#to me and I was so hypervigilent of getting in trouble and I left the letter in a folder in my desk

[clau1r9i]

The Complex Interaction Between Insecurity and Friendship: Alice Swayne and Chise Hatori

ok so this post has been sponsored by @thornswoggled who has asked me to write about this (hiiii)

This is a post about an analysis that I wrote years ago to which I have added the part about how Alice would react if she knew the relationship between Chise and Joseph (you can skip everything and go to the end and get to that paragraph but you will not find new information either, I recommend read all for more context)

Ok i have to apologize, this is very long, i can´t do short things i just can´t i tried so get comfy

let´s staaart!

Introduction

This essay explores the psychological scars left by Alice's childhood, the common characteristics she shares with Chise, and the potential for rivalry between them as their relationships and place in society evolve.

The Psychological Impact of Alice's Troubling Past

Alice Swayne's personality is deeply influenced by her traumatic childhood, which can be understood in terms of *post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)* and *attachment disorder*. Abandoned at a young age and forced to survive in a dangerous environment, Alice developed a strong sense of loyalty, particularly towards Mikhail Renfred, who rescued her. However, this loyalty is accompanied by deep insecurities and a persistent fear of abandonment, typical manifestations of *avoidant attachment disorder*. Her childhood experiences may have caused psychological issues such as low self-esteem, anxiety, and a strong need for approval, characteristics of *dependent personality disorder*. These insecurities drive her to constantly prove her worth, sometimes at the expense of her own well-being. The trauma of her early life leaves her vulnerable to feelings of inadequacy and fear of being replaced or forgotten, especially by those she values most.

It can also be noted that this combination of issues may result in difficulty forming healthy relationships, hypervigilance, and feelings of guilt and shame regarding past attitudes and reactions.

Similarities Between Alice and Chise

Despite their different backgrounds, Alice and Chise share several significant characteristics that form the basis of their friendship. Both have endured painful pasts marked by abandonment and a longing for acceptance, which can be related to the concept of *existential loneliness*. This shared history creates an implicit understanding between them, as both know the pain of loneliness and the desire to find a place where they truly belong.

Their loyalty and devotion to their respective mentors, Renfred and Elias, also connect them, and both characters are willing to make significant sacrifices for the people they care about. Furthermore, both Alice and Chise struggle with insecurity and low self-esteem, often questioning their own worth. This shared vulnerability allows them to empathize with each other's difficulties and provide support when one of them doubts, which is an example of *social and emotional support*.

The progression of their relationship can be schematically outlined as follows:

Stages of Their Friendship:

Initial Distrust:

Description: When Alice and Chise first meet, there is evident distrust and rivalry, especially from Alice. This is partly due to Alice's insecurity and fear that Chise might be a threat to Renfred or that she might not be worthy of his time.

Respect and Recognition:

Description: As they interact more, Alice begins to see Chise in a different light. She recognizes her strength and value. This changes her initial perception.

Mutual Support:

Description: As their friendship deepens, Alice and Chise begin to support each other in times of need. Both have difficult pasts and find comfort in their mutual understanding. This mutual support allows them to grow both emotionally and personally.

There came a point where Alice found something she thought she would never find, someone she believed was similar to her, with a very similar past and seemingly similar traumatic consequences, which is why Alice makes an effort to guide and care for Chise. Essentially, we can see in the way Alice treats Chise the same relationship that exists between Chise and Philomela, albeit on a much smaller scale. However, thinking of someone as being just like you is a notion that can easily shift from love to hatred, and thus it should be discarded immediately. Someone can be very similar to you, but never identical. 

The consequences of this way of thinking are evident in the following.

Potential for Rivalry: Alice's Perspective on Chise

Despite the strong foundation of their friendship, the relationship between Alice and Chise is not without its challenges.

Initially, Alice might have viewed Chise as a competitor, particularly because Chise possesses unique and powerful abilities like Sleigh Beggy, which distinguish and make her valuable in a way that Alice might envy. The fact that nearly all characters show such interest in Chise could exacerbate Alice's fears of inadequacy, leading her to see Chise as a rival seeking approval and recognition, a phenomenon that can be understood in terms of *performance anxiety* and *evaluation sensitivity*.

An additional factor that could intensify the perception of rivalry is the apparent ease with which Chise forms and maintains friendships. Unlike Alice, who has struggled to establish deep and lasting connections due to her traumatic past and insecurities, Chise seems to have greater success in forming meaningful bonds with others. This perception that Chise has an innate ability to connect with people might make Alice feel more insecure, as she could interpret it as a lack of social skills in herself, which may be associated with *difficulties in forming interpersonal relationships* and *social inadequacy*.

The potential rivalry might also be fueled by differences in the nature of their relationships with their respective mentors. While Chise has a more emotional and close relationship with Elias, Alice’s relationship with Renfred, from Alice's perspective, is more professional and based on proving her worth (which she dislikes), reflecting an *anxious attachment disorder*, whereas from Renfred's point of view, it is a paternalistic relationship. Alice might feel that Chise has an advantage in receiving emotional support and guidance, which could make Alice feel neglected or undervalued in comparison.

Additionally, Alice might perceive that Chise is achieving what she herself desires: a sense of belonging and unconditional acceptance, something Alice has longed for but has not always received from Renfred in the way she wishes. This perception could heighten her feelings of rivalry, as Alice might fear that, in the eyes of her mentors, Chise is occupying a place she herself wishes to have, a sentiment that could be interpreted as *fear of rejection* and *self-image insecurity*.

All these terms can be encompassed under social comparison and intrapersonal jealousy.

The person Alice initially sees as her equal begins to have a seemingly better life than hers, a life and environment that forgives all mistakes, while Alice feels stuck, with stagnant personal relationships, and her mistakes come at a high price (Alice couldn't defend Renfred and as a result lost his arm, an arm that will not grow back).

Given all this, and considering the recent trending discussion here about Joseph/Cartafilus,

What would happen if Alice discovered that Chise is protecting and hiding Joseph?

The discovery that Chise is protecting Joseph/Cartafilus, a figure who has caused Alice significant harm, adds a complex layer to Alice's internal conflict. Joseph/Cartafilus represents pain and betrayal for Alice, and his presence in Chise's life might be seen as a personal betrayal by Alice. She could be overwhelmed by anger and frustration upon seeing Chise defend someone who has hurt her, intensifying her feelings of mistrust and insecurity. This act could make Alice feel excluded and dismissed, perceiving that Chise does not fully recognize the negative impact Joseph has had on her life. Additionally, Alice might face a profound internal conflict between maintaining her friendship with Chise and protecting herself from those who have caused her harm, which could trigger an identity crisis and doubts about Chise's loyalty. This would be a significant shock, potentially exacerbated by Chise's response or even if she chooses to remain silent.

[foundfamilywhump]

When X is triggered by something but they're not super emotionally aware and don't realise they're triggered and don't understand why they're suddenly feeling all distressed, and Y is the one who puts two and two together and realises what's wrong and deals with it for them

P.s you are literally my favorite fic writer and I love both your blogs I just wanted to let you know

OHHHHH YES THIS IS CATNIP TO ME

anything to do with the lasting impact of trauma and dealing with triggers and whatnot is right up my alley and this is so compelling bc what a disorienting thing. just to be upset and agitated, having trouble focusing, feeling scared and on alert and not knowing why. getting hypervigilant and their heart is racing but everything is fine, so this shouldn’t be happening. but Y knows what’s going on.

and that’s so fun bc like - why does Y recognize it, right? have they seen X like this before, so they know what X specifically being triggered looks like? have they themself struggled with trauma and know from personal experience? did they notice what specifically triggered X in the first place and make a note to keep an eye on them in case this happened?

and of course the absolutely tantalizing possibilities of what Y dealing with it for them looks like bc there’s such a wide range of fun stuff that could mean. if they’re in a situation they can’t just leave it could mean getting the trigger itself away somehow, or standing between X and what upset them, blocking it. it could mean taking X somewhere private so they have the space to calm down and they can have a quick talk about what happened. maybe asking X if they want to leave entirely and taking them somewhere else, making sure there’s someone with them as they’re left shaky and exhausted and unsettled after all that happened. ough very good.

(and aaaahhh thank you so much that’s so sweet of you!! im so flattered, that’s such a nice thing to say :’) )

[limestoner]

Autistic stuff I’m judged for:

• Not looking at people when there is nothing for me to look at. Staring at someone’s face gives me no new information; it’s just one more thing I have to constantly remind myself to do that takes away from me actually listening to them.

• When people tell me the same thing repeatedly and expect a response every time. When I say, “I know,” it’s rude? So I just run through the list of nothing-responses: “Uh-huh. Okay. Wow.” I have to be hypervigilant to make sure I’m responding “correctly” or the person will stop talking and look at me expecting�� something. I don’t know what.

• Sudden changes. “You’re overreacting. It’s not a big deal.” I was expecting a weekend of hurkle durkling (means lounging around in bed in the morning instead of getting up right away, but I use it to describe all the things that help me prepare to transition to social situations/demands), but oh dear, the heater won’t turn on. Now I have to find someone to fix it and deal with talking to them and there won’t be peace until it’s over and the maintenance person has left. Not only did I not get the unmasked hurkle durkle time, but there’s another social demand being placed on me.

• Screaming and smacking when someone comes up behind me to put the tag of my shirt in. I used to make it stick out on purpose so it wouldn’t be scratching my neck, but then the feeling of unexpected touch on my neck is painful. Again, “Settle down. I’m just being helpful!” I love tagless clothes.

• I’m a therapist, so peak social performance is expected. Having to mask at that level is extremely exhausting. I always plaster a smile on my face even if I’m holding back vomiting because I don’t want my patient (or more specifically, their family) to be uncomfortable. I do my job well. But in order to do it, I have to brave the small talk like I’m treading through a minefield.

• Sitting in waiting rooms like I’m doing right now. I have to make sure I’m looking normal even though the music is too loud, I’m tired of sitting here, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave. I want to lie on the floor. I can’t.

• Because I can do such a good job masking, no one really understands that I can’t do it all the time. “It can’t be that hard. Everyone is expected to do these things. Everyone does things they don’t want to do sometimes.” Of course. But every waking moment I spend around other people, I have to be perfect to be considered “acceptable.” If I let the mask slip just a little, I’m rude, cold, insensitive (but also too sensitive?), lazy. If “everyone” felt like this in these situations, I don’t think society would be set up the way it is.

• Lack of a social network. “Just put yourself out there and make some friends!” How. Yes, I have managed to figure out that people are expected to make friends, and that the world is set up for people who have connections. But I have never known how to do that. Teacher says, “Get into groups!” Seemingly instantly, there are groups. And me. I ask to join and group says no. I ask next group. No. Look, I don’t even mind doing the academic work for the group. All of it. Just let me join a group before I get in trouble for “not following directions.” Or worse, the teacher has to offer extra credit for a group to take me. Yes. More than once.

• My problems are largely invisible, which to most people means “not their problem,” “nonexistent,” or simply “made up.” No one chooses sensory overload, meltdowns, being judged all the time. I’d love it if instead of “You don’t look autistic,” people would say things like, “Cool. What things do you like to talk about? Don’t worry about making eye contact if you don’t like it.” Just a small amount of compromise in my direction once in awhile would mean everything.

[merlyn-bane]

15 People, 15 Questions

Thanks for the tag, @lttrsfrmlnrrgby!

1. Are you named after anyone? Do fictional people count? My mom named me after the little girl in a weird old movie she really likes. I'm pretty sure she gets kidnapped?? Idk. But I was a much less sweet and pleasant child than the one she named me after.

2. When was the last time you cried? Uh idk, maybe last week?? My sense of time is Fucked but @foreverchangingfandomsao3 got me with one of their whumptober prompts. I also got, like, weirdly strongly homesick a few weeks ago out of nowhere when a song came on that reminded me of my mom and I was already extremely emotionally exhausted so it kind of just sent me over.

3. Do you have kids? Absolutely not. I have a dog and two cats and they are more than close enough for me.

4. What sports do you play/have played? I wasn't awful the few times we played volleyball in gym class but I am a very far thing from a jock. I did do a season of color guard though

5. Do you use sarcasm? It's basically a second language in my family. I don't think I use it quite as much as I used to, though. Mostly it's my facial expressions that get me in trouble now.

6. What's the first thing you notice about people? I don't know. Tone, maybe?? If someone seems rude or like otherwise disinterested in having a productive interaction I tend to disengage really quickly.

7. What’s your eye color? Brown.

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings. Media is, for me, first and foremost about escapism. I also like being able to sleep at night and already have issues with anxiety and hypervigilance.

9. Any talents? If you give me like 20-30 minutes and resources (manuals, youtube, etc) I can figure out how to do most things with my hands--which is how I've ended up with so many goddamn hobbies. I've done most of the work on my house myself, though, to include the kitchen backsplash. I can also make very cute robot lamps that have functioning outlets!

10. Where were you born? Coastal North Carolina

11. What are your hobbies? Writing, reading, digital art, painting, crocheting, knitting, cross stitch, home improvement. Probably some more things not coming to me right now. Making shit, basically. I have had to be all but physically restrained for like a year to keep me from playing with stained glass next. I'm autistic and I cannot be stopped. If I'm left unattended long enough I'll probably pick up another one.

12. Do you have any pets? I have a pittie/dogo argentino (mastiff) mix named Ziggy Stardust, a calico pain in my ass (cat) named Princess Jellybean of Doom (often shortened to Jellybean, or JB, or Brat), and a massive black and white cat named Captain Ravioli. A black cat and another 'dog' also live here courtesy of my roommates.

