempt to hide her embarrassment at the unladylike sound. “I’m pretty sure that’s why most of us are here.”

He nodded slowly in acquiescence. “Even you?”

She sighed as she settled further into her table, the heat from the heating pad soothing her sore muscles. “I got into a bad car wreck seven months ago. Idiot driver T-boned me when I was on my way back to work from an in-school art class. Fractured my hip, got a nasty concussion, and a wicked case of whiplash. I got lucky when the concussion symptoms stopped after a few weeks, but I had to come here to get my butt kicked to fix my hip and neck.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. Being military, it was sometimes easy to forget that the civilians they were trying so desperately to protect could also be taken down by something as simple as crossing the street or taking a drive.

Rebecca leaned herself up on her elbows to fix him with a thoughtful look. “You know what? You’re the first person to say that to me.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded slowly as she relaxed back into the pillow beneath her. “My mom took the ‘Woe is me, my poor baby is hurt’ route and the doctors were more concerned with making sure I was physically okay than checking in on my emotional state. So, thank you for that.”

He shrugged as easily as he could lying down. “My buddy Will always says that sometimes the best thing you can offer someone are words, so they know you’re there.”

“Will sounds like a smart guy. How’d you two meet?”

“We were put into the same squad in the military. Worked together for years.”

“Ah, I shoulda guessed you were military,” she groaned as she shifted slightly, moving quickly to catch the heating pad before it slipped. “You’ve got that kinda look.”

“You mean the beat to shit look?” he sighed, turning his head away from her to stare at the ceiling fan rotating slowly above him.

A poke in the arm startled his attention back to her. She had strained herself across the gap between the tables, barely able to poke his arm with her middle finger without sliding off.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she replied gently. “I just meant that you look like the kind of guy who has seen too much bad in this world. Which isn’t fair. Nobody should have to carry that kind of burden.” Santi struggled to swallow; his emotions all caught up in his throat and his skin tingling from the slight brush of her finger against his arm. “I’m not gonna say ‘thank you for your service’, because I feel like that’s just an empty platitude at this point. But I will say that I hope you find a way to make that burden just a little lighter.”

He looked over at her again and smiled. “Thank you.”

                                              **********

Okay, so the introductory stuff got heavier than Santi anticipated. Parental problems, traumatic events, talk of his service. He was in heavy with this girl and he didn’t even know her last name.

That came in week two.

                                              **********

“Basketball or baseball?”

“Baseball. Same question.”

“Baseball. Hockey or football?”

“Football. Same question.”

“Hockey. Cats or dogs?” Rebecca grunted as she kicked her leg out, struggling against the sliding weights attached to her injured leg by a cuff and a cord.

“Dogs. Same question to you,” Santi replied, voice distorted as he squatted on the FitVibe.

“Dogs. You know, you can’t just say ‘same question’ every time it’s your turn. It kind of defeats the purpose of the game,” she gasped as she finished her first set, twisting around to grab her water bottle from the chair behind her.

Santi shrugged as the machine stopped vibrating, giving him 90 seconds to rest before his next set started.

“Did you have a dog growing up?” he questioned as he sipped from his own bottle.

She nodded as she gulped down her icy water, Santi trying and failing to keep his eyes off her delicate neck and chest, which were gleaming with a sheen of sweat. “A St. Bernard. Cookie. I loved that dog, but I hated his name. I mean, really? Cookie Cooke? What were my parents thinking?”

Santi chuckled as his machine began counting down to start the next set. “Probably that it was cute? Who knows? Your turn…” He grunted as he carefully squatted as the pad began to shake again. He closed his eyes against the twinge of pain and missed Rebecca blatantly staring at his ass before beginning her next set.

“Star Wars or Star Trek?”

“Star Wars. Books or movies?”

“Both. Goonies or Stand by Me?”

“Can’t go wrong with Goonies.”

“Ugh, and here I was just thinking that you had good taste! Who in their right mind picks Goonies over Stand by Me?” she teased.

He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. Even blurry from the vibrations coursing through his body, she was the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time.

“Never said I was in my right mind, sweetheart,” he winked and that giggle that he was so enchanted by escaped her lips again.

                                              **********

Week three was when he really tried to pump the breaks on his rapidly developing feelings for her. Not only had Yovanna sent him a box of his stuff via airmail, but he became privy to some information that assured him that this thing between them would never work.

                                              **********

“Don’t tell me you’re done already!” he called from the Kin-Com as Rebecca practically skipped over to the table closest to him. She had her good days and her bad days with her injured leg, and Santi liked chatting with her the past nine days, but he loved chatting with her on her good days. There was this spark, this energy she radiated when she was feeling good that he just wanted to bathe in.

“This is what you get for showing up late, Santi! You’re strapped into the death machine and I get a massage to wrap things up.” She shot him a bright smile before lying down on the table, just out of his range of sight thanks to the half partition wall that separated the machine from the rest of the clinic.

“Don’t tease the old man, Rebecca,” Charlie cautioned in a faux-mocking tone.

“Hey, if I’m an old man, what does that make you? Frankie is two months older than me!” he pointed out, pressing against the mechanical arm that was slowly manipulating his leg.

“Apparently the term is ‘panther’,” she replied, straight-faced. “Learned that one at ladies’ night after one of my friends had a few too many and found out Frankie’s 10 years older than me. Me, I call it lucky.”

“Yeah, you better,” he warned as the machine stopped moving. A quick look at the computer screen told him he had finished his set for the day, and he quickly unstrapped himself and hopped down, walking slightly creakily to the table next to where Charlie was carefully massaging and manipulating Rebecca’s hip.

“Your fiancé’s ten years older than you, Chuck?” Rebecca asked, her eyes closed as she tried to relax her aching joints.