13. How tall are you? 5'3". 5'4" on a good day with a kind measure.

14. Favorite subject in school? I loved the sciences and English courses. I love history too but I didn't like it as a class in school because of the whole growing up in rural North Carolina thing.

15. Dream job? Recently, the only thing I have wanted is to be paid to make shit in a sunlit studio all day. I am exhausted with the concept of 'job'. Paleontology would be sick though.

I think I'm going to do open tags, to be honest, because my brain is not firing on enough cylinders right now. Play if you want!:)

[lord-radish]

I don't talk about this openly because it's a touchy subject, but I've really gotta get out of the drinking game. I've got issues with alcohol, and I've had these issues for years at this point, but I can't seem to escape it due to both mental problems and general proximity.

Like I have a friend who frequents a bar next door to where I live. I'll be passing through as a shortcut and say hello, and he'll like. repeatedly prompt me to get a beer. Like genuinely badger me until I give in and have a beer with him. Same thing on Sundays, he pushes me to drink repeatedly even if I clearly and repeatedly state that I don't want a beer. My family is full of alcoholics, and being drunk lets me be more social with them, so when I see family I can't escape it.

But I'm also really insecure and have a lot of trouble being around people when I'm sober, and alcohol loosens me up. It helps to be around other people and to get on their level when I get drunk, when my sober self is clearly running at a diminished capacity on that front. I stutter, I don't have timely comebacks and it's hard to maintain conversation. I was bullied for years and have reduced social skills because of that.

But I'm at a point where I have to stop. I drank two bottles of bourbon this weekend. It was a fun time and a good weekend, but it makes me feel so sick for days and I get caught in this loop of binge-drinking that eats up all my time and money. It's having an effect on my physical and mental health too, and I'm just flat-out less productive when I'm drunk and subsequently hungover. I feel sick all the time. I want to get out of this.

I vent a lot about my former best friend - and that's a situation where I acted extremely shittily, but the hatred for that guy is just sort of in me now. There was a point right at the end of our friendship where I had just been sober for three and a half months due to a health issue, and due to an ongoing mental health episode and a growing sense of isolation and detachment from my friends, I gave in and began drinking again.

In that moment I needed alcohol. It was a bad choice but it was a dark, dark time. But in hindsight, one of the most disturbing parts was the morning after. I felt fantastic, I was full of energy, and I gladly left the house after breaking my sobriety and went to hang out with my former best friend. We'd been growing apart because while I was sober, I began to notice how uncomfortable and hypervigilant of myself I was around him, and that led to avoidance and a few tense moments between us - but hungover and rushing on endorphins, I went to hang out with him.

And he told me that I seemed "like myself" again.

I've thought about this, and one reason I began binge-drinking the way I do was to pacify myself and be more pliable to my surroundings, where everyone else is calling the shots and I'm just along for the ride. A lot of that came back to my former best friend - he always took the passenger seat when we went driving with friends, he always had the aux cord, it was always about him. The decision to binge-drink to cope with my negative emotions was a personal decision that I made, and the negativity encompassed more than just our friendship, but I was having a prolonged negative experience with my best friend of the time, and that didn't help.

The disturbing part, in hindsight, is that alcohol abuse made me more agreeable. When I stopped drinking, things got tense between us. When I began drinking again, I was "like myself" again. Granted, I was happier after a mental health crisis and a growing sense of agitation and dissatisfaction. But I was wallpapering over my unhappiness and dissatisfaction with that friend by binge-drinking, and maybe that tenseness was justified considering how hard our friendship imploded just two months later.

Now I have a job and my own place to live. My personal issues are more general than they used to be - I was living in an actively hostile environment, and I was friends with someone who made me feel like I was always walking a tightrope. I have my own space, and I've made new friends - one of which actively drives me to drink when I don't actually want to, but things are just outright better, warts and all.

But it all comes back to alcohol. I'm not drinking as hard as I was during the pandemic - that's what gave me the health problem that I went sober for - but I am drinking a LOT. I drank two bottles of bourbon this weekend. I'm taking the day off work and losing money because I just need one day to myself to sort my shit out. Alcohol is ruining my life. It helps with my social issues, but it is ruining my life in so many other ways. And I'm not going to mention just how deep this all goes, but it's bad.

I don't really know what to do. I can't just announce it publically, because I'm almost certainly going to backslide on it at some point. I think quitting drinking is going to alienate me from some of my current friends, and I genuinely like them. Even the guy who badgers me to drink is a good guy who's treated me very well in the aftermath of losing my previous friends. I like spending time with him. But the writing is very clearly on the wall; I need to stop.

The issue is support. My entire world is built on the back of alcohol. My family and friends are both strong links to alcohol. I was seeing a counsellor for a long time who didn't think I needed to quit, I just needed to learn to moderate - that's been out of the question for years, I know what this is. I had another one before her who made me feel really judged for my issues with alcohol. And I've had very intense codependent internet friendships before that I don't want to even risk slipping back into, so this isn't a cry for help in the sense that I'm looking for a sober buddy on Tumblr to try and help me. I'm not putting any of you through that. I'm not.

Mostly this is just me getting my thoughts in order and expressing myself. It helped to get this all off my chest. I don't know where to go from here, but talking about it was a big first step. Like just as a disclaimer, I'm going to be fine going forward and I feel a lot better having spoken about this, so don't feel too concerned or alarmed - in the immediate sense, removed from the broader issues I discussed in this post, I'm fine. But yeah I just really needed to talk about my issues with alcohol, because my continued alcohol abuse is really bad for me in a lot of ways and it's really hard to take any sort of first step y'know. Hoping I can leverage this post into something more productive for the long term. Sorry for trauma-dumping on main.

[weirdlynotspecific]

Studying Hunter from TOH as a person with PTSD

So as you probably gathered this post is going to be a bit heavy. Tw for: narcissists, PTSD, abuse, Belos being Belos, trauma and it's after effects

Also bare in mind that this is just my opinion. I have PTSD caused by someone similar to Belos and noticed a lot of similarities between Hunter and I. However, I am by no means an authority on this topic and this is just my take on the character.

I will probably come back to this and edit it to add more if I think of anything else.

Also spoilers for The Owl House up until Season 3 Episode 1, Thanks to Them.

Hunter's unwillingness to believe Belos is a bad person

This is something many people with PTSD (especially if the person/people causing the trauma is a narcissist) go through when other people realize something is off.

It can look like denial, grief, anger, and the person being abused can be furious with the person who realized something was wrong.

It's really confusing like in Hunter's case when Belos has been put on a pedestal (literally) his entire life

Belos gave Hunter a purpose. This is love bombing. This can appear as: "Wow you're so special" "I love you so so much". Belos straight up tells Hunter: "You're destined for something" (Hunter brings it up in Hollow Mind I think) and makes him the golden guard. It's a common tactic with manipulators so that their victim has a reason to stay with them.

Belos also isolated him. Hunter never knew what a good caregiver looked like. He wouldn't know what abuse looks like because all of this has been normalized. He wasn't even allowed to leave the castle except on missions on the weekends (I believe that's in season 3 episode 1).

Hunter's signs

Hunter's shaking hands seen in Hollow Mind. This can be an underlying physical disorder but in Hunter's case it's most likely because he is in fight or flight and processing a lot of information at once. The mind can take stress out physically on the body and this is one way this can appear.

Hunter's hypervigilance. Hunter is very easily spooked (once again Hollow Mind this episode is just full of Hunter and Belos making it my best point of reference) and is constantly on edge. Even in the newest episode (S3 E1) he is on edge, although in this case he was right.

Hunter's eyebags. So I think this could be one of 2 things; stress appearing physically on the body again, or more likely a lack of sleep. many with PTSD sleep less, have trouble staying asleep, avoid sleep, and are more prone to nightmares.

Cutting his hair when he thought he looked too much like Belos. This scene hit hard for me because I also changed my hair because of my trauma. It's an example of taking control of what you can, which many abuse victims do when they have a space to. It's also avoidance, Hunter doing what he can to be the furthest thing from Belos. it's a scene that even if it's a little detail, it's extremely important to his character.

Not telling his friends he's a grimwalker. Abuse victims don't want to feel alone. In this case when Hunter is in Fight or Flight he chooses another option, Fawn. It's a people-pleasing method to make sure the victim doesn't get hurt again. It can also result in codependency. Hunter is very careful of what he says to his friends because he doesn't want to be left alone and feel that again.

Causes

Physical injury. Hunter has a scar (now several) on his face. Unwanted permanent change to the body ESPECIALLY through force is never healthy and can be extremely traumatic.

Psychological abuse. Belos is a known liar, it's stated over and over again in the series. Living in a relationship like that is breeding grounds for trauma because you can never be sure if what you are hearing is the truth or not. When Hunter finds out he's a grimwalker that is his entire life flipped over. His life, his identity, was made up by Belos. He is now forced to figure out what is actually his and what was made up.

Sources

https://www.dailyom.com/journal/is-it-love-or-is-it-love-bombing-5-red-flags-to-help-you-spot-the-difference/?aff=91&ad=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=PerformanceMax&acct=9358138875&campaign_id=16896613381&gclid=CjwKCAiA5Y6eBhAbEiwA_2ZWIdNpOVzzurt7m4MaXkLRwaaejex6WBv4MaCcMSXZMJrbiVJRj7VVHRoCijQQAvD_BwE

https://atlanticcoastrehab.blog/why-your-hands-tremble

https://www.ptsd.va.gov/understand/related/sleep_problems.asp#:~:text=Loss%20of%20sleep%20time.,loss%20can%20affect%20daily%20life.

https://www.modernintimacy.com/fawn-response-trauma-response-reason-for-people-pleasing-behavior/#:~:text=Fawning%20is%20also%20sometimes%20associated,they%20think%20they%20need%20you.

[dekatsu]

This contains spoilers to the current bnha manga chapters.

Katsuki comes home to shut windows, drawn curtains and the lights shut off. The apartment is eerily silent as he makes his way from to the kitchen and dumps the groceries on the counter. He looks at his phone, makes sure there is nothing to worry about and pushes it back into his pocket.

The silence prevails as he makes his way to the bedroom and opens the door.

He’s not surprised, when a hand sneaks out and pulls him inside and down, shutting the door as soon as he’s inside. The windows are already barricaded with the smaller of two wardrobes in his room, cutting off any sources of light.

The hand across his chest tightens as Katsuki tries to turn for the lightswitch so he sighs and ducks back down instead. 

“Something is coming,” Deku whispers by his ear, pulling him closer still, until Katsuki can feel the tension in Deku’s body against his back. “We need to stay down until reinforcement arrives.”

At Katsuki’s nod, the room falls into silence, Deku’s harsh exhale cutting in every so often. Katsuki doesn’t say anything, merely leans back against Deku, until he feels Deku’s breathing even out. 

“Deku,” Katsuki tries, pulling on his hand, until he lets go. “Let’s wait over there.”

At first Deku resists but Katsuki has done this often enough to know he will give in. Slowly, with as much patience as he can muster, Katsuki pulls him over to the bed, lies down and pulls Deku along.

“Kacchan - ” Deku protests but Katsuki pulls stronger, not giving him any opportunity to get away. “We need to stay alert.”

“Right,” he says, still pulling on Deku, until he unwillingly lies down so that Katsuki can pull him into an embrace. “I’m alert.” 

“But in bed,” Deku hisses, grabbing tightly onto the fabric of his hoodie. “Your back is to the window and I can’t see because of you.”

“I’m alert,” he promises, pulling Deku closer still, until there is no room for him to move his head away from Katsuki’s chest. “How strong is the pain?”

“Stronger than a high-end Nomu.”

So, strong enough to need medication. Careful not to let go of Deku, he reaches over to the nightstand and pulls a bottle out of the top drawer. Once he makes sure that he has the right one, he shifts back and pulls Deku closer once more.

Deku tries to get up but when he realises that Katsuki doesn’t plan to move, he pulls Katsuki by the shoulders so hard that Katsuki is forced to look into his eyes. “Kacchan, please. Not here.”

Seeing the desperate look on Deku’s face, Katsuki sighs and gives in. “Alright,” he says and allows Deku to pull him off the bed and down, so that they can hide behind the bed frame. “This okay?”

Deku nods, crouches down in front of him. So Katsuki sits on the ground, back against the bedframe and pulls Deku into his embrace. Deku goes willingly, most likely because the position allows him to cover Katsuki better. 

“Deku.”

“What is it?”

Medicine, Katsuki thinks but bites it back with his frustration at the whole situation, a bottle of pills sitting in his hands. This shit is why they shouldn’t have let Deku take off alone with multiple quirks he can barely control and some psycho villains after his life. This is why Katsuki still can’t forgive All Might or the other heroes for their part in isolating Deku. 

Because everytime he gets a throbbing headache, he will mistake it for the fourth’s quirk and an attempt on his life, paranoia acting up to swallow his commonsense and leave him in this state of hypervigilance, which takes him right back to his flight from All for One. 

The psychiatrist blames ptsd; Katsuki blames everyone else’s stupid ass decision to send a sixteen year old with a hero complex, essentially alone, into a warzone.

“I’m here now,” he says instead of all that. He gets a blinding smile for his troubles and all his anger disappears, leaving a sense of defeat in its wake.

“I know.” Deku’s hand on the bed shifts down to Katsuki’s hair, the other resting on his shoulder. “You always come through.”

“That’s fucking right, I do.” He grins and allows Deku the kiss he presses into Katsuki’s hair. Then he swallows and holds the bottle up to Deku. “You should take this.”