Charlie shot Santi an unamused glare as he lowered himself onto the table and laid back, Steve approaching with the cryo-cuffs and ice machine.

“Yeah, Frankie’s 40 and I’m 30. Why?” she asked, an accusation hiding deep in her voice as her body tensed up.

Inwardly, Santi was nodding approvingly. Frankie sometimes got too in his own head about his age, especially in relation to his fiancée’s, and Santi knew how much Frankie doubted himself when it came to their relationship. Charlie was a successful business owner and college graduate. Frankie was a retired soldier who almost lost his pilot’s license because he’d been desperate for money when his girlfriend got pregnant and knew just how lucrative drug running could be. It wasn’t difficult to see why Frankie felt so insecure about the relationship, but Charlie was so good at getting him out of that headspace, and even better about shutting down anyone who had anything negative to say about her man.

“Nothing!” Rebecca was quick to reply. “I was just curious. Age is just a number, right? Besides, I saw you two together when he came to pick you up that one time, remember? You two are cute as hell. He just doesn’t look 40.” Rebecca rolled her head to look at Santi, and he felt his own hackles raise a little, suddenly self-conscious of his greying hair and his weak knees. Then, she smiled softly at him and, if he wasn’t fooling himself, a warm affection infused her gaze. “Neither do you.”

He felt all the blood rush to his face and once again had to bat down the idea of asking her out. A box full of old mail and knickknacks had just arrived on his porch that morning from Australia. Domesticity didn’t work for him, and even casually seeing someone felt like too much of an effort. Still, there was something about that look in her eyes, the easy repartee they had going on, the support they gave each other during their workouts, that told him that, if he was going to try again, she was the one to try with.

“Hey Becky!” a loud voice boomed across the clinic. “Where you at?”

Rebecca smiled apologetically at him and Charlie before raising her voice just a little to call back, “I’m over here!” She turned her attention back to them, looking almost sadly at Santi as she said, “Sorry guys, that’s my date for tonight.”

A tall guy sauntered over from the reception desk and Santi felt himself reacting instinctively.

He was tall, well over 6 foot, and wearing a fancy, well-fitted navy suit with a white button down underneath, no tie and the first two buttons undone.

“Ah, there’s my girl!” he leaned down and gave her a claiming kiss, almost like he knew that Santi was watching.

“Uh, hi Derek. I thought you were going to wait outside?” she asked, looking away from them all as she raised a hand to her cheek.

“I was, doll, but I’ve been out there for twenty minutes. Our reservation is set for 7:30, and it takes ten minutes to drive out there, so go get yourself cute and let’s go.”

“Uh…” Rebecca looked between Santi and Charlie while worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Santi had never wanted so badly to punch someone he hadn’t even officially met. He wanted to speak up, tell Derek that Rebecca was already cute in her leggings and off-the-shoulder t-shirt. Tell him that he can’t just barge in and interrupt an appointment in a place of business.

Charlie leaned into his line of sight and subtly shook her head and, deep down, he knew she was right. If he punched him, or called him out, he would be just as bad. Plus, what right did he have? He’d spent a few hours with this woman and had zero claim on her time or her attention.

“It’s okay, Rebecca. We’re done for today anyway. You can use the staff bathroom to wash up if you’d like,” Charlie assured, helping Rebecca off the table.

“Okay, thanks Charlie. Santi?” He slowly slid his eyes up to meet hers and read the apology there clear as day. “I’ll see you next week, okay?”

He cleared his throat. “Sure thing. See you then.”

Rebecca smiled, a hint of relief overtaking her features as she sighed. “Good. Have a good weekend everybody!”

She headed towards the staff bathroom with her gym bag in tow and ‘Derek’ left, presumably to go and wait in the car like he was supposed to.

“Frat boy lookin’ douche,” Santi grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah, and the bag it came in,” Charlie muttered as she wiped down Rebecca’s table.

“Isn’t he a little young for her?” Santi asked rhetorically. “He looks like he just stepped off the stage at college graduation.”

“Dude, she’s like, 25. They’re probably the same age.” Charlie flung the white towel she had been using over her shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. Patient confidentiality and all that.”

Santi felt his heart sink but told himself it was for the best. Now he had a good reason for not asking her out. What 25-year-old would want to date a broken-down old man anyway?

                                              **********

Week four didn’t happen, and it was the one time Santiago Garcia considered himself a coward.

He’d promised. He’d explicitly told her that he would see her the following week, but he’d called at the last second and rescheduled with Steve for times when he knew she would be at work.

He just didn’t know how to face her. Yes, he had no claim to her time or attention. Yes, he’d spent a grand total of 18 hours in her presence. No, he had never explicitly asked if she was seeing anyone. And, yes, he had sworn off dating for a while, so he had no right to get his back up about her having a date.

And yet, the thought of seeing her, all smiley and happy after her date with ‘Derek’ made him sick to his stomach.

Week five he tried to reschedule again. He picked a time slot that aligned with the closing of the museum she worked at, knowing she often stayed a little longer after closing to chat with coworkers and stare at the art. He should have known, however, that things rarely ever turned out the way he wanted them to.

                                              **********

“Have you been avoiding me?”

The soft voice made him trip over his feet, his left foot tangling in the rungs of the rope ladder he was currently working with.

He looked up and met Rebecca’s soft eyes, tinged with sadness. He sighed and walked around her, stooping to pick up his water bottle before perching himself on a padded wooden block.

“No. Why?”

“Because I haven’t seen you in a week and Charlie wouldn’t tell me why,” she huffed, wrapping her arms around her chest as she moved to lean against the wall across from him.

“I was busy.”

“Really? Huh,” she chuckled sarcastically. “So, this has nothing to do with Derek coming in here?”

He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “Nope.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Okay, Santiago. Whatever…” She turned and began to walk away, out of the back room where he was working out and back into the main gym area.

It was then that he noticed her clothing. A really pretty black blouse with a purple and red floral pattern and a black pencil skirt that pulled his eyes straight to her ass, and no red gym bag hanging from her arm.

“You not staying to work out?”

She turned back to him and laughed humorlessly. “No. I called reception and asked if you were coming in today. Gwen wasn’t going to say, but then Jackie got on the phone and told me you were here. Apparently, she’s got a soft spot for you. So, I left work early because I couldn’t stand not knowing if you were mad at me.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled looking down at the silky fabric of his gym shorts, guilt beginning to gnaw at his core.

“Oh, I’m getting that message loud and clear,” she snapped, marching back over to him and getting right up in his face. “But I did. Because I was worried that I had offended you with my age comment, or that I made you uncomfortable by saying that you didn’t look your age, or that I somehow upset you by not telling you that I was, unfortunately, going on a date that night.”

He stood up, standing nose to nose with her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we both know you don’t owe me anything. I hope you and Derek had a wonderful time together.”

“Screw you,” she seethed.

Santi scoffed and shook his head, turning away from her to escape into the bathroom.

Once he had the door locked behind him, he sighed heavily and splashed cold water on his face.

This. This was why he didn’t want to seriously date anyone. He inevitably would screw things up. Or, worse, he’d ruin things before he even had the chance to really start with someone.

Fuck, Yovanna had been right. He somehow always managed to dim whatever light there was around him. Rebecca’s warmth and energy were so bright, so addicting, that he had thought it possible to bask in them without hurting her. She was like the Sun, drawing him in even when he wanted to stay away. Nobody could hurt the Sun. It was so warm and so bright and so uplifting that it couldn’t be damaged. Yet, there he was.

Santi sighed and stared at himself in the mirror, resolving to fix things next week. He’d switch back to his regular time and pray to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in that she would be willing to hear him out. That was his long-term plan. His immediate plan was to get through the day’s session and go home to drink that bottle of whisky he’d been saving.

Opening the door, he took two steps onto the rubber flooring of the back room and froze.

Soft sobs echoed in the airy space, and he felt his heart sink down to his toes as he followed the sound back to that padded block, finding Rebecca hunched over on it, a hand pressed delicately to her mouth as she tried to muffle the sound.

He grimaced to himself, knowing he was the cause of her distress. Hesitantly, he reached out and tried to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, but Rebecca caught sight of his shoes first and jerked back in surprise, looking up at him with tears gleaming like diamonds in her eyes under the harsh florescent lights.

He slowly crouched down in front of her, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“I’m an idiot,” he started, and felt his heart lift slightly as she choked on a laugh. “And I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head at him, desperately swiping at her tears. “No, you were right. We barely know each other, so we don’t owe each other anything. I had no right to get mad at you. For all I know, you had a family emergency that made you switch your appointment times.”

Santi was already shaking his head. “Your instincts were good, sweetheart. I did change times to avoid you, but not because I was mad at you.”

“The age comments—”

“Were sweet,” he finished for her, meeting her gaze for the first time since he had lowered himself down. “If you had said anything bad about Frankie, I wouldn’t have had time to argue with you before Charlie jumped down your throat.” She laughed again and his heart lifted just a tad higher. “And I appreciate you saying I don’t look my age. I always think the grey gives me away,” he added wryly.

“It suits you,” she rebutted quickly. “Not many people look good with the salt and pepper, grey thing. All I can think of are Idris Elba, George Clooney and you.”

Santi laughed loudly. “Well, I will take that compliment.”

“Good,” she nodded decisively. “Now get off your knees before Steve comes and yells at you.”

She shifted over on the block and he laboriously heaved himself to his feet, coming to sit next to her, a few inches of space between their bodies. They sat in a cloud of quiet calm, both knowing that there was more to resolve but unwilling to break the silence.

“Maybe it’s not my place, but I just think you can do a lot better than Douchebag Derek,” Santi finally said. “No offense,” he added quickly, silently berating himself for the slip.

She giggled at the nickname. “No offense taken. It was actually my first time ever meeting him,” she admitted quietly.

Pope’s mind rapidly went over the brief interaction and he felt his blood begin to boil. “But…”

She nodded sadly. “I know. He’s the son of the museum curator, so I felt like I couldn’t turn him down without affecting my job. And you know how much I love my job.”

He did know. She was the educational liaison for the local art museum. She led field trips that came through the museum, explaining different art pieces and their historical and artistic significance, while also leading the students through art lessons on how to either imitate an artist’s style or create their own styles. Occasionally, she would also make trips to low-income schools in the area through an outreach program, going into classrooms to teach art lessons and give the teachers a break. It was on her way back from one of those in school visits that she got into her car accident, but it hadn’t diminished her enthusiasm for her work. In fact, it had made her desperate to get back into the museum and back into the classroom.

“But he kissed you. And he called you Becky,” Santi commented, confused.

Rebecca allowed her head to fall into her palm. “I know…apparently his mom really talked me up and made me seem really desperate and really into him. Plus, he seems to think he’s God’s gift to women, so it was the perfect storm of misogynistic crap.”

Santi was shaking his head. “Next time, tell me. I don’t care if you have to do it in front of the guy, just let me know and I’ll get him out of your hair in ten seconds, tops.”

She sighed and shuffled closer to him. “Thanks Santi. It’s nice to know that someone has my back.” She ended up pressed right against his side and gently lowered her head to his shoulder.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

                                              **********

That day marked the end of Santi sticking to his guns about not dating. After that, it became an increasingly difficult game that he was playing with himself.