Deku’s face falls, his eyes losing the small glint they had just gained. “Oh,” he whispers, visibly deflating in Katsuki’s arms. There is a new kind of tension in his body, his hands trembling with the understanding of the situation. Again. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop it,” Katsuki grits, pressing the bottles into Deku’s hand, holding it steady. “You could have been right!”

“Right,” Deku says, opening the bottle and swallowing two pills at once. He throws the bottle onto the bed and avoids meeting Katsuki’s eyes as he tries to get up. 

“Yes,” Katsuki insists, pulling Deku back down and holding him tight. “‘S saved our lives often enough, hasn’t it. A few false alarms ‘re worth it.”

“Right,” Deku repeats but this time, he doesn’t try to get away, holds on as tight as Katsuki and presses his face against Katsuki’s skin. “I’ll figure this out again. I promise. Just - just wait for me.”

“Hell no,” Katsuki tells him and feels him tense up again. “You ain’t leaving me out again. Your brain is a mess, Deku. I’m going to help you out and then, maybe, I can come home to drawn curtains and anticipate you in my bed, instead.”

That earns him a wet laugh against his throat, followed by a kiss. So Katsuki gathers Deku up and pulls him back onto the bed as they wait for Deku’s headache to lessen and subdue. In the wake of his episode, Deku lies there, sleeping on Katsuki’s bed, traces of wetness on his lashes. 

Katsuki stares at him, long into the night and burns with the knowledge that he’s gotten stronger. Strong enough to rival Deku, who wields multiple quirks, almost to perfection.

He’s not getting left behind again.

[overclocksaa]

 @bowcarried​ / Come on I can totally babysit Halley. I'm great with kids !!!

It’s not unusual, right?  For a new(ish) parent to be picky about who they entrust their tiny bundle of joy to?  And it may seem a little (a lot) hypocritical, but while the Avengers and their associates are all people he can trust to save the world, when it comes to Halley he is so hypervigilant it’d be funny if he wasn’t the one being so.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Kate, okay.  He does.  She’s good.  Got a great head on her shoulders (most of the time).  Has proven her mettle in the crucible of saving the world.  Even manages to occasionally shame Clint into being a real adult from time to time, which is a feather in her cap; the supposedly more adult Avengers have been trying to get that to happen for years.

So it’s not about any of that.  It’s just...That’s his kid.  His...Infinitely powerful and particularly stubborn kid who has decided the combination of Steve Rogers’ chiseled-jaw hardheadedness and Tony’s refusal to be told no and listen to other people when he thinks he knows better is clearly the blueprint upon which to grow herself.  They are going to be in so much trouble in a few years.

It’s why who babysits her...Babysits her.  Doreen already has experience in that arena, with her time spent as Luke and Jess’s nanny, and with super babies specifically because of Dani.  The Unbeatable adjectival addition to Squirrel Girl is probably not actually literal, but it doesn’t hurt, either.  Or it could end up being like the Invincible in Iron Man’s; just there to make him feel better about feeling like a particularly jostled around can of Spam.  Either way.

And Logan is Logan.  He grumbles, he grouses, but he’s shockingly good with kids and killing him is typically more effort than most people want to go through, so he just seems like a good choice.  Cheap on that front, too.  Doreen’s learned how to innocently scalp on the babysitting fees.

But it’s not that he doesn’t trust Kate.  In a pinch, he’d definitely start combing for a backup hitter, and she’d be on the shortlist.

"It’s not that I’m not asking you to babysit because I don’t want you to.”  That’s true, too.  There might be more Clint influence than he’s particularly keen about in her whole...Thing.  But it’s not like they’re doing it on purpose.  He pauses, picking out a jelly filled from the box of donuts on the island, and then shoves the box across to her in silent offer.  “It’s just that we don’t really need one usually.  Not when it’s quiet like this.  She has to have her baby-granddad time with Jarvis during the day and if it’s not an all hands on deck, there’s no reason for Steve and me to leave.“

That last is still a slight bone of contention for him.  While it’s true, and he’s said since the beginning that having a kid means giving up a thing or two to make the time, he doesn’t like being left behind.  And typically he is the one volunteering begrudgingly to stay, because Captain America is a hell of a better motivator than Iron Man any day of the week in the field.  “Tell you what.  Date night’s next Tuesday.  Assuming Kang doesn’t show up or Fin Fang Foom doesn’t try to stomp on the Financial District, you can babysit.”

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 2.3.5 “The Little Girl All Alone”

“Only, as she fell prey to certain feelings, she rattled the handle of the bucket as much as she could while she walked. That made a noise, which kept her company.” This line really struck me as an interesting summary of so many of the characters in this book. Nearly all of the main or majorly recurring characters in this book are so lonely. So much of this book is different characters metaphorically rattling buckets in different ways.

This random woman that Cosette meets on the road is the opposite of Valjean meeting Madame De R--- way way back in 1.2.1. Mme De R--- was the one who stopped and spoke to Valjean and did the kindness of pointing out Myriel’s door. This random woman doesn’t do anything like that. She just keeps walking. The entire town knows who Cosette is and not a single person stops to help her.

God, I love the way Hugo writes children. He clearly was so lovely and patient and observant towards his kids and grandkids. All the little idiosyncrasies and quirks that we see Cosette and all the little kids at the convent exhibit are so believable and realistic.

We literally just had the ghosts of Waterloo wandering the plain, and here’s Cosette frightened of ghosts.

Thenardier is a wolf, but the Thenardiess tends to be more “foreign” wild animals. So far I’ve noted hyena and tigress. I’m not sure why she’s so different. It’s strange because the animals Hugo picks tend to be far less tameable than wolves and yet he has also described Mme Thenardier as essentially being tamed by her husband, since she’ll do anything he says and won’t argue despite being bigger and stronger than him.

“Darkness is dizzying. We need light; whenever we plunge into the opposite of day we feel our hearts chilled. When the eye sees darkness, the mind sees trouble.” This is such an interesting quote considering how often darkness helps save Valjean. But it’s also a quote that will be supported later on during discussions of Hugo’s social mines. Those who become accustomed to darkness, who utilize darkness, become Trouble which becomes Crime. The fact that Cosette is terrified of this darkness isn’t just an indication of her youth, it’s also an indication of her Goodness. She can navigate in the dark but she is scared of it.

“An outline of the Inconceivable emerges a few steps away with a spectral clarity. You see floating in space or in your brain something strangely vague and unseizable like the dreams of sleeping flowers.” Again, another little section where Hugo’s poetry really comes out. This visual is so pretty and almost whimsical considering he’s trying to talk about how creepy the forest at night is. These ghosts aren’t defined like the ghosts of Waterloo, and they’re not chimerical folklore like Valjean-as-the-Devil. They’re this weird in-between of terrified child and spiritual adult imagery.

Paris is also compared to a forest, and the gamin to a sparrow. But Cosette is not a sparrow, she’s a lark. It’s interesting to note that the next in line for abandonment after Cosette has left the Thenardiers is Gavroche, who has turned into a sparrow-gamin when we see him in Paris.

“Forests are apocalypses: a tiny soul’s beating wings make an agonizing sound beneath their monstrous vault.” I just finished reading Brighton Rock by Graham Greene and there’s a moment where he describes a seagull flying under a wharf as a songbird trapped in a cathedral. I get the same imagery here. This terror of something so much bigger than oneself, the need to escape, the feeling of doom or at least the feeling of being overwhelmed. A small child in the dark in a forest is like this absolute knowledge of how small and vulnerable and scared you are. And Cosette knows this; her eyes start getting wild, like she’s losing the human ability to reason and turning into that bird trapped in a cathedral, a sort of instinctive bestial fear.

(This is also the state Valjean is in when we first meet him.)

“Then, by some sort of instinct, to get out of this singular state, which she did not understand but which terrified her, she began to count aloud, one, two, three, four, up to ten, and when she had finished, she began again. This restored her to a real perception of things about her.” Cosette is able to break out of this animalistic fear-state. It’s also cool to see an example of calming techniques being used and effective 150 years ago.

This is kind of a tangent but whenever I read the sections about young Cosette with the Thenardiers I end up thinking about articles I’ve read about feral children or abusive/neglectful orphanages and how it affects the childrens’ ability to emote or the ways in which they respond to fear, threats, happiness, etc. I wonder if this ability to calm herself and pull herself out of that animalistic state is kind of this “power” Cosette has which protects her from becoming something more bestial. Her reaction to abandonment is different from Gavroche’s. Gavroche moves outward, becomes independent and social and courageous and sarcastic, connecting with everyone and no one. Cosette’s reaction is to move inward, to become speculative and quiet, to be wary of everyone and not really reach out. But this power she has prevents her from retreating too much into herself, into a place she cannot return from.

Poor Fantine sees her daughter’s fear and suffering. This is the last time, I think, that Fantine will be present in this way. Like Valjean’s whisper in her ear and the smile on the corpse’s lips, this brings Fantine to life for just a second. This reminds me of the dreams that Fantine has while Valjean is on the road to Arras. This is Fantine dreaming, this time from eternal sleep, watching as Valjean walks toward her daughter.

Although I just had a thought. When Valjean returns from Arras sans Cosette and visits Fantine, she wakes and says this to him: “Cosette? I knew you were there; I was asleep, but I saw you. I’ve been seeing you for a long time; I’ve followed you with my eyes all night. You were in a halo of glory, and all sorts of celestial forms were hovering around you.” Perhaps this dream wasn’t necessarily Fantine watching Valjean drive to Arras? Perhaps it was Fantine, so close to death, catching a glimpse behind the veil to the future her spirit will watch. Jupiter is the largest celestial body, and it’s large and visible here.

“She always imagined the Thenardiess nearby.” Ugh Cosette you poor thing. So much of her life is directed by fear and yet she has so much strength. Her strength and Valjean’s are paralleled again. She is strong enough to carry this full bucket, but she has to stop and rest, to regain her energy. But she is strong enough, just like her will is strong enough to withstand the emotional and physical abuse and abandonment she has lived with for the past 7 years. And we’ll see that strength change when she leaves but it doesn’t leave her.

“A man who had come up behind her and whom she had not heard. This man, without saying a word, had grasped the handle of the bucket she was carrying.” Valjean that’s so creepy. Valjean is magical here. Cosette is terrified; just moments ago she was hypervigilant about every sound of animals in the woods on the sides of the path. But she doesn’t hear Valjean’s approach at all, doesn’t even notice him until he lifts the bucket from her grasp. From the moment prisoner-Valjean fell from the side of the Orion, Valjean has been incorporeal. He’s no longer 9430, he’s no longer M Madeleine, and he hasn’t been mentioned since the fall. This is Valjean materializing as a new form, this poor-rich man in a yellow coat.

[sugarandspace]

Unlocked window (Sterek)

(posted on AO3 under the pseud aconitum)

Summary:  Stiles has a panic attack while being home alone with their five-year-old son

Word count: 2,054

Warnings: panic attack

Read on AO3

It’s been a very stressful week for them all since an unfamiliar werewolf pack had unexpectedly arrived in Beacon Hills. The pack hasn’t done anything yet, but from what Stiles has gathered from Peter and Derek, it’s only a matter of time. They know the Alpha of the pack and they know he doesn’t like to play by the rules.

Derek had suggested that Stiles leaves the town with their 5-year-old son Joel until they find out what brought the pack to Beacon Hills, and potentially make the pack leave if they are here to cause trouble.

Stiles hadn’t left, not really having anywhere to go and not wanting to leave his family and pack. He had faith that if something went wrong, the pack would be able to help. This wasn’t the first threat in the town and it wouldn’t be the last.

That didn’t mean that Stiles wasn’t constantly worried.

And it was starting to show.

It had been too many nights since he’d last slept well. He knew that he was being hypervigilant, waiting for the moment when shit would eventually hit the fan. He wasn’t really worried for himself, but he would never forgive himself for not leaving the town if something were to happen to Joel.

That’s why, when Stiles goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water for Joel who’s playing in the living room, an unlocked window above the sink makes Stiles’ heart rate spike up.

He remembers opening the window this morning when he was cooking breakfast and accidentally forgot the eggs on the stove for too long when he went to wake up Joel. He’d gotten back to the kitchen to the smell of burnt food and had opened the window for a while to let fresh air in. He’d closed the window later when it had gotten too cold in the room. Apparently, he had forgotten to lock it.

He’s been home the whole day and would definitely have noticed if someone were to have sneaked into the house through the window. There aren’t any hiding places in the kitchen, and to get to the other parts of the house one would have to walk through the living room, where Stiles and Joel have been spending time after breakfast. Stiles is sure there’s no one in the house right now except for him and his son.

He’s lucky he noticed it now, but he can’t help but think what could have happened if he hadn’t. If they’d gone to bed tonight, with the door safely locked but with a window unsecured for anyone to use it to get into the house.

Stiles’ heart beats fast and he feels the glass slip from his fingers into the sink, but he barely registers the noise, the sound of blood rushing in his ears overpowering it. Stiles feels lightheaded and he has trouble breathing.

He’s having a panic attack.

The realisation only makes it worse, because he’s home alone with Joel and he can’t have a panic attack now. He can’t defend them when he’s like this. He’s the worst father ever.

His legs feel weak and he has to slide down to the floor, to turn so his back is against the cabinets under the sink.

He tries to regulate his breathing but he can’t, too overcome with the panic.

“Dad?”

Stiles snaps his head up and opens his eyes - when had he closed them? - and sees Joel walking to the kitchen. The child sees him on the floor and runs the rest of the way to where he’s sitting.

“Dad?!” He asks, looking scared. “Dad, what’s going on?”

Stiles reaches his shaking hand towards Joel and takes his small hand to his, holding it and hoping that it brings his son at least a little comfort.

“It’s okay,” he says between gasping breaths. “Dad will be okay.”

He hates that Joel is witnessing this, hates that he can’t do anything to take that worried look away from his face.

He doesn’t register a door opening, but it must have, because suddenly Joel is screaming.

“Papa!” He yells with tears falling down his cheeks. “Papa come help dad!”

Stiles looks at the doorway to the kitchen and sees Derek rush into the room, Isaac following after him.

Derek rushes to his side and kneels on the floor.

“Stiles.”

Stiles closes his eyes tightly and tries to fucking breathe, but he can’t make his body cooperate.

“Isaac,” Derek says and looks to the doorway where the beta is still standing. “Can you go to the living room with Joel?”

“I don’t want to leave dad!” Joel screams and Stiles can feel his little hand squeeze Stiles’ clammy hand tighter.

“Just for a little while,” Derek says, his voice calm. “I’m going to help dad and then you can see him again, okay?”

Trusting his father, Joel replies with a weak, “Okay.”

Isaac comes closer and picks him up, and Stiles can feel his hand slipping from his before he disappears from his sight.

Derek cups his cheek gently, turning Stiles’ head from the doorway so that he’s looking at Derek.

“It’s okay,” Derek says. “Everything is okay Stiles. He’s safe with Isaac and you’ll be okay too. I need you to breathe, okay?”

Stiles sucks in a shaky breath and coughs it out almost immediately. Derek takes his hand and places it on his chest. Derek breathes in deeply and Stiles can feel his chest move under his hand. Having Derek at home makes him feel safer and he trusts Isaac with Joel, and the knowledge that everything truly is okay makes his heart slowly calm down.

They stay like that, with Stiles trying to regulate his breathing and with Derek speaking calm reassurances every now and then. When the worst of it fades they end up with their foreheads against each other’s, Derek’s steady breaths a calming feeling against Stiles’ mouth. Stiles knows his cheeks are wet with tears tracks but he doesn’t want to move away to brush them away.

“Thank you,” Stiles breathes out when he’s finally breathing normally. He feels exhausted like he just ran a marathon, and he lets his body slowly relax against the cabinets, the hand he has fisted in Derek’s shirt slowly uncurling from its grip. He brushes it up Derek’s chest so it’s resting against his neck, and focuses on the steady pulse under his hand.

Derek tilts his head up slowly, his nose trailing up the length of Stiles’ and up further until his lips reach Stiles’ forehead. Derek leaves a soft kiss there, one that lingers and makes Stiles relax even further. He sighs and opens his eyes when Derek pulls away.

“You okay?” Derek asks, his eyes searching Stiles’.

“Yeah,” Stiles says and nods. Then he closes his eyes again and hits his head back against the cabinets. “I’m the worst dad.”

Derek puts his hand between the cabinets and Stiles’ head when he tries to hit it again, ”You are not. You’re a wonderful dad and Joel thinks so too.”

Stiles looks at him with a frown on his face, wanting to believe but not sure if he can.

“Even after what just happened?” He asks. “He shouldn't have to see me so weak. I shouldn’t be so weak when I’m alone with him.”

“It’s not like you can decide when to have a panic attack,” Derek tells him. “And I’m sure he doesn’t think that you’re weak. He’s seen you banish a demon. That little guy knows how strong his dad is.”

They’ve tried their best to shield Joel from the more dangerous parts of the world, but unfortunately those dangerous parts are very much a part of their lives. Joel has definitely seen more than a five-year-old should have, but so far he’s been dealing with it all pretty well.

“I want to see him,” Stiles says. He wipes the tears from his cheeks and clears his throat as Derek helps him stand.

They go to the living room together and they find Isaac sitting on the couch with Joel in his lap, leaning against Isaac with his head hidden against the werewolf’s chest. He’s no longer crying but Stiles can see his shuddering breaths shake his small frame as Isaac talks to him calmly.

Isaac notices them first and whispers something to Joel’s ear. Stiles assumes that he told him that they are in the room because Joel turns around to look at them and jumps out of Isaac’s lap so he can rush to Stiles.

Stiles bends down to pick him up and hugs him back tightly when Joel wraps his arms around Stiles’ neck and hides his face in Stiles’ shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“I am,” Stiles says. “Papa helped me.”

“What happened?” Joel asks, and Stiles stops to think for a moment, unsure how to explain a panic attack to a five-year-old. In the end, he ends up with a simplified version of the truth, because Joel is smart, and he deserves to know what happened instead of getting brushed off.

“It’s called a panic attack,” Stiles starts. “I get them sometimes. They make me feel really bad for a moment but they always pass. I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help,” Joel says. Stiles can hear him sniffle next to his ear.

“But you did help,” Stiles corrects him. “You got papa. And you were so brave.”

Stiles punctuates his words with a kiss to Joel’s temple and they stay like that for a while before he lowers him back down. He feels exhausted and still a little shaken, so he looks at Derek and speaks.

“I think I’m going to go upstairs and take a short nap,” he says.

Derek leans to kiss him softly and nods.

“Can I come too?” Joel asks. He looks hopeful, like he really doesn’t want to let Stiles out of his sight any time soon.

“I’m just going to sleep,” Stiles tells him. He smiles slightly in hopes that it will make Joel feel better. “I’m a bit too tired to do anything fun right now, but we can do something after dinner today. Is that okay?”

Joel nods, “But can I still come?”

“Of course,” Stiles says. If Joel wants to come to lay with him for a moment Stiles isn’t going to say no. He knows Joel will get bored eventually, but he’s not about to make that decision for him. He feels so tired he’s going to be able to fall asleep even with a fidgeting child next to him.

Stiles gives Joel his hand and they start heading towards the stairs. On their way past the couch, Stiles nods at Isaac and mouths a quiet “thank you” which is accepted with a smile and a nod.

Once in the bedroom, they get on the bed on top of the covers. Stiles takes the blanket from the end of the bed and pulls it over them as he lays down and Joel gets close to him. Joel must be more tired than Stiles realised, because he doesn’t fidget, nor does he try to start a conversation. He lays still against Stiles’ side with Stiles’ arm wrapped around him, and in the end, Stiles isn’t sure which one of them falls asleep first.

Before he can fall asleep, a few things go through Stiles’ tired mind. As much as he knows that what happened wasn’t his fault, that he couldn’t control it, it doesn’t stop him from feeling bad. All panic attacks suck, but this one definitely made its way to Top Three Most Awful Panic Attacks Ever. He knows it’ll take a while until Joel is truly convinced that he’s okay. He also knows that he can’t keep going like this, and really needs to consider leaving the town with Joel for a little while if the situation doesn’t calm down soon. He’ll talk to Derek, tell him what caused the panic attack and how he’s feeling about the situation. He knows the other man was dying to ask more questions earlier but refrained so Stiles could see Joel faster.

They are going to talk and figure out the situation. He’s just going to sleep a little first.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

May 26th, 2001

Emile watched as Remy practically crumpled into the backseat of the car. Emile risked sitting down next to him, eyeing the parking lot uncertainly. Remy’s mother had seemed to be successfully scared off by Emile’s dad threatening to fight against her over Remy. But Emile didn’t know how long that fear might stay before she’d change her mind and go back to stalking Remy.

Hesitantly, Emile grabbed Remy’s hand. Remy held it back in a death grip, eyes not seeing anything. Emile’s mother leaned into the car and said, “Your father and I can drive the cars back, honey, you just make sure Remy is all right.”

Emile nodded, eyes going back to Remy worriedly. His eyes had closed and his chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm, so hopefully he could sleep the shock off. He had no doubt their next conversation would be long and somewhat painful, but right now, he just needed Remy to be okay.

  August 30th, 2003

Emile walked into their house only to hear sniffling coming from the kitchen, and he was immediately on alert. “Rem?” he called out, rushing to the kitchen.

“Oh, hey, Emile,” Remy said, dabbing at his eyes with a tissue before sniffling again. “How was work?”

“Are you okay?!” Emile asked, looking Remy over and finding no physical injuries. If Remy’s mother had somehow found them...

“I’m fine, Emile. Just got off a call with your parents,” Remy said.

“My parents?” Emile asked. His mind was racing. How soon he could interrogate them, establish boundaries, whether or not he needed to reevaluate their relationship, and how close they were...

“Yeah. They said they were proud of me,” Remy said with a watery laugh. “I just...started crying uncontrollably. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Emile’s heart slowed in it’s hammering, but his mind was still working at what felt like a million miles an hour. “You promise that’s all it is?” Emile asked. “Just happy tears?”

“Just happy tears,” Remy reassured Emile with a smile. “I feel a million times better than I did this morning, and I didn’t even need cheering up.”

“Well, that’s good,” Emile said, sagging a little in relief. “I was really worried. I know you’ve been having nightmares.”

Remy blew out a breath. “Yeah,” he said, glancing away from Emile. “Still sorry about waking you up so often.”

“Rem, if you’re in trouble, I’d rather know than be left oblivious,” Emile said, placing his hand over one of Remy’s.

Remy mumbled something unintelligible and Emile frowned. “What was that?”

“I was just wondering if...” Remy trailed off. “You know what? I know the answer to that already, and I don’t want to hear it coming from your mouth.”

“Oh, then it has something to do with therapy,” Emile laughed. When Remy didn’t, Emile paused. “Have you been having more nightmares than you’ve been letting on?”

Remy sighed. “You’re too good at shrinking my head, mio amore, you really need to learn how not to do that.”

“I don’t think it’s shrinking your head, I think it’s just knowing you for a long time,” Emile said with a half-hearted shrug. “But Rem...”

“No.”

“I just think—”

“—No.”

“If you’re having nightmares more often than I’m waking up, you really should talk to a th—”

“I’m not talking to a therapist, Emile!” Remy exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m perfectly healthy on my own! Do I always do everything right? No! Do I still have issues about where I came from? Sure! But that doesn’t mean I need therapy!”

“If you’re having nightmares to the point of consistent loss of sleep, I would argue otherwise,” Emile said simply.

Remy growled and grumbled into the counter. “Why is it the day that I decide to test out not going to the shop and leaving August in charge that you do this?”

“Because today’s the day I realize that you’ve been holding back on me about your mental health,” Emile said, crossing his arms. “I would argue this with you regardless of what day it was, had I known this was what was happening.”

“Which is why I didn’t tell you,” Remy said, looking up at Emile.

Emile worked at keeping his anger in check. Remy didn’t do well with anger. He knew this. He needed to go with the gentle approach. “Remy. Do you see me recommending you go to a therapist as a breach of trust? Be honest.”

Remy looked away from Emile. Paced the length of the kitchen twice. Turned and looked back at Emile, with a recognizable fire in his eyes that Emile hadn’t seen before. Remy’s gaze bore a striking resemblance to his mother’s in that instance. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because while therapy is just for help working through whatever problems someone might have, the fact remains that if they’re asking for help, they’re not strong enough to handle that problem on their own. And I can handle my parents on my own just fine. Sure, I sometimes have nightmares. And yes, that’s a little more often than I told you. But it’s nothing that I can’t handle, that I can’t get through on my own. I can function with it. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Rem, ‘fine’ would be having an occasional nightmare, but being able to go back to sleep afterward, because it was just a dream. ‘Fine’ would be getting triggered but being able to work through the trauma and avoiding a flashback, however narrowly. ‘Fine’ would be acknowledging your parents hurt you, but not being afraid that they could hurt you anymore. And you do none of those things. You stay up for hours on end after waking up from nightmares, you get stuck in flashbacks for hours or even days, and you exhibit such strong hypervigilance it’s a wonder you sleep at all at night. You are not ‘fine.’” Emile shook his head. “I understand it’s important for you to be self-sufficient, but wouldn’t you be more self-sufficient if you could handle your trauma symptoms?”

“It’s not that bad, Emile! You’re exaggerating things!” Remy exclaimed, crossing his arms with fingers digging into flesh.

Emile took a breath and said, “Are you saying that because you believe it, or are you saying it because that’s what your parents told you?”

Remy looked at him with such betrayal in his eyes, that Emile wished he could take the question back. But he knew it needed to be said. It needed to be answered. Remy needed to acknowledge where this was stemming from, and Emile needed to know whether or not he needed to press further.

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” Remy said in a soft, fragile voice, and Emile instantly understood one wrong step and Remy would lash out violently. “It wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be. I wasn’t exaggerating, but I never brought up the good sides of the relationship, as well. You only ever saw the ugly parts.”

“But the good parts don’t negate the ugly parts, Rem. If they hurt you, whether or not you can handle that on your own, whether or not they were also kind, you need to understand that they hurt you. There’s not some secret law where you have to have this amount of trauma and be short this amount of love to consider yourself abused, or traumatized, or whatever you want to call yourself,” Emile pointed out.

“I don’t need therapy, Emile!” Remy snapped and Emile held his hands up in surrender. “I don’t need it! I don’t need it!”

“I’m not saying you need it, I’m saying you could benefit from it. There’s a difference. You’re not going to die if you don’t get therapy. So you don’t necessarily need it. But it would definitely make your load a lot lighter, and while I won’t leave you if you don’t go to therapy, if this persists I’d recommend you get a second opinion, like from Toby. Because I worry about you, Rem. A lot.” Remy was seething, and Emile took a breath. “Now I don’t want a fight on this, so I’m going to be stepping away.”

“No!” Remy barked. “No, we need to talk about this!”

“Maybe so,” Emile allowed. “But you’re very worked up right now, and I don’t want us to devolve into shouting.”

“I’m ‘worked up’?! I’m ‘worked up’?! You have a funny way of saying fucking furious!” Remy exclaimed. Emile jumped and Remy froze, the flush in his face draining away as his eyes widened. “Oh, God. I’m becoming my mother.”