Get closer to her, get to know her more, be that shoulder for her to lean on when she needed it, but don’t cross that line. Just because she said he didn’t look his age; it didn’t mean she wanted to be with someone his age. It didn’t reduce the 15-year age gap between them. She said it was nice to have someone have her back, so that’s who he became. Her constant cheerleader, her confidant, her friend. It was the first female friend Santi had had since Charlie. Before Charlie, never.

They exchanged numbers that day, and soon his days became filled with texting her different stories about his day, like how he ended up at the hospital with Benny because the idiot accidentally put a nail through his finger when he was helping nail down Santi’s new kitchen floor, or how he couldn’t move after a session where Steve had him in the therapy pool for 45 minutes. She’d send him funny quotes she heard her ‘kids’ say on field trips or in the classroom, or photos of paintings in the museum with ridiculous captions.

After she laid her head on his shoulder, he knew he loved her. After she sent him a photo of Queen Elizabeth the First’s portrait with the caption “wanna thank your mother for a butt like that”, he knew he was in love with her. And after she showed him a picture of her childhood dog Cookie and her at age 6, he knew he was drowning in her and that his only salvation would be asking her out.

Still, he kept drowning for months.

“Santi?” He turned his attention to Rebecca, still leaning gently on his arm as they stood outside the change room. “You okay? I lost you there for a second.”

“Yeah, Bex, I’m fine,” he smiled warmly at her and felt a silent thrill go through him when she got a little flustered. “Uh, Jackie was excited because Lorelai got accepted at Clemson.”

“Wow, good for her.” They both paused, a slight awkwardness hanging over them. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you out there?”

“Oh…uh, yeah.”

The door closed with a quiet click and Santi wanted to kick himself. They had spent weeks dancing around this thing, and it was pissing him off to no end.

He had never been like this. Not since he asked out Libby Stiles in the fourth grade. Why was this one girl sending his head spinning? Okay, he knew why, but it wasn’t fair. He could ask out any girl he ran into, except the one he wanted.

“Hey!” Santi turned around at the hissed greeting and found Charlie pumping up an exercise ball behind him. “If you don’t ask her out, I am going to ask her out for you!” she whispered.

Santi took a cautionary glance back at the door before stepping over to her. “What are you talking about?”

“Cut the shit, Santi!” she huffed quietly. “You think I haven’t noticed that all of your appointment times line up with hers? Or that you spend more time talking to her than you do actually doing your stretches? Or that you get this sad sap look in your eyes when you look at her?”

“And what the fuck do you know about it, Charlie?” he snarled under his breath.

“Because it’s the same way I look at Frankie, you dork!” she smirked. “It’s the same way Frankie looks at me, it’s the way Benny looks at every fucking Ring Girl who walks by. Oh, and it’s the same way she looks at you when you’re not paying attention. Now, get this ridiculous sexual tension out of my clinic and ask her out!”

“How?” he exhaled. “And what do we do? Where do I take her?”

“Jesus, Santi…” she breathed, straightening herself and running her arm over her sweaty forehead. “Who are you and what did you do with Santiago Garcia?”

He rolled his eyes and stomped over to the stationary bike. A minute later, Charlie rejoined him after adding the exercise ball to the ball bin.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she murmured softly, one hand on his back.

“I know,” he apologized, grinning at her and nudging her with his elbow.

“It’s just clear as fucking day, Santi. What’s holding you up?” Charlie crossed her arms and leaned against the handlebars of the bike he was riding. “And don’t say it’s the age gap. Not to me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is 15 years not a good enough reason, Chuck?”

She shrugged, leaning down to rest her chin on her arms. “Not to me it isn’t. Besides, Santi, that girl is into you.”

“Right, yeah. These looks she’s been giving me. Okay.”

“Jesus…” Charlie swore under her breath, Santi chuckling as he recognized a few Spanish curses mixed in with the English. Charlie really was Frankie’s lady. “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, right?” Santi nodded, leaning in as far as the bike would allow him. “Those first few weeks, before you started stalking her schedule to get the same time slots? She would call in and ask Jackie what times you were coming so she could book the same times as you. That’s why Jackie told her you were in here that day you made her fucking cry in my back room. Jackie’s a hopeless romantic and has wanted you two idiots to get together from the start.”

Santi sat back, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of him. “S-seriously?”

Charlie nodded, a smirk on her face. “Yep. And if you ask her out this week, I win the jackpot.”

“You guys have been betting on us?” he hissed, leaning forward again.

“Oh, please. Like you and the Millers weren’t taking bets on when Frankie would finally pop the question, and I know for a fact you pulled the strings on that one to turn things in your favor, Mr. Best Man,” she rolled her eyes. “Look, ask her out today and I’ll use the winnings to cover your tab at the Beer Garden tonight. Deal?”

Santi fixed her with a suspicious look. “Is this you wanting to win or is this you actually having my best interest at heart?”

Charlie gave him a light smack on the back of the head as she moved away to her desk, conveniently located between the main gym and the back room, with the therapy pool behind her.

“You know me better than that, Santiago. Now get your girl, please.”

                                              **********

Charlie was right. She was always right. It was one of the things that drove Santiago up the fucking wall. Frankie and Charlie were the perfect pair because, between the two of them, they were right one hundred percent of the time. Ben needed advice for his next fight? Forget Will, he was going to Frankie and Frankie’s future wife. Will revamped his speech and needed someone to read it over? Send it to Mr. and Future Mrs. Morales. Santi needed to pick paint colours? He just handed the paint chips to the couple of let them go wild. When they argued, it drove Frankie nuts because his lady had a knack for being right about almost everything. (The one time she was wrong in all their years of dating was when she claimed that Mateo would be a little girl, and Frankie wasn’t going to let her live that down as long as they lived.)