“Hence why I recommend therapy,” Emile weakly joked.

Remy didn’t seem to hear Emile. He was muttering to himself, unintelligible words before he dashed past Emile, grabbed his coat, and ran out the front door. Emile’s blood ran cold. “Rem?” he asked, rushing after Remy. “Rem, hold up!”

But Emile calling out to Remy only seemed to make Remy run faster. Emile slowed, quickly running out of breath but following behind Remy at a slower pace. He could wait out Remy’s running and catch up to him when Remy grew winded, or else he could call Bernie and ask him to keep an eye out for any panicked blonds muttering senselessly in the street.

Emile got all the way to the heart of the city before he lost sight of Remy. He looked around, trying to figure out which way Remy would have gone. Not Sleep Easy, they both knew Emile would check there first. Not the homeless shelter, because Remy didn’t go there this worked up. Emile ran a hand through his hair. He needed to know Remy wasn’t going to do anything drastic, but he needed to know where Remy was in order to make sure of that.

Quickly, Emile snatched his cell phone out of his pocket, dialling Remy’s number. It rang out. Emile swore and dialled again. This time he was sent to voicemail after one ring. “Rem...please. Talk to me,” Emile begged into the phone. “I’m not mad, I promise. I’m worried.”

Emile swallowed. He went to the park, knowing Remy sometimes found solitude there. He looked around in a frenzy, but couldn’t see Remy. He walked further in, heading to the bridge over the small creek. Remy was sitting on the handrail on the bridge, staring at the water. “Rem?” Emile asked, walking up to Remy.

“It should be deeper,” Remy said. “I wish it were deeper.”

Emile’s heart crawled its way into his throat. “Why?”

Remy choked on a sob, biting his knuckle. “Because then I could be swept away and never risk hurting you again.”

“Is this in a, ‘I want to die’ way or in a ‘I need to do damage control’ way?” Emile asked.

“I don’t know,” Remy said. He stared at the ring on his finger, and started twisting it off. “I don’t deserve—”

Emile’s hands darted out, and he held Remy still. “No. Rem, don’t you dare,” he hissed, a renewed anger flaring up. At who, he wasn’t entirely sure. “You don’t get to do that in the heat of the moment. If you calm down and you still want to call off the engagement, well. We’ll talk about it. But this? Is unacceptable.”

Remy shook, but when Emile let Remy go he replaced the ring. “I don’t want to hurt you, Emile,” he whispered.

“You didn’t. You startled me a little, but you didn’t hurt me,” Emile said softly.

“I don’t want to be my mother,” Remy continued. “I don’t.”

“The fact that you’re recognizing those patterns and trying to fix it, albeit in the wrong way, shows me that, Rem,” Emile said. “You’re not your mother.”

“I’m not seeing a therapist,” Remy muttered. “I can’t see a therapist.”

“Okay, that’s okay,” Emile placated. “I’m not requiring you to see one. I’ll even stop recommending it for a while if that helps.”

Remy still couldn’t meet Emile in the eyes. “Sorry. I won’t remember this tomorrow,” he said. “I can already tell.”

“That’s fine,” Emile said. “Will you get down now?”

Remy nodded, doing an about-face and sliding off the bridge’s handrail. Emile wrapped Remy in a gentle but firm hug. “Don’t scare me like that again, please,” he murmured.

Again, Remy nodded. Robotic, but real enough that Emile couldn’t have known Remy wasn’t actually agreeing had they just met. Remy was completely dissociated. “Come on, honey. Let’s go home,” Emile recommended.

Remy let Emile exit the hug and wrap an arm around his shoulders. Emile led Remy on the walk home, during which Remy just stared at the roads in front of them. Emile’s heart was hammering. He needed to talk to Remy about what he had done today. The yelling, the stubbornness, the attempt to get their engagement called off. But he knew that had to wait. Remy wasn’t in a state to talk about anything for at least an hour. Emile just hoped that he would know how to bring it up sometime soon.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Blue Eyes Part 34

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

Part 34: Alfie wonders about what happened after he was shot and Ella worries she’s losing touch with their relationship

         “Do you remember what I said after I were shot?”

           Ella frowned. It wasn’t the question she was expecting as she walked into their bedroom. She’d just gotten the twins to bed after they’d played with their toys a bit. She didn’t like to think about that day. Didn’t like to think about the call from Ollie that nearly made her heart stop. Instead, she liked to think about how far he’d come in his recovery. That was the best to think about, not about the agonizing pain he was in when the medication wore off.

           But she wasn’t going to ignore his question. “You said a lot of things.”

           “What did I say though? Do you remember?” Alfie patted the bed next to him, inviting her to sit.

           His wife sighed and instead went to get changed for bed. Cyril nosed open the door and plodded inside. He was gentle with the twins but Anthea was the guard dog. From the moment they were brought home, she appointed herself their protector. She slept in the middle of the room between the two cots. Every time Alfie or Ella went to open the door to tend after the twins, she let out a low growl until she realized who it was.

           “I don’t know, Alfie, it was a difficult time.” Ella put on a nightgown and went to brush her hair at her vanity.

           “No, I know. I just…Tommy were talking ‘bout-” Alfie paused. He wasn’t sure whether bringing up the morphine was wise. “Don’t matter, I was just wondering if I said anything interesting or if it were just all nonsense.”

           Ella looked at him in the mirror. She set her hairbrush down with a sigh and went to join him on the bed. “You spoke about me a lot.” She finally admitted.

           He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What about?”

           A faint smile formed on her face as she recalled sitting beside his hospital bed in Southampton. She’d keep a hand on his stomach or chest to feel every inhale and exhale he took. Hypervigilant, she wanted to make sure he was okay every second. When he stirred, she rubbed his shoulder comfortingly and murmured reassurances. Reminding him where he was and to not touch the bandages on his face. He barely responded to her in the beginning. Just mumbled incoherently and drifted back off. But the more he healed, the longer he stayed conscious and the more he said to her.

           “You talked to me like I was someone else.” She reached for his hand. “You were telling me about your wife. And you-” Tears began to form in her eyes. “You told me how in love you were. Told me about our wedding day and how beautiful you thought I was.

           Alfie chuckled. “That sounds ‘bout right. Can’t imagine what else I would talk about.”

           “Well, you mentioned Cyril more than a few times.” She giggled and wiped her tears.

           “Yeah, that makes sense too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Can’t really remember much from that time. Guess I should be grateful for that.”

           Ella hummed in agreement and leaned into his side. “What matters now is we’re together and we’re going to be okay.”

           Tommy’s warning crept up on Alfie like a large insect crawling up his back. He wanted to agree with her, tell her everything was going to be okay. But it was rare that he could get anything past his wife. If Alfie started working with Tommy, guaranteed she would find out before they even shook hands on the deal.

           “Tommy mentioned something else.” He cleared his throat and wrapped an arm around her for support.

           “When you were talking earlier?”

           “Mhm, he said we need to be careful.” He began but Ella cut him off.

           “There’s a black cat in my family, of course, we need to be careful.”

           Alfie was a bit surprised. If she was aware of the rampant betrayals then it was inconsistent with her positive outlook on their future. “Aren’t you concerned or…”

           “Black cats can’t hide for long,” Ella replied. “Their true colors come out no matter how hard they try to hide. We just need to be tactful and bide our time.”

           The way his wife was talking sounded more and more like she was also a part of Tommy’s plan. “Hang on now, what’s all this talk about ‘we’?”

           “I told you a long time ago that I’d always be a part of my family. There’s no getting around it or avoiding it.” She clasped her hand over his. “But I’m a part of my family on my own terms because you and the twins come first. That’s not going to change. But I think to keep everyone safe, I need to work towards it with Tommy. I’m done hiding in the shadows, Alfie. If someone wants to threaten my family, they’ll have to go through me.”

           Alfie jaw tensed up in fear. “El they…Mosley knows that you’re not in America. He knows you’re still here.”

           She nodded, her face steady and unchanging even at the information. “I figured he’d find out sooner or later.”

           “And that doesn’t fucking scare you?”

           “Does it scare you?”

           He threw his hands up in disbelief. “Of course, it fucking does!” With a long, drawn-out groan, he rubbed his eyes. “Me worst fucking fear is losing you, El, you must know that by now.”

           “But it…but it’s not going to happen like that.” But her brother’s words the previous day were haunting her.

           Shelbys don’t die of old age. We get killed or we kill ourselves.

           It was a faceless demon that Ella hadn’t been able to face. She wanted so desperately to grow old with Alfie. Keep the home in Margate. Raise the twins. Maybe travel, see the world once the children were old enough. Or maybe when the children had lives of their own and left the house. But there was always something in the way. Some grim reality.

           Suddenly clutched with panic, she fearfully grabbed Alfie’s face so he would look at her. “Things will be okay, they have to be.”

           He rested his hands over hers. “You want the truth or do you want me to lie to you?” His blue eyes were firm on hers.

           She chewed on her lip as she seriously considered his question. “I want you to lie to me.” She finally whispered.

           Alfie let out a sigh and removed her hands from his face. He kissed her forehead and stood up from the bed.

           “Alfie?” She called after him but he didn’t pause. Instead, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. He wouldn’t lie to her.

~~~~~~~~~~

           It was early the next morning when Ella saw her brother off. Tommy knew he’d overstayed his welcome, even if Ella told him he could linger a bit longer. Still, she had mentioned how worried Lizzie sounded over the phone and how Charlie and Ruby asked after him constantly.

           So, he knew it was time to face reality. After packing his things in the backseat of his car, he hugged his sister.

           “Stay in touch.” He said as they embraced. It wasn’t a friendly reminder; it was a necessity. Should anything come up regarding Mosley, Tommy needed to know.

           “I will.”

           Tommy stepped back and nodded to his brother-in-law. “Alfie, take care of her.”

           “Yeah, always, mate, always.” Alfie could bury the hatchet with Tommy. The mental break and symptoms could be excused. But he was damn glad the Shelby was leaving. He only hoped that Tommy would take his trouble with him and not leave any residue. That remained to be seen. Until any indication, they left it on neutral grounds.

           “I’m going to go feed Sofia and Ezra,” Ella said as Tommy’s car turned out of the drive. She patted Anthea on the head on her way inside.

           “Think I’ll take the dogs for a walk, then,” Alfie replied.

           His wife paused in the doorway to look back at him. “Well, did you want to wait for me? We can take the twins along in the pram?”

           “Thought I’d go down to the beach, actually. Just need to clear me head.”

           She nodded. “I take it you want to be alone then?”

           “I’d like to go into town with you and the little ‘uns later. Spend some time together then.” He tried to make up for the slight snub.

           “It’s okay, Alfie, you can go by yourself. I don’t mind. Maybe I need to clear my head too.” She glanced at him one more time before shooing Anthea out of the house and closing the door.

           Alfie scratched his beard and cleared his throat. “C’mon.” He patted his thigh to prompt Anthea and Cyril to follow him down the bluff.

~~~~~~~

         That night the couple busied themselves with getting the twins to bed. Both were almost a bit relieved that Ezra was fussing so much. It gave them an excuse to not address their earlier conversation.

           It wasn’t so much an argument as just a misunderstanding. Or perhaps there was just no answer to their situation. And neither of them really liked having no answer.

           “Go onto bed, Alfie, I’ll take care of him,” Ella said as she rocked Ezra in her arms. The toddler wailed and kept an iron grip on his mother’s hair, willing her to stay the night. Luckily, Sofia didn’t seem to mind much and was already fast asleep.

           Alfie hesitated but nodded. It wouldn’t do much good if they were both in there. “Alright.” He lingered at the door for a moment before heading to their bedroom with Cyril at his heels.

           Ella finally got Ezra settled and had him sleeping in his cot. By that time, Alfie was asleep on his side, facing away from the door. She noted that he must’ve been exhausted if he managed to fall asleep amid all the crying from down the hall.

           As quietly as she could, she got dressed for bed and slipped under the covers. She moved closer to her husband, draping an arm over his waist and pressing her cheek to his shoulder. She stayed there for a moment, listening to his steady breathing mixed with Cyril’s snores from the foot of the bed.

           Despite the lulling sounds that had become so familiar to her, she couldn’t nod off. Instead, she gently brushed back Alfie’s hair, trying to smooth down all the little pieces that stood up in all different directions. As she grazed her fingers down his temple, she noticed his skin felt rough to the touch. Ella frowned and propped herself up a bit to see better. There appeared to be a slight discoloration but it was hard to tell in the dark.

           Concerned, she got up and turned on the lamp to see better. The light disturbed Alfie and he grumbled in protest. “El? What’re you doin’, love?”

           “What’s this on your face?” Ella examined the angry abrasion on his skin. It flaked a bit but it looked so much more painful than any rash she’d seen before.

           Alfie felt her fingertips graze the mark on his temple. He’d known about it for some time. Considered it more of an irritant if anything. He wasn’t one to visit the doctor very often, if he wasn’t too busy then he just didn’t want to go. It wasn’t that he was afraid of needles, he would just rather not bother with them if he didn’t have to.

           However, the only reason his wife hadn’t noticed it was because his hair had covered it for the most part. So that was that.

           “Just a rash or somethin’.” He mumbled and tried to close his eyes again, hoping she would be satisfied with the answer.

           “You sure?”

           He simply grunted in response.

           “Have you tried to put something on it?” She sat back on the bed, puzzled by the new discovery. Even more, so that he hadn’t told her about it.

           “Like what?’

           “Well, I dunno. Guess you should see a doctor, they’d give you something.” She shrugged and tried to manage her thoughts about it. Part of her was so ready to explode at any little thing. Almost as if she’d been trained to react so violently towards inconveniences or threats. The other part of her just wanted to chalk it up to a skin condition. Nothing serious, something treatable.

           “El, shut the light off,” Alfie grumbled.

           She didn’t move. “How didn’t I notice this?” It was obvious that the mark hadn’t appeared overnight. It had been there for some time untreated.  

           “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” He asked, eyes still closed to keep the lamplight at bay.

           “This! How didn’t I notice this? I-I mean do I even touch you anymore?”

           Alfie sighed, apparently the conversation wouldn’t be over soon and the light would stay on. He sat up with a grunt and faced his wife. “Me hair was covering it, love. That’s why you didn’t see it.”

           “So, you didn’t tell me on purpose.” Rather than angry, Ella looked distraught. “Look, I-I know things haven’t been easy. With everything going on an-and Tommy being around for so long. I know taking care of the twins has been a handful too but I-” She paused and looked at him. “I thought we were holding things together well enough.”

           “Oh, El, c’mon. Ain’t no reason to be beating yourself up.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap.

           She hugged him tightly. “I don’t want this to be our life, Alfie.” She whispered. “I don’t want to just be another Shelby that was killed. I can’t lose you or the children. I don’t want to live this way anymore.”

           “We don’t have to.” He rubbed her back comfortingly. “Ain’t no one holding a gun to our heads and telling us what our lives hafta be. We’re the ones who decide that.”

           She nodded, her cheek brushing up against his.

           “What do you want our life to be?” He asked softly, his arms keeping her tight against him.

           “I want to grow old with you.” She spoke shakily, almost as if confessing her dreams would jinx them. The Romani side of her didn’t take curses lightly. “I want the both of us to raise our children the proper way. As a loving family. To be there for the both of them every step of the way. I want to see them off living their own dreams, having families of their own. I want you to hold me every night and kiss me every morning.”

           Alfie smiled as she described what was probably his paradise. “Consider it done then.” He kissed her hair. “Consider it done.”

~~~~~~~~~~

           The next morning, Alfie woke up with a nasty headache. The sun was too bright and Sofia was crying too loudly. His wife noticed almost immediately. Instead of going to comfort his daughter who was sitting on the floor throwing a tantrum, he winced and rubbed his forehead.

           Ella grabbed Sofia to soothe her and watched Alfie stumble about the kitchen with a grimace. He muttered curses under his breath to himself, only stopping to pick up Ezra who had crawled into the kitchen.

           “Hello, mate, all bubbly today, ain’t ya? Having quite a fucking fuss last night now you’re all smiles.” Alfie chuckled. “Funny lad.”

           Ezra cooed and pulled on the collar of his father’s shirt.

           Ella wandered back into the kitchen after Sofia settled into sniffles and whimpers. “Are you alright?” She asked.

           “Me?” Alfie glanced up. “Yeah, ‘course, love. Tiptop shape.”

           “You look a little flushed.” She observed.

           “Feel fine.”

           “Mhm.” She balanced Sofia on her hip and used the back of her hand to feel Alfie’s forehead. “You’re warm.”

           “S’a bit stuffy in here, innit?” Alfie kissed Ezra’s cheek and set the infant back down on the floor. “Should open a window or something.” He walked past Ella to open the window above the sink.

           “Alfie, it’s freezing! Shut it or the children will catch their death!” Ella gasped when she felt the sharp biting breeze flit in. “You’re warm because you’re sick.” She set Sofia down in her bassinette before heading for the phone. “I’m calling for a doctor.”  

           He groaned and closed the windows at her request. “Oh, El, if it’s a fucking cold then I’ll be fine. No fucking reason to call the doctor.” He protested.

           “First your skin, then this,” Ella muttered and shook her head and dialed for an operator.

           “Ella!” Alfie called down the hall but didn’t want to leave Ezra as he crawled around the kitchen floor. “Ella, I mean it, I ain’t seeing a fucking doctor!”

           She ignored him, inquiring for the nearest doctor over the phone.

           Alfie threw his head back in disbelief. “For fuck’s sake.”

           Ezra grabbed Alfie’s pant leg and looked up at his father, showing off his gummy smile. It was tough being angry when his son was smiling so sweetly at him.

           “Your mum is gonna do me head in.”

~~~~~~~~~

           Ella wouldn’t be talked down so Alfie retreated to his office. A couple of hours later, there was a knock on the door.

           “Alfie, the doctor’s here.” His wife called.

           He grumbled a bit but stood up and opened the office door. A man about the same age as Alfie stood with Ella.

           “Mr. Solomons.” He smiled and reached out a hand. “Your wife says you’re feeling a bit under the weather. I’m Doctor George Lowery.”

           Ella gave Alfie a subtly stern look to tell him to behave. It wouldn’t do them much good living in Margate if they were on the bad side of the town’s doctor.

           So, Alfie swallowed his pride and shook the man’s hand. “Yeah, c’mon in. S’pose we can talk in here.” He allowed him into the office.

           “Quite the lively house you’ve got here.” The man chuckled. “Two dogs and twins! You must be very proud to have them.”

           “Yeah, yeah they’re good kids.” He was never one for small talk with good-natured strangers. He toed the line of being suspicious of their intentions and not wanting to come off as a complete twat just in case they were genuine.

           Doctor Lowery set down his bag. “Now what’s been bothering you?”

           Alfie had a hard time looking at the tall man. He opened up to very few people about personal things. And of course, there wasn’t anything more personal than medical concerns. “Well, figure I got a bit of a cold. But, Ella ‘n I were discussing bit of a rash I’ve got s’well.” He reluctantly moved his hair to the side to let the doctor see.

           George stepped closer to examine the area. “I see.”

           “Don’t tell me it’s fucking cancer,” Alfie spoke so faintly the words hardly came out.

           “Pardon?”

           He sighed. “Been hearing ‘bout men who came back from the War. They’ve gotten cancer ‘cause of all the shit in the air. Gases and whatnot.”

           “Ah, I see your concern. You were in the war?” George asked.

           Alfie nodded with a grimace.

           “I was a doctor in the service. I was going to inquire because of your eye, but I see it’s far too new to be something from the war.”

           “Unrelated.” He nodded. “Got more injuries out of the war than I did in it. But I ain’t gonna put up with cancer.”

           “Well, I don’t want to give you false hope but I do think what you’re suffering from is psoriasis. It’s a chronic skin condition. There is no cure for it, but it isn’t fatal.”

           Alfie wasn’t relieved by the fraction that the doctor’s guess could be wrong. “How would you know for sure?” He asked.

           “I’d like for you to come by my office another time, whenever you feel better. We’ll do some testing to make sure.” George answered.

           “Right…okay then.”

           “As for your cold, I’ll leave you with some medicine. Should you get any worse, call me.”

           “Mhm.”

           “If you’d like, I could speak to your wife about what we talked about. Or if you wanted to tell her yourself.” The doctor could see the hesitation in Alfie’s eyes. “I could speak to her but if you’d like me to leave out certain things, I can do that as well.”

           “Yeah,” He appeared a little grateful at the suggestion. “You can tell her whatever just don’t say anything ‘bout cancer. I don’t need her to worry ‘bout that right now. Not with the children ‘n everything else going on.”

           “Of course.” Doctor Lowery retrieved his bag and stepped outside.

           Ella was waiting impatiently outside. “So?”

           “Well, your husband has got quite the scars, Mrs. Solomons, but he’s still holding up just fine.” George smiled good-naturedly. “I would diagnose him with a skin condition called psoriasis, that’s the plaque you can see on his temple there.”

           Her brow furrowed. “Is it serious?”

           “While it is lasting, there are no deeper side effects.”

           “Oh, thank goodness.” She breathed out a sigh of relief. Obviously, because cancer hadn’t been brought into the discussion.

           “He’s come down with a head cold so I’d suggest some bed rest. And as hard as it may be, try to limit time with the children so they don’t fall ill as well. If either of them appears to be getting sick though, it’s quite alright. Just give me a ring and I’ll come back.”

           “Thank you so much,” Ella said gratefully and gave Alfie a smile which he returned half-heartedly. “I’ll show you out.” She escorted the man to the front door.

           Alfie walked into the kitchen where Sofia was practicing crawling around and trying to stand up using a chair leg. She smiled at him and made grabby hands so he would pick her up.

           “Sorry, little lady, doctor doesn’t want me getting you lot sick.” He apologized. “I’ll be better soon enough though.”

           Ella came back in and began to steer her husband toward the bedroom. “Alright, bed rest.”

           “Aw, El, I’m fine to be outta bed.” He protested.

           She ignored him and simply began shucking him of his clothing. Slipping off his suspenders and undoing his trousers.

           “Fuck, El, if I didn’t know any better you’d be trying to get me in bed right now.” He murmured and tried to kiss her.

           “I am trying to get you in bed, but not in that way cheeky boy.” She undid the buttons of his shirt and shuffled him to bed. “You’re not kissing me until you get a clean bill of health. If we both get sick, I’d have to call in for a sitter. I’m sure Tommy would have no trouble coming back.” It was a partial lie. She was sure her brother wasn’t coming back now that he was actually facing his issues. And she wasn’t sure she wanted him around anyways. But it was a good tactic to get Alfie to lay down.

           “Fucking hell, fine, fine!” He muttered and got under the covers.

           “I’ll make soup.” Ella felt his forehead one more time before kissing it. “Probably’ll be done for lunch. I’ll bring you tea before then. Try to get some rest though, love.”

           Alfie chuckled and sighed. Begrudgingly, he closed his eyes. “Yeah, alright.”

           Ella pulled the quilt further up his chest and smoothed a hand over his cheek before leaving the room so he could sleep.

//Just a heads up there will be one more update before the epilogue!

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[flemnotthun]

“Who Else Would It Be?”

Chapter 3 - Medicine

Set in the hospital, Kate and Steve exchange some text messages while Kate reflects on the change in their relationship. Thank you so much for all the love huns xx

TW: Dissociation

———————————————

The next few days passed without much incident. Steve sat by Kate’s side whenever he could, staying with her after work, often stopping by her flat to bring her books and other items so she could entertain herself. Recognising the trauma of finding Kate in the state he did, Hastings had given Steve a few days off, which true to fashion he refused to take. Despite the development in the relationship between him and Kate, his job was important to him. The good thing being that the job was just as important to her too. Indeed, the only thing preventing the DI in question from returning to work was her injury rather than any fear or reluctance to get back in the field. Despite several attempts to discharge herself, both Steve and the nurses insisted she wait until the wound had healed properly. Reluctantly agreeing, Kate was resigned to a few more days of staring at the ceiling, winding away the hours reading and waiting for Steve to arrive so that she might have someone to talk to. Despite knowing Steve better than she knew anyone else, there was a novelty to the new honesty between them’ she still felt a little giddy that they were finally getting somewhere. She properly fancied the pants off him, and while she hid it well, she was apprehensive about how the date might go, if she was ever released from the four white walls around her. She missed him during the day, and lit up when he arrived, but she managed. Kate would never admit it, but she was a little grateful for the rest. It was undeniable that the effects of what had happened to her might linger. Hypervigilance had set in, and she jumped at the sound of a nurse dropping equipment in the next room or at the rushing of a patient into surgery on the floor below. She supposed it would take some time to get used to, the numbness in her legs and the disconnected, floating feeling she experienced when startled.

The sound of a notification coming through on her phone, which Steve had put on the charger when he left the night before, brought her back to her surroundings. Stretching over to the bedside table, wincing as her wound complained at her exertion, she dislodged the charger from the base of her phone, which lit up with the words “Steve Arnott - message received.” Kate smiled as she unlocked her phone with FaceID, and then with her password after several failed facial recognition attempts. “Definitely look like shit then” she thought, feeling the facial dressings with her free hand. The message read:

Steve Arnott: Are you okay mate?

Kate thought for a minute, and decided to go for a witty reply. She hadn’t put much thought into her texts with Steve before, which mostly consisted of arranging covert meet-ups in the underpass and the occasional dog photo.

Kate Fleming: Getting all protective now I’ve agreed to go for a drink? ;)

The reply came instantly.

Steve Arnott: Maybe ;)

Kate smiled.

Kate Fleming: Aww you’re so cute. I’m alright thanks, a bit sore. What you up to?

Her phone pinged again.

Steve Arnott: Lunch break. Waiting for forensics to come back on Davison’s car.

Kate grimaced, she felt so awful for putting her old team, or her new team as she was returning to AC, through this when she could have trusted their judgement on Jo in the first place. She shuddered as she remembered the worry in Steve’s voice as they found her in the dark, and the pain screaming through her veins...

Steve Arnott: Are you sure you’re alright?

Kate had been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn’t replied. She didn’t want Steve to feel that she wasn’t grateful to him for being so attentive and generous, essentially waiting on her as she lay dormant in the hospital bed.

Kate Fleming: Sorry mate, just thinking about how I didn’t want to put you all to any trouble. I miss you.

She’d sworn to herself that she would tell Steve how she felt from now on, if she missed him, if she was angry, if she was happy, and while she didn’t want to drag him away from his break (Hastings barely gave them enough time to get a sandwich let alone deal with moping, bedridden partners), she had to honour the commitment she’d made for his and her sake.

Steve Arnott: It’s our job, please don’t worry. I miss you too. How was the blood test?

Kate felt her mood lift as she typed back straight away. She felt affirmed and cherished by Steve, and it made her heart sing.

Kate Fleming: Came back normal. No infections or anything. What you got on this afternoon?