This time, she was right about Santi having to ask Rebecca out, and Santi was sure that ‘Fish would have the same advice if he were to call him up. This hurry up and wait bullshit was driving him crazy, so he needed to do it now, for his own peace of mind.

“Hey, man,” Steve hustled up to him, worry etched across his face.

“Hey Steve, you okay?”

He was already shaking his head. “My brother just called. Our mom took a nasty spill down the stairs. I’m really sorry, but I’m gonna have to cut this short. You’re basically done anyway; I was just gonna do some laser work with you but we can do that on Monday. I talked to Charlie; she can set you up with the cryo cuffs.”

“Yeah, man. No worries. Hope your mom is okay.”

“Thanks, man.”

Santi watched Steve leave for a minute before getting off the glider and heading into the back room, where he knew Charlie and Rebecca were.

“Hey Santi,” Charlie called from the goalpost set up in the corner. “Did Steve talk to you?”

“Yeah. Shame about his mom.”

Charlie nodded emphatically. “She’s a sweet lady. I’ve got my fingers crossed for her.”

“Me too…” Santi watched as Charlie bent to attach a weight to Bex’s foot. “You want me to go grab a table, Chuck? No rush.”

“Sure, if you want,” she replied distractedly. “Or…I was just gonna have Rebecca kick some soccer balls to work on her range of motion. Maybe you could goal keep for her?” she shot him a sly smile.

“I’d love that,” Rebecca piped up, a touch of embarrassment washing over her at her too-enthusiastic tone. “I mean, if you’re free.”

“Sure. Yeah, I can do that,” he agreed awkwardly, moving across the room to stand in the net.

“Alright then. Rebecca, you’re in good hands. Have fun you two.” Charlie turned and sauntered away, turning back once to mouth “Ask her out, dumbass” at him.

“You ever play soccer, Bex?” he asked, adjusting his stance so he stood in the middle of the goalpost.

“Ha, no,” she replied, kicking the soccer ball over to him. “My physical exercise is limited to yoga and swimming. Anything involving a ball or a racquet or running? That would be a no from me.” Santi kicked the ball back to her as it reached his feet. “You?”

“I played some when we would go visit my cousins in Colombia, and I played for my fifth-grade team in school, but that was about it. Sometimes we would play with some of the village kids when we were in Afghanistan. Give ‘em a taste of normal for a few minutes.”

She smiled sweetly as she returned the ball to him, leg moving a little steadier this time. “That’s really great of you.”

“Not really,” he shrugged, sliding over a step to stop the ball before kicking it back to her. “We were the ones fucking up their country. It was the very least we could do. But, god, Tom hated when we did that.”

She scoffed. “Well, that’s not fair of him. Those kids deserve something at least a little fun after all the crap they have to deal with.”

Santi grunted in agreement. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Bex laughed once, low and devoid of joy. “Oh but I do.” Santi stopped the ball and meandered over to her, looking at her questioningly. “Santi, most of my job revolves around kids. You’d be surprised how many of them tell me that their daddies hit them or their mommies throw things at them or that their grandparents intentionally starve them for being bad.” Tears welled up in her eyes and Santi quenched the urge to wrap her in his arms. “I’ve made more CPS calls than I can count and, the worst part is, I never know if that kid is safe after I make the call. Santi, there’s a reason my trunk is full of kid sized snack packs, granola bars, juice boxes. The museum doesn’t cover any of it, but at least I know that, when I walk into a classroom or those kids walk into my museum, they’ll feel safe and loved, and they won’t have to worry about food for at least a day.”

“Jesus, Bex,” he sighed, a small, sad smile on his face. “And they call us the heroes.”

She let out a tear-filled laugh and wiped at the single tear that had managed to escape. “We all do our part, Santi. You play soccer with kids in war torn countries. I feed the ones who get left behind at home.”

Rebecca turned away from him, heading for the main gym when he reached out and grabbed her elbow gently, giving it a squeeze as he turned her towards him and doing his best to ignore the electricity that ran up and down his arm at her touch.

He sighed and released her, his hand coming up to rub at the curls on the back of his head.

“Look, stop me if this is way off base, but if I don’t say this I’m gonna go crazy. I…I really like you, and I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while but, uh…” he smiled wryly and chuckled, hating how she made him feel like an inexperienced teenage boy.

“Santi?” Rebecca stepped closer and entwined her fingers with his remaining hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“Do you want to go to the Beer Garden with me tonight?” he burst, the words falling out of his mouth. “A, uh, a bunch of us are going tonight. My old squad, Charlie and Frankie. Would you like to come with us? I mean,” he felt his cheeks heat up. “Would you like to come with me? As my date?”

A sweet, giddy giggle surged past her lips. “I’d love to.”

“Really?”

She squeezed his hand, more laughter bubbling up from her lips. “Yeah. I…I’ve been trying to build up the nerve to ask you out for coffee for the last, like, month.”

“Maybe if tonight goes well we could go for coffee next week?” he asked hopefully.

She sighed and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Awesome,” he breathed. “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“That sounds perfect.”

                                              **********

Tags list (open): @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha, @himbopoes, @sophoclese, @phoenixhalliwell, @buckstaposition

[vateacancameos]

Chapters: 1/1 Words:1629 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & Mrs. Hudson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Mrs. Hudson (Sherlock Holmes) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, vague depictions of domestic abuse, Domestic Violence, Friendship, Tattoos, Healing Series: Part 2 of Tattoo My Name On Your Heart Summary:

Prequel to Secrets Are Mine to Keep. 

Martha Hudson needs to heal after leaving an abusive situation. She stumbles upon a Sherlock at the beginning of his tattooing career. He helps cover more than scars.