It was just small talk, but Kate loved feeling connected to her partner despite the distance, so that she could picture what he might be up to as she daydreamed through the afternoon. Her phone pinged again.

Steve Arnott: We’re bringing Jo in, then just admin for the CPS. I’m sorry Kate, I know how much you wanted her to be decent, but her laptop says it all.

Kate Fleming: It’s okay, honestly. Give her hell!

Steve Arnott: Oh you know the gaffer ;) shame you won’t be here to watch her unravel.

Kate raised her thumbs to reply but Steve beat her to it.

Steve Arnott: I’m going to try to get off early, Chloe can handle the paperwork.

Kate Fleming: Are you sure? Don’t want to piss off the gaffer.

Steve Arnott: To be honest, he’d probably prefer me to be looking out for you. I know we’ve got uniforms outside your door but he’s been worried sick.

Kate smiled. She’d seen Hastings the morning after her chat with Steve; he’d given her swift hug and made sure the hospital were looking after her properly, grilling any nurse that dared cross his bath. They’d had a chat about her return to AC 12, Hastings grinning adorably as asked him if she could come back. It felt like things had been righted as her relationship with two of the most important people in her life had returned to their equilibrium. Kate unlocked her phone again and typed out her response to Steve.

Kate Fleming: Cheers mate. Love the gaffer!

Steve Arnott: I’ll see you at around 5:30 if that’s alright. I wish you were here Kate.

Kate’s heart rose in her chest as she replied.

Kate Fleming: I wish I was there too mate. 5:30 is perfect. I’m not going anywhere haha.

Thinking carefully, she added.

Kate Fleming: I can’t wait to see you later.

Steve Arnott: Haha looking forward to it, I can’t wait to see you too :) I’ve got to go, the report’s come back.

Kate Fleming: See you mate.

Steve Arnott: x

Laying her phone down on the bedside table, Kate felt a wave of exhaustion overtake her; so much for resting, she was now more excited than ever. A nurse came in for her next dose of pain relief. The DI let the medicine do its job as she rested her head on the rough pillow, dreaming of her partner striding about the office like he owned the place, Hastings cutting through Jo’s lies like a needle, doing the job they all loved.

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[androgynousghostlyvoid]

When Is It Over

After being missing for 48 hours, Tony Stark comes into the restaurant and is escorted to the table James Rhodey was waiting for him at. Rhodey, always a patient and understanding man wanted to give Tony an absolute earful for disappearing like that. He and Happy had been just about to raise alarms when he got the text "I'm a genius and you know that but I had major breakthrough and can't talk to anyone else. You will never guess who's bed I woke up in."

Rhodey guessed wrong 17 times then finally gave up by texting back. "Uuuugh, I hate it when you’re right! Just tell me!!"

"One Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, the Manchurian Candidate himself. TMI, but we have no boundaries, he's an awesome lay btw. I'll send you info for a meetup and brunch. I need so much coffee."

And so not long after the two sat in a little known upscale place seated at a privately reserved table on a terrace over looking the sea, Rhodey asking how in the flying fuck Tony had ended up at a dick appointment in Wakanda.

"It all started a while ago but what happened last night started the night before last. I kept having this nightmare where Barnes is bearing down on Pepper and my reactor is busted and I'm trapped in my suit, pinned to the floor like a butterfly to a card by one of those creepy bug collectors. Pepper is right there but I can never convince him to not hurt her. Sometimes it's you or Steve and I guess because I watched footage of him before he started remembering stuff... God, the way he gunned after Steve, like a pretty Ultron. And I fought him myself in trigger mode, Christ, his eyes were colder than dry ice and emptier than Bruce's apartment right now... I had it again and sitting up after with a glass of warm milk thought about that exposure therapy thing, what is it called?"

"Systemic Desensitization?"

"Right, anyway, so I called King T'challa and it turned out Barnes was awake. So i asked to see him, explain what I want to try and do because I already have 15 flavors of PTSD, I didn't need a special designer one and reassured nothing like vengeance was even remotely on my mind. I just needed to see him outside the context I had him in before in Siberia so he agreed to have me."

"Whoa, that's a stupid idea. So what happened?"

"Well, he has a convalescent suite in the mines, most secure place on the planet I bet. From himself and from others. I went straight there and was on his doorstep at 2 the next morning. He was still willing to see me and the Princess seems to have figured out how to end his following through with the programming, so he opened the door and..."

--

"Stark, I understand I never even knew you and I fucked up half your lif-" Bucky Barnes began.

“I don't wanna talk about that Barnes..." Tony replied.

"Then what do you want?" Buck asked shaking his head a little at a loss as to why Stark would need to see him this bad. A cold fright made his belly feel full of squirming eels as he wondered what in God's name he had done now. 'Th-they say I'm alright now but before... I hardly remember being brought to Wakanda, everything after my arm was fried off... is just a smudge of awareness. Did I hurt him bad that day, he looks okay but what did I do..?'

"I... fuck, okay, this is one of those times where I am doing a crazy rich person thing, you know. I keep having these dreams... "I remember them all." you said. That's what you said and ever since I feel like I need to face you in a.... I don't know... unfiltered way? I need to know you're not going to... hurt me or Pepper or Steve or Rh-" 

Bucky stood in the doorway his blood chilled to slush in his veins. What did Tony want him to do? Act out some death wish? 'Absolutely fucking not. I will eat a gun before I endanger anyone else. I can't, I literally can't let it happen, even by the most unpredictable accident...' "Tony, what is it you mean for me to do? I'm not gonna fight you, I-i can't, I-"

"Shit, Sarge..."Tony says and aggressively goes in for a kiss. A hard confused long and breathless kiss.

--

"Oh my God, you did not!" Rhodey exclaimed his incredulity impossible to contain.

"You going keep talking or are you going eat your lunch and let me finish?" Stark says a little miffed even if he wouldn't say that word unironically.

"I thought you were in like, regular killer robots trouble, but this takes the cake, please do go on. I want every sordid detail. I can't tell if I'm more horrified at your taste in guys or frustrated with you for not telling me about what you were going to do."

--

'Oh god my heart is racing faster than that time it almost got its promised dose of metal shards before I could get the other reactor in. I might throw up. But uh yeah, I'll admit it. I'm definitely getting hard. Is this it? Is this what I need to make myself understand he's not a killing machine anymore? For an engineering genius I'm so fuckin' stupid... O-oh ah, is- is he... holding me?' Tony's mind went from one thought to the next so rapidly it almost made him dizzy. But as Barnes wrapped an arm gently about his waist and pulled him closer over the threshold and into his suite, his initial fright at his own actions became quieter and slowed till he was thinking nothing and only letting the electricity of it flow as neurons and synapses and receptors did their work. He could feel Barnes' lips tremble slightly against his as they kissed, cold metal under his palm as it slid up over the smooth curves up to the other man's shoulder, his need now becoming clearer by the second.

Bucky didn't understand what was happening and in ordinary circumstances would like to know and love someone before getting closer this way. It felt wrong at first and he was so hypervigilant he was half convinced his body was acting on its own to attack Tony until the man moaned deeply in to the kiss, the sound of it long and greatly pleased. Barnes pulled away a moment looking at Stark. "What is this? I... I’m afraid I don't understand..."

"You and me both, pal. Oh no, Steve is rubbing off on me.... But yes... I'm figuring something out. Can we go to your room?"

"I- uhm sure it's... uhm... on the left. End of the hall."

"Come on, I can make it fast."

"I... had no idea you..."

"Again. You and me both, pal. Turned out my heterosexual philandering was me performing gender conformity and trying to hide from anything real about myself. I think I swing both ways. Or multiple ways at once." Tony said leading to the bedroom. He took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair by a small table in the room and sat on the edge of the bed. 

Buck sat next to him and said "Ah. Well, you're not alone in that. If I had a nickel for all the girls I had hanging on my arm while hiding the truth..."

"Wow. I mean... The length Steve was going for you... I didn't realize it was a two way street."

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' stupid for that boy. All those years... and then the first one I see his face again, the curse was lifted. Kinda like a fairytale." Barnes laughed.

Tony laughed too. A genuine happy sound he had been too anxious to properly make the last few months. Hearing Bucky say it like that, he knew they both loved the same things in their favorite star spangled dumbass. Another layer of fear melted and he grasped Bucky's metal hand. "Is this going to hurt what you got going for him? I can stop, find some other way to work through how I'm feeling about everything..."

"No, its okay. I...think I understand what you need."

"Oh yeah?"

"We were never properly introduced and until you know who a man is, he will always be a stranger."

'I'll be damned... that's kinda exactly what this is. I need to know him. I need to know him inside out like how I know Steve. It took almost dying together a few times for us to become friends. This is the express route for me and Barnes.' Stark sniffed and nodded then said abruptly, "But first I... I’m sorry. I'm sorry things went down how they did for you, I'm sorry for reacting that way when I found out our... connection. I- well I was going to say I'm sorry I blew your arm off but I'll say it when I'm sure I won't be lying. I had seen you kill a dozen people that day and I'm still scared shitless of you."

The room was quiet a moment as Bucky carefully gathered so he wouldn't burst in to tears before he could say it. "I'm sorry as well. I never got to apologize to any of their families before. So thank you too."

"Hey." Stark said quietly. He was beginning to truly feel something about Bucky other then that fever pitch fear. The time Barnes had come within a second of shooting Tony straight in the god-damned face came back to him but he didn't see that man in this moment. "I want to believe you so, come on. Make love to me and show me who you really are."

--

"Oo, you was being all smooth with it, okay, alright, Mr Stark, turn the swag on..." Said Rhodey.

"One of these days, Alice, right to the moon." Replied Tony.

"Ha ha, okay, I'll stop. One of these days...”

--

Barnes nodded and turned further to Tony reaching a hand out. He used the side of his index finger to take Stark's chin and tug lightly guiding him towards himself and beginning to kiss him in soft slow motions. "Do you want me to take charge a bit? Because I don't think I want you to make it fast."

"Hah~ I uh... don't mind, bottom, top as long as you're comfortable."

"How bout we work it both ways. I mean sure I'm big and can probably punch out that whole wall down in less than 3 minutes but I have a... softer side too."

"Being little spoon is nice..." Stark replied with a small smile pulling his tie vest and shirt off. He was endeared further to see Bucky blushing in the low warm light.

Bucky pressed him back on the bed and rolled half on top of him. His was so effortlessly strong his weight could barely be felt as he held himself from simply pinning Tony to the bed under him. Heat began to flush his body as the gentle kisses they traded became more passionate and hungry. A thrum of pleasure pulses outward from his pelvis and Bucky groaned in the ecstasy of it thinking 'Guess it's like riding a bicycle... it's all coming back to me now, huh?...uhn~' while his hips rocked forward pressing down against Tony.

It was a small gesture but so erotically charged, Stark's breath caught in his chest a second then he mirrored it with his hand sliding downwards to explore the stiffening shaft pressed against his thigh. He squeezed and stroked it marveling it a little for it's size and immediately wondering how much of Bucky's size was from the serum. He suspected from the way Barnes handled himself though that it was all Buck. He pulled the waist band of Bucky's pajama bottoms out and down exposing him. Tony's hand wrapped around it and he watched as Bucky's eyelids lowered and he breathed quietly "Oh God hahn..." pecs heaving as he gasped. Stark bit into his lower lip surprised how a sight like that could turn him on and quiet still more of his fear of the man. It humanized Barnes instantly like nothing else he could have made in the Avengers tower r & d labs.

Bucky's erection throbbed, Tony's hand feeling cool on it's hot skin as he took in the sensation just made it even more captivating but he paused a moment before raising himself to stand and pulled his pants off. As he did Tony took off the remainder of his clothes as well and soon they reconvened on the bed together. Tony waited for Buck to lie down then took a position that would serve well for oral. He was surprised to be further guided gently to straddle Barnes' face. They each used oral to the pleasure of the other and it was not long before the room was full of moans and sighs.

Barnes could never explain it but serving someone willingly in this scenario nearly made his mind melt with the extreme arousal building inside him. He moans softly his tongue massaging and circling sensitive skin, probing flicking at the entrance. He can't help how he is drawn in to the movement both soothed and excited by it, all the while feeling heat and soft textures and slick saliva slowly slathered up and down his length paired with a delicious friction he couldn't withstand in stoicism. His hips jerk and thrust up and his arms wrap around Stark's thighs pulling him down against his now wildly thrashing tongue.

"O-ohn hah! Mmm~!" Tony's breathes come fast and eratic as he tries to not be distracted from the task at hand. Which was enjoying Barnes' response to his sucking and licking of the man's cock. He is becoming increasingly intensely aroused to the point of loosing much of his control leaving him trembling and squirming as he struggles to keep his tongue moving. Finally unable to do much else he accepts Bucky's entire length in to his mouth allowing him to thrust himself in and out while Stark groans in deep pleasure at the many sensations.

Bucky came to a point where it wasn't enough and he needed to see his lovers face as well as become the more active party. He slowed his licking and paused one hand grasping Tony's arm and pulling him up to head of the bed French kissing him and enjoying the feel of their tongues sliding about one another. After a few moments they worked into missionary position. Bucky licked his fingers, massaged and stretching Stark making the man whimper and gasp pressing his head back into the pillows. Then he began to penetrate working his tip in slowly, setting urgency aside for a bit to be sure they were both on the same page.

Tony, experiencing great pleasure eagerly thrust his hips up as his calves rested on Barnes' broad strong shoulders. "I-it's okay, I'm experienced, you can go harder, go faster. Oh god~!" Even as he did it he was having a strong sense of sorrow derived from the way Bucky handled his body, with such a care, terrified of himself of hurting anyone. He knew this was because of who he was as a person and not just special treatment. Hydra had commited a deep sin against humanity by making such a man kill against his own will and every minute with the former Sargent made Stark's heart break for him, drowning the animal fear right out with the deep kindness that had stayed true in Barnes’ heart all these years.

Buck nodded now breathing heavily and started to thrust deep and hard at an almost relentless pace, grunting in a low tone his eyes scanning Tony's face drinking the pleasure he caused, this somehow just as pleasing as the direct stimulation of the sex itself. But still he maintained responsibility for both of their well being and carefully examined himself to be sure he could warn if he lost control of himself somehow. His ardor rose and swelled around him and to this he was perfectly happy to lose himself in the moment, his breaths harsh and fast as his powerful thighs and hips worked to thrust and his hands rose to lace his finger with those of both of Tony's hands holding them pressed to the pillow beside Stark's head on either side, Bucky's mouth exploring licking kissing Tony's throat and chest.

"That's it , oh don't stop, don't stop huhn!! Ah aaah hah~!" Tony groaned as he chased his orgasm. 

"Yeah? Ohn~ come on, come with me, come on baby..." Bucky told him between gasps and moans speaking softly into his ear.

It was one of the best climaxes he had ever had and he supposed it had something to do with how emotional the sex had been paired with Barnes commanding him to do it. 'I didn't even feel submissive till he took the reigns, and that's kinda how I like it.' Tony thought. Panting he said "You really must have given those girls a run for their money. And Steve?"

Bucky paused and smiled. It was honestly one of the most beautiful smiles Tony had ever seen. "Actually, I'd bet my left arm he's still a virgin. He's always so focused, no one ever wonders. They think a man like that would have been taken such a thing the first time it presented itself but our history together says otherwise. His birthday wasn't always July 4th, you know?"

"Meaning he didn't always appear to be the reserved type, a no kiss and tell sort of guy. Oh my God, that explains so much. Does he think it's too dirty or something?"

"Nah. He just wants the moment to be right. And it never can be with the world at stake every other day. He says to me, 'We can move to the country or the sea shore and no one will bat a lash. The ring can be made of the perfect materials for your hand and we can just settle down, when the fight is over’. He doesn't know... living is always going to be a fight. There's always a fight. It doesn't end until your heart stops. So he'll always be waiting for the right time and I'll always be waiting for him." His gaze was a bit melancholic, a bit proud and a lot yearning. His crystalline cerulean eyes swam with tears a moment before he closed them and leaned in to kiss Tony. 

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky and now he felt more real than ever, there was no monster here. Just a man who was having the most rotten luck in history. And he still fought for more each day. 'Men like them really are cut from different cloth. I always thought my dad was just being a righteous asshole when he said that but no...'

--

"And I'm cured! Turns out the right guy can heal you with magic peen." Strk said sarcastically.

"Pft, really?"

"Well, of that one thing. My mind is still fucked pretty hard from everything else though. But I'm glad it's finally laid to rest. Dad would have wanted it that way. Mom would forgive him, why shouldn't I?”

"Jesus, did you just mature before my very eyes?" Rhodey said with a smile reaching out to put a hand on Tony's shoulder with a squeeze.

"Yep. Let's hope I don't have to fuck everyone who has wronged me to finally put my suit away." Tony sassed back patting the hand of his best friend.

He hoped that day would come though. That Steve and Nat and Bruce and Vision and Wanda and Sam and Clint could set down their suits and anger issues and come home so they could all be worth the wait together.

[echo-bleu]

Oct 19-21 is the Good Intentions WIP fest ( @goodintentionswipfest ), the time to let go of abandoned WIPs and post them as is. Given that I’ve written a lot in the last year and also recently moved fandoms, I thought it was a good time to clean up my WIP folder(s), so I’ll be posting a few things that I started and gave up part way through. This means that each snippet is unfinished and not meant to be a full fic.

RNM, Alex, 1497 words. This was going to be a part of my Lines of Fear and Blame series about Alex & Isobel friendship, titled Drive Until You Lose The Road. [depression, PTSD, mentions of war, death, amputation and explosions, survivor’s guilt]

Perhaps it shouldn't be a surprise that when their lives finally quiet down, it takes Alex so much time to get used to it.

He didn't have to get used to the violence. It crept up on him. His brothers have always played rough, as far as he can remember, rough enough to hurt each other, and he was the smallest. He got kicked and punched and fell a lot. His father's blows were a different kind of pain, but it was still pain. Violence was never strange to Alex.

He didn't have to get used to the war, because he's always been at war. The war outside is more deadly, more awful than the war in his family, but it was never more painful than the war inside him.

He had to get used to the pain, because you forget the pain. You live with the memory of the blows and the broken bones, but you forget the pain, because your brain simply can't handle the prospect of being in that much pain again. So when Alex loses his leg, and he discovers the kind of pain that never leaves, the phantom limb and the constant ache in the stump and his messed up shoulder and his broken neck vertebra, it takes him months to stop hoping, in that short moment just before he wakes up in the morning, that it will go away. It takes him longer to stop raging about it. But when it comes down to it, he adapts easily. He's never had trouble to adapt to the dozens of places he's lived in, even overseas−it's not like he has many friends to miss. He adapts to being back in Roswell and having only one foot and seeing his father seemingly everywhere.

He doesn't really have to adapt to the skin-tight sense of wrongness of his life being turned over again. It's not so much the alien reveal−what does it really matter, if Michael is a telekinetic alien on top of being bisexual? It's the seeing Michael again. Navigating their shipwreck of a relationship. Finding out what his father has done, and is doing, and how it connects again to the depth of Michael's suffering. But Alex has never felt anything that came close to settled, to home, to safe. So it's just another war to fight.

Fighting is his default mode. Constant hypervigilance, of his surrounding and of his own body. The problem with trauma, is that it makes your brain forget to switch off fight mode. So no, it shouldn't come as a surprise that when the dust finally settles down around them, Alex finds himself spiraling down.

He groans at the ache in his head and his leg when he wakes up from his vague slumber and vaguer nightmarish half-dreams for the third time this morning. This time, his phone buzzing is what broke the silence. Sighing, he reaches for the phone and squints at it.

“Hey, Alex,” the video message says. “The last few days have been amazing. We're heading out to the airport soon, we'll be back home by mid afternoon. Text me if you want me to come by, I miss you.”

Alex sighs and lets his head fall back against his pillow. He's glad that he bought Michael a smartphone, if it means that he can see his face like this more often, but today he just misses him. It's ridiculous, honestly. They've been apart for a whole three days. But after a decade of missing each other, it's like he won't breathe until Michael is in his arms again.

He hesitates before texting, then chides himself. I'll be waiting for you, he writes, overriding his fear. Michael loves to leave him random video messages, and Alex only replies through texts. And right now, given how amazing a wind-swept Michael looks in the sun of Houston, he's glad of that. It's ten a.m., but his bedroom is still dark and starting to smell stale, and he lying in bed in his boxers.

He doesn't want Michael to see him like that, but he knows he won't be over this depression spell by tonight. Not with what today is.

No more events today, the calendar on his phone states. Alex couldn't bring himself to put anything in, even Michael's plane back. He declined to make the round trip to Albuquerque with Liz to pick the alien siblings up at the airport, citing his leg's dislike for spending time sitting in a car, but that was only half of the reason.

Michael doesn't know, of course. Isobel threw a party for their shared birthday last Saturday, then swept her brothers away to Houston to the NASA center as a birthday gift, to celebrate Max's resurrection and the twins' new interest at reconnecting with their origins. It's also an occasion to air out their issues without humans breathing down their necks, Michael confided in Alex, and start the process of healing together. Alex is happy that it seems to have gone well.

His own relationship with Michael is slowly growing, since they started rebuilding it from the ground up. Michael spends most of his nights at the cabin now, and they've been going out together more and more, working on Alex's instinctive need to hide. It's been rough, in some ways, but they're settling into a pattern that works for them, and since Max's resurrection and Jesse Manes's death, things have been quiet on the government conspiracy front.

Which leaves Alex here, now, three days into Michael's trip away from Roswell, feeling like he shouldn't be this depressed. For the first time ever, his life is good. He has close friends, his relationship with Michael is the best it's ever been, and the shadow of his father is finally gone.

It's just that being away from Michael is so damn hard. It's just that his pain level have been through the roof for a week.

It's just that today is the anniversary of the day he walked onto a bomb.

Alex buries his face fully in his pillow, his eyes filling with tears again. He didn't want to tell Michael and ruin his family trip. Liz was here yesterday, also feeling a little bereft at Max's absence, but she doesn't know the date anymore than his other friends. His men will call him, probably. They flew in and threw him a party when he was discharged two months ago, even though they're scattered across the country. They'll mourn together for the two brothers who didn't make it back home.

There's a yap, and from the bedroom door, left open since Alex is on his own, comes a running bundle of fur. Alex barely has time to turn and see her before Ksenia jumps up on the bed and sticks her nose under his chin.

“Hey, girl,” he murmurs as she mercilessly tickles him with her fur. She proceeds to lick his face, without paying any heed to his efforts to push her away. Alex fights for a minute before he gives in, leaving her free reign over his body.

Ksenia just settles down, half on the bed and half on his chest, with her head resting against his. Her warm presence is comforting, as Alex's ticklish giggles turn into sobs.

“I miss them, Ksenia,” he hiccups. “I don't…I probably wouldn't even be talking to Karl if he was alive, because he was an asshole, but I still fucking miss them.”

Ksenia just gives him another lick. Alex feels like he's choking from the pain inside his chest, like he can't take another breath. It's not even a panic attack, he can recognize those from a mile away, just plain old grief. He weeps for what feels like hours−actually minutes, but he comes out the other side feeling dried out and exhausted, tears and snot mixing with Ksenia's saliva on his face. He feels disgusting, yet he can't quite bring himself to get up and go shower.

What's the point, when Dawson and Karl will never get up again? Sometimes Alex can't even understand how he's still living, still handling the day to day things, everything so inconsequential and unimportant.

Not when it fucking hurts so much, that he came back and they didn't. That he came back and doesn't understand why, doesn't understand how.

Suddenly he feels trapped lying down, the weight too heavy on his chest. He sits up with a start, disturbing the poor Ksenia who yelps and jumps off the bed. Alex wants to apologize, but words are beyond him right now. He wheezes, throwing back his duvet until he can see his stump, and not the metal beam that crushed his leg and trapped him inside the crumbling building.

Ksenia must not be too angry at him because she doesn't give up and tries again, this time wrapping herself into his lap. Alex breathes out and hugs her tightly. “I'm sorry Ksenia,” he rasps out.

[amachja-moved]

“Not just tracks, either… The rain erases everything. Quiet footsteps, any kind of presence you might feel…”

I found this little gem in a Smartpass short story, wherein Historia finds shelter from the rain and stumbles upon Sasha stealing food. During their conversation, Sasha goes on to explain that rainy days make her anxious because they make hunting incredibly difficult, and are days where ‘you don’t know if you’ll be eating dinner or not’. It is a very fitting and sad little piece of lore, so of course I’m keeping it and adding my own two cents  🙏

As often (always) with Sasha, she will verbalise her feelings by talking about hunting or food even if the actual subject matter is only marginally related to those topics. Her anxiety towards rain stems from the very tangible consequences of rainfall on a hunt: soil turns to mud, erasing the tracks of her prey, it dampens smells, and it smothers noises. All those little environmental and sensory clues she consciously and unconsciously uses to navigate the world are nullified. Her hearing, for instance, has been established as a very important tool for her as a hunter and as a soldier, and heavy rainfalls make it more difficult for her to hear things clearly. 

The first very tangible consequence of rain is losing track of her prey, returning home empty-handed, and having to go hungry until the next successful hunt. The second, less tangible consequence, is her perception of the world being thwarted and rendered unreliable. I’m sure her grades would get significantly lower on rainy days because the clues she relies on to know where her squadmates are are no longer available (she cannot hear the whirring of their ODM gear so clearly, or their voices, a curtain of rain makes the traces left by their hooks in tree bark practically invisible, and dissolves the smoke and smell of their gas cannisters in the air too fast, etc). 

On top of the threat of hunger, rain means uncertainty and powerlessness. At a microscopic level, the anxiety is about not being able to get food and satiate her hunger. At a macroscopic level, the anxiety is about not being able to fend for herself and losing her bearings, and being at the mercy of forces she cannot control. It is about being deprived of balance and stability.

Historia’s surprise also speaks volumes of the discrepancy between Sasha and her comrades - while rain is, at worst, an inconvenience to most of them, for Sasha, rain, especially if bad weather persists over several days, could very quickly become a serious matter of survival. Something as elementary as being able to eat was by no means a guarantee. 

On rainy days, Sasha very noticeably withdraws into herself and keeps her eyes peeled, looking out the windows to see if the rain subsides. She compensates the way rain derails her senses by being even more hyper-alert, more hypervigilent than usual, she gets jumpy and nervous. Her food-stealing tendencies worsen - there is a 100% guarantee she will try to break into the pantry on a rainy day. 

A round of applause for Historia too for pulling a Thomas Wagner moment, and realising that when Sasha says “the rain makes me anxious because I don’t know if I’ll have dinner even though we have three meals a day here”, what she is really saying is “the rain makes me anxious because it crystallizes the instability and dangers of my family’s lifestyle”. Sasha’s language mannerisms and style of communication deserve a separate post to themselves, but long story short: if you spot your local hunter on a rainy day, maybe give her a hug and/or something to eat, you would make her very happy  🥺

If you’ve made it this far, I wish you a very good day, here is a hot cup of tea for your troubles:  ☕.