This can be read as a stand-alone, but works best when read in conjunction with the previous story in this series. If reading this before Secrets Are Mine to Keep, just know that Sherlock is a tattoo artist instead of a detective.

(CW for mentions of domestic abuse)

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

Martha Hudson married young, but that didn’t make her stupid. She knew the likelihood of Frank being The One was highly unlikely, but she was in love and he had a great car and a gorgeous body.

There might have been a chance at some long-term happiness if they’d stayed in England, but Florida did her husband no favors. It started with a bad crowd and moved to late-night drug deals and a few people being permanently hushed. But Martha liked an exciting life, so she went along with it, if a little uneasily.

Even then, she might have loved Frank until the end, except that he decided that running a drug empire meant he should start testing the product himself, and like Florida, drugs did her husband no favors. The first time he hit her, she passed it off as a one-time thing. He’d been stressed already, and then she’d nagged him about some chore he’d forgot to do. It wouldn’t happen again, though. They loved each other.

Except that it did. Not often, and nothing so bad that a little makeup or a long-sleeved shirt wouldn’t hide it, but a couple of times a year, it did happen. And yet she stayed. Because Frank needed her. Because where could she go? Because their friends would side with Frank. Because she had no formal education and no skills beyond book keeping for a drug lord.

In the end, fate got Martha out of the bad situation she had found herself in. Frank learned about the warrant for his arrest two hours before the cops arrived. It was enough time to accuse Martha of tipping them off. Two hours later, he left in a cop car with blood on his hands. Martha left in an ambulance with blood on her back.

***

read the rest of the story after the cut or on ao3. 

When Martha met Sherlock Holmes five years later, she saw in his eyes the moment he understood what had happened to her. She walked into the shop on a whim because she wanted to cover the scars. Sherlock was finishing his apprenticeship and was given the walk-ins. He’d been stiff in his greeting, and Martha almost walked back out again. But then he’d looked, and he’d seen her, so she stayed.

After his knowing look, he asked only one question, very softly. “What did you wish for?”

A thousand regrets clamored in her head. There were so many moments she could have ended it. But what came out of her mouth was “I wish I’d flown away.” It was a silly, childish wish and not at all what she’d been thinking, but Sherlock only nodded.

“I need to see them.” They were in a private room, but Sherlock was a young man and Martha was from an era where you didn’t just strip off your shirt in mixed company (unless in specific situations involving exotic dancing). But she was doing this to learn to be brave and to forget her past, so she took a breath, turned to face away from him, and lifted her shirt.

Sherlock’s hands were gentle and warm. He was a perfect gentlemen as he measured her and asked a few questions about placement.

“I need time to work on some ideas,” he finally said, and her heart dropped. She didn’t know if she’d be brave enough to do this if it was drawn out. But then he continued. “Come back tomorrow at noon.”

She settled her shirt back in place and turned to face this solemn young artist she’d been assigned. Looking at him, she could tell his past was no rosier than hers. Despite their differences, she felt a kindred spirit, and her courage came back.

“Alright.”

***

The sound of smashing ceramic and an angry shout almost had her bolting back out of the door, but she took a breath, straightened her shoulders, and walked into the shop. The young man behind the counter rolled his eyes. “Ignore the freak,” he said, pointing to the room where Martha had met Sherlock the day before. “He’s a toddler sometimes.”

“Oh. I have an appointment with him …” She fiddled with the strap of her purse and frowned at the man’s words. ‘Freak’ was a little harsh. These creative types were always overemotional. You’d think people working in a tattoo shop would be used to that sort.

The man sighed again just as Sherlock stomped into the front area. His fierce walk stuttered to a stop when he saw Martha. “Ah, yes. Just a minor setback. Let’s … um, go out.” He exited as quickly as he’d entered, but he was back a moment later wearing a dramatic coat and carrying a sketchpad. He nodded for the front door, holding it open for her (such a gentlemen) as they exited.

“I’m afraid I’m having … difficulties visualizing your art,” he explained after they’d found a nearby café and sat with their drink. He frowned down at the cover of his sketchpad. “Normally …” He shook his head and scrubbed a hand through his wild curls.

“Everyone gets … what’s writer’s block but with art? Artist’s block?” She patted his hand. “It’s alright.” Funny that she was the one comforting him. She did that a lot.

Sherlock scowled. “Not to me. I see a person, and then I visualize their tattoo. It’s what I do. My process has never failed me before.”

“Can I help?”

“What? No. How could you help?”

Martha shrugged. “What else do you need to know? Should I tell you my favorite colors or my childhood dreams?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Purple and dancing. That’s no use.”

She sat back, startled. “Oh. Well. That is impressive.”

He raised his eyes from where they’d been focused on his cup. “You’re not scared I’m some sort of stalker?”

She laughed. “Oh pish. No. You’re observant is all. You said so yourself. So. Tell me what you need to know so you can design my tattoo.”

He sighed dramatically. Oh, yes, this boy would be a handful.

She smiled. “Fine. I’ll just start talking until you tell me to shut up.”

And she did. She told him about her childhood best friend, the stray cat she took in right after she got married, how the weather in Florida always felt wrong. She talked about her wedding day, her older sister, the uncle sent to prison for making moonshine during American Prohibition. She talked and talked, and Sherlock never stopped her. She wasn’t sure he was always listening, but she could see that his brain was working, so she figured she was doing something right.

“And then, they ended up arresting Frank on tax fraud, of all things! He shot a man’s head off and there wasn’t a word, but the moment the government wasn’t getting its due, they raised a fuss. Oh, America. Such a strange country.” Odd how she could talk about that without feeling a thing. And it really was funny, when you thought about how it all went down, minus the hospital visit.

Sherlock’s head shot up. “They have the death penalty in Florida, correct?”

“Oh yes, but not for tax fraud.”

“But for shooting a man’s head off, they would.”

She nodded half-heartedly. “They can’t charge him for that, though. He’s very good at what he does, my Frank.”

“So am I,” Sherlock replied slowly.

“Well that remains to be seen. Seeing as you’ve reneged on our deal to have a sketch ready by today.”

“No, the other thing. I help the police with cases sometimes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh really.” It was sort of sweet how he tried to talk himself up. The poor boy must not have received enough love growing up. Her heart broke for him. He needed someone in his corner.

“Fine, I’ve helped a policeman. Once. And I was sort of high at the time.” He waved a hand. “But that doesn’t matter. I am capable of doing what the detectives do. And far better.” Sherlock grinned. “I’m going to put your husband on death row.”

She stilled. Despite the glib tone, she knew he was serious. At least serious about trying. And yes, they were talking about death, which should never be mentioned lightly. But really, if Frank was put on death row, it was only his own fault for not following American laws. He should be bound by those punishments, shouldn’t he? But it was Frank, and no matter what he’d done, she did love him still, in a way. But …

“I can’t afford to pay for both a tattoo and a detective …” she began slowly.

He leveled a disbelieving look at her. “You took care of his books for years. As if you didn’t squirrel away some money of your own or find a way take the bulk of his fortune after he, well, after.”

“Well, I never.” But she was smiling. He really was very good at his job. Well, one of his jobs, it seemed. She could do worse than to believe in him.

***

In the end, it took less time to find the necessary information to put Frank away for good than it did for Sherlock to design Martha’s tattoo. Still, she couldn’t complain. Her freedom was worth more than some pesky scars she only rarely saw. More than that, Sherlock made her feel comfortable with herself again. The poor boy needed someone looking after and believing in him. And she needed to keep busy.

By the time he’d come up with the final draft of the tattoo, they’d become business partners, opened a little tattoo shop, and Sherlock had moved in upstairs. And truly, the tattoo was worth the wait. She might not be able to fly, but the wings on her back made her feel like she could do anything.

[theshapeshifter100]

Guess What? I‘m Not a Robot Ch40

Summary: Everyone can finally chill, take stock, talk to family. Then there’s a knock at the door.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of injury and being shot. One (?) f-bomb.

Word Count: 1,745

09.45AM Friday 12th November 2038

She unlocked the door and let the boys in. It felt weird to back. The whole world had changed since she and Paul had left, and yet the apartment was still the same as they’d left it.

“Alright,” Megan set about introducing the place to Oscar. “Bathroom’s there, kitchen there. That door there is my bedroom and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go in there.”

As she did this Paul went to check the taps and lights. The lights flickered on dimly but the tap made a horrible gurgling sound with no water appearing.

“We’re on generator power. Great,” Megan sighed. “We’ll just have to deal with it.”

She turned her attention to the landline phone and sighed, seeing that it was blinking with several messages. She went over to play them over one by one.

“Megan,” it was her mother. “Things sound like they’re getting pretty dangerous in Detroit. Stay safe okay? Call me back.”

The next one was also from her mom, and the next, and the next. Each one becoming more and more hysterical.

The second to last one was from her brother, saying that he’d picked up movement in his college with Android Allies and was hoping to keep protesting and harbouring androids as best he could.

The final one was actually from the Beckwiths.

“Megan dear, we hope you get this. We made it to my sister’s and Anita is safe. Don’t you worry. You and Paul take care of each other now. Okay? Stay safe.”

With a long sigh and a bit of preparation as the boys puttered around in the background, Megan called her parents.

“Megan Violet Carroll!” her mom screamed down the phone, making her pull the receiver away from her ear. “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?!”

“I can probably guess,” Megan spoke before she thought, and quickly realised that now was not the time for a smart answer.

“We’ve been worried sick! Especially with all the phones down. What the hell were you thinking, protesting illegally?! I never thought you’d be one to break the law! We’re booking a flight for you to come home right now!”

Megan felt sick, but did something that she felt like she needed to. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yes I do. And I know airports make you anxious sweetheart but we’ll put that in the extra requirements and we can have someone meet you.”

“No. You really don’t have to. I, I don’t want you to.”

“Megan? What are you saying?”

“I’m staying in Detroit.”

“No you most certainly are not! The entire city’s a warzone! Buildings destroyed, people fleeing in terror-”

Megan interrupted her mother for the first time in many years. “Well I’m looking out of the window right now and not a single building has been damaged and people are leaving in an orderly fashion.”

“What about these androids-?!”

“They haven’t hurt anyone. Not a single human life was lost in this entire revolution. Detroit is safe.”

“Young lady, in case you haven’t realised there’s an evacuation order!”

“I’ve broken one law. I’m happy breaking another. See you later mom.”

“Megan! Don’t you dare-!”

Megan hung up the phone and took a deep breath to steady herself. Her stomach roiled in protest and she felt her legs wobble, but overall, she was okay.

Before her mom could call her back, she called her brother.

“Hey James,” she said after he’d picked up.

“Hi Megs, still in Detroit?”

“Yep, still on campus?”

“Just about. I hid under the bed when security came round. They don’t know I’m here.”

“Cool, I’m guessing mom demanded that you come home?”

“Oh yeah. I shut her down though. You?”

“Same here. She was not happy. How’s AA your end?”

“Pretty good. Some guys had to go home but most of us are still here. What about you? I saw you on the news.”

“Yeah. Most of us are still here. Alex was arrested. I don’t know what we’re going to do about that,” the pain killers had worn off about an hour ago, and she shifted her shoulder uncomfortably, wincing audibly.

“You okay?” James asked and Megan couldn’t bring herself to lie.

“Had a run in with the military for the protest and harbouring an illegal android. I, I got shot.”

“What?! Shouldn’t you be in hospital?!”

“What hospital? They’re all closed,” Megan rebuked. “One of the guys knows first aid and can sew. I’m stitched up pretty nicely.”

“Good, that’s good. Don’t do anything too reckless, okay?”

“You’re telling me not to be reckless?”

“Well, given what you’ve just told me...”

“True true,” Megan agreed. “How are you doing anyway?”

“Me? I’m fine. Not shot anyway.”

“I mean, mentally. Are you okay? I know this might not be a good time to talk, but...”

“...it’s okay. I’ve got other things to focus on. I’ll figure it out when everything dies down okay?”

“James,” Megan warned, feeling big sister mode kicking in.

“I’m fine. College was a bit of a shock, that was all. I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Megan sighed, not believing him but too tired to push. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sure. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Megan hung up, that phone having been a lot better than with her mom. Final call was to the Beckwiths. It went to voicemail, so Megan left a message.

“Hey, just letting you know that I’m okay. Me and Paul are okay and I’m glad to hear Anita’s good. Hope you three stay safe. Don’t worry about calling back. I have a feeling that things might get a bit busy. Bye.”

Megan hung up and turned to face the rest of the apartment. Paul had moved some of his stuff from the couch so that Oscar could sit down, and the android was now pottering around the kitchen.

“Paul, what are you doing?” Megan asked.

“Making breakfast,” he replied, checking bread, bacon and eggs. They seemed to satisfy him and he got to work.

“Need help?” Megan asked, already knowing the answer.

“How about you read a book?” Paul suggested. “I’ll ask Oscar if I need help.”

Megan sighed, nodded and did as he suggested, sitting in her desk chair. It felt so good to sit there again.

There was silence for a while before Oscar broke it.

“So, now what?” he asked. “We’re just going to hole out here?”

“For the time being,” Paul replied as bacon sizzled. “We will need to do a supply run sooner or later, and deal with Alex. We should have gotten Lieutenant Anderson’s phone number, then we could have gotten him to get them out.”

“Hindsight is 20/20,” Megan commented, nose deep in her book.

Oscar shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to do something, but all he could think of was watching tv, and they were on limited power.

“Oscar,” Paul started, sensing his restlessness. “I would suggest calling your parents.”

Oscar nodded, and got up to do just that.

The whole thing was very calm, very domestic. Almost a complete contrast to the last few days. If you ignored the hand guns the boys had placed on the coffee table.

Morning soon past into afternoon, and everyone was startled by a knock at the door.

2PM Friday 12th November 2038

Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at each other. Paul grabbed and cocked a gun before approaching the door and looking through the fish eye hole.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” he opened the door to reveal the titular detective.

“Finally!” he stated. “I was starting to wonder if you were even in.”

“What are you doing here?” Paul asked, angling himself so that he couldn’t see into the apartment. Or the gun he was holding.

“Thought ya might want to know about your friend. They got released today, on account of bigger fish to fry.”

“Okay, thank you for that information,” Paul responded. “It seems like you went to an awful lot of trouble for this detective.”

“Yeah, ya got me. That ain’t the only reason I’m here,” Anderson rocked back and forth on his heels. “Mind if I come in? It’s freezing in this corridor.”

Paul looked his shoulder at Megan, who nodded reluctantly. He stepped back to let in the detective.

”Damn tiny place you got here,” he commented, Paul closing the door behind him.

“It was designed for one person,” Megan’s snark was there, but was muted in the presence of a near stranger.

“I can tell,” Anderson continued to rock on his heels. “Anyway, you guys seem to be the main pro android group in the city right now, huh?”

“I, guess,” Oscar responded with a shrug. “No one else seems to be organised.”

“Exactly, and ya say this Alex is yer leader?”

“More or less,” Paul responded cautiously, wondering where this was going.

“Look, I know Connor, and I know he’s gotten in good with the deviants, so I figured that I could talk to ‘im and see if we could set up a meeting between your guys and Markus.”

Megan made a noise that sounded like a cat coughing up a hair ball, and Oscar’s mouth fell open.

“Are you certain about this detective?” Paul asked, the only one able to regain his cognitive faculties.

“Not really, but I can try. Besides, it would be good for them to meet pro android folks who aren’t politicians. Plus, you can be with other androids if ya want,” he aimed that last part at Paul, who narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not sure that I do.”

“Eh, whatever,” Anderson shrugged. “You do you. I’m just putting the offer out there. I didn’t get a chance to tell yer friend, and you’re the only other guys I know.”

“We will pass it on,” Paul assured.

“Great! Er, here’s my phone number, just in case,” since Paul was closest he handed it to him, and Paul copied down Megan’s landline and cell phone number.

“Alright,” Anderson made his way back towards the door. “I’ll, er, be in touch.”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” Paul responded, since no one else seemed to feel like talking.

“Call me Hank. This is unofficial after all,” the detective attempted a smile, and seemed to fall a little flat. “Be seein’ ya,” with that he left.

A few seconds after the door fell shut Megan stared at Paul.

“...Did that just happen?”

“Yes. I do believe that it did.”

“Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

Well, I guess Hank showed up sooner than I remembered.

I'm admittedly not too fond of where the story goes from here. It seems like a natural continuation to me, but it feels, I don't know, too convenient. At the same time, I don't know how to make it better without dragging it out, so I've left it as is. Other Options Flowchart

(Megan) Be blunt. Be sincere. Be sarcastic to her mother's worries.

(Megan) Be firm. Be hesitant. Be rude with her mother.

(Megan) Lie to James about the injury

(Megan) Press James about his mental health.

(Paul) Leave the gun.

Tags! @nightmarejim @nightmarejim