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honeyhenry · 4 years ago

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Captain Confusion

A/N: Inspired by this video that makes me weep with its cuteness! I just had to write this okay 🥺🥺🥺 This is in the same universe as Homeward Bound, which happens after this story. Feel free to give it a read after this, if you haven’t already! ALSO should note that the lovely @ohmygoodie is my Sy partner in crime and without them this fic would not be made possible :)

Warning: mention of operations/hospitals, and a whole lot of fluff!

It was a simple procedure and so it hadn't worried you too much, other than the usual fears when a loved one is under the knife while in the hands of trained doctors. Sy’s hernia had been authorised for operation only five minutes into the doctor’s appointment you had all but dragged him to, and scheduled for 4 days later. Not really much time to prepare mentally, but you knew it was necessary with your big bear of a man in pain. Despite the painkillers prescribed, he was walking with a limp and groaning in bed for all the wrong reasons.

In the waiting room, you and his Ma kept busy during the 45 minute wait by looking through magazines, talking about how the Captain’s quality of life will improve, and what kind of minor jobs you’ll have him do around the house while he’s recovering as you continue to work.

“I hope the recovery isn’t as long as some people have said. I know for a fact he’ll not want to be cooped up all day. If he’s anything, he’s stubborn” you sigh, knowingly.

Ma smiles, looking at you pointedly, knowing that she is in the presence of the only other soul who knows what is best for her son. “He knows better now that his health is his wealth. He’s got a lot more riding on being well now. After all, it’s not just him he’s gotta be there for anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean I always tell him, he’s not 25 anymore. Or even 30. I’ll need you to back me up, he does anything you say. I’m his equal, you’re his Mom.”

You both laugh a little, hers warm and kind, while yours tinges with the remaining hopeful nerves of an army Captain’s wife. You don’t like not knowing about your Sy, especially since you spent all those years apart, not knowing if he was safe, or even alive. The waiting, in any capacity, is the hardest part.

You’re flipping through a random tabloid magazine, when the surgeon in charge walks through to the waiting room.

“Everything went really well with Captain Syverson. He’s coming to from the anaesthetic and asking for his Ma?”

Ma grins before sucking her teeth between her lips watching as your mouth drops. You both move from the waiting area to follow the surgeon towards where your husband is resting. You speak under your breath, only wanting Sy’s Ma to hear you; “I hope he still remembers how to grovel after this.”

Ma enters the room with you following her, arriving only a couple more corridors along from where you’d last seen him earlier that morning. He may not have asked for you but you were going to see Sy whether he wanted it or not. A grand push of the door allows it to swing open, and suddenly there he is. A little disoriented but has a large dopey smile plastered on his face as soon as he sees his Ma. His heavy head lolls to one side as he rests it on the plush hospital pillow.

“Hey Ma” he groans out as she bends over her large son to give his forehead a kiss, taking his hand in hers. He spends a moment just gazing at her for a while, the love he has for her evident on his face, as she tells him that everything went well, and that he can go home tomorrow.

It’s only after this tender mother and son moment, that he notices you.

“Ma.... why ya bringing a beautiful girl here when I’m like this...oh god I’m not wearing underwear Ma!”

His feeble attempt at trying to cover himself means that you actually end up seeing far more of him than you expected. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it definitely hasn't happened in front of his own mother before. The whole situation makes you blush and giggle a little as you try your best to avoid eye contact with Ma. You can only imagine the look on her face, and you don’t want to get any more involved with Sy’s naked form than you need to right now.

Rather than put you and your poor Sy through any further embarrassment, Ma speaks up.

“Oh darlin’, this is y/n. You remember her, right?”

And while he’s listening - or at least pretending to listen to his Ma fussing over him again - he’s just staring at you, gazing in awe as if you were the one to hang the stars in the sky.

“You are.... so pretty” he slurs, making you break out a genuine smile that he mirrors, glad that he was the one to make you look even more pretty.

“Well thanks handsome. How do you feel?” you perch on the edge of the bed and hold his hand. To him, the gesture feels warm and inviting - even if he doesn't know you, he recognises something about you in the comfort that you bring.

“Feel like shit. Oh fuck i said ‘shit’ in front of the lady” he whines again, scrunching his eyes closed as hangs his head in shame. It looks like he might even cry with the realisation that he’s made such a foolish impression of himself. It takes Ma shushing him and making him take a sip of juice from his bedside to calm down, dabbing his face with a cloth when his juice spills from his mouth.

“Oh Logan Daniel Syverson...what did they do to ya?” she lightly scolds as she helps clean up the mess he’s unknowingly created around him. That’s your Sy, a hurricane of mess that somehow fits into order just how he likes it.

You giggle a little more at his shameful expression, before he refocuses, giving you his undivided attention once more.

“How is it that ya know my Ma and we’ve never met? Or have we? ‘Cause I think i’d remember a face like yours”

“Well...” you start, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to let him see your entire face, hoping it would jog his memory. As you do so, the ring on your fourth finger glints in the hospital light, and for the first time since you've entered the room, he’s noticed.

“Oh...man...knew a girl like you would be snatched up already. Whoever has the honour of being yours is a very lucky man.” He smiles softly, a wistful look in his eye, while makes you realise that you can’t wait for the drugs to leave his system, you have to remind him who you are and who he is, right this very moment.

“Sy honey... we’re married. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. I think the drugs are making you more than a bit loopy.”

It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his eyes are unblinking as he takes in what you’ve just said. He turns sharply - more than his doctor would have probably liked - to his Ma, and then back to you, and then his Ma again, waiting for one of you to burst out laughing at the prank you surely must be playing on him.

“Wha-? A wife? I have a wife?” you nod and he exhales a deep breath of air in amazement.

“YOU’RE my wife? Really?” you nod again and Ma smiles at you as she watches the scene of Logan meeting you all over again.

“Am I still in the army? I’m a Captain ya know”

“You left just a few months ago. You still work in the local camps, of course. You like it there, and you’re home every night and most weekends.”

“Does Ma like you?” You don’t even get a chance to finish as he turns to his mother “Do you like her? is she nice? Does she like your new kitchen? I built it y’know.”

You knew when you met, dated, and married him, that Sy was a Momma’s boy. He loves his mother so much, that her opinion will always mean the world to him.

Ma nods “You two are the sweetest couple. She’s the best addition to the family, gives you a run for your money alright. She’s my new favourite.” You get a soft hug from her as she says this, with her wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. She’s always felt so grateful that her Logan found you, because my goodness did he love you ferociously, and he needed you in his life. You were the making of him, and the whole Syverson clan will forever be grateful to you for it.

"And where did we get married? If we really are married.” He continues his line of questioning.

“At the ranch, on your family’s land. it was such a special day. We had the reception there too. And we went to Italy for our honeymoon.”

Sy is basking in every word you say, praying it to be true, as if he could will it into existence if it hadn’t already happened, wanting badly to remember sunset kisses and italian food and beach days all spent with you. He perks up at the last thing you say, taken by complete surprise.

“Honeymoon?! Oh my god have we...ya know..?” A blush fades over Sy’s face, and even though you love his Ma, you really wish she wasn’t finding out so many details about your personal life today, like how your son rails you on the regular in many ways, and in many places. He must somehow remember or at least accurately imagine your past endeavours, as he grins like a little shit.

You smack his arm, lightly but with a firm hand.

“Be quiet, or the whole ward will know about our sex life” you threaten. “Yes we’ve had sex. i’d hope so given that we have a kid on the way.”

If Ma had had to deal with her son getting horny over his “new”wife, she was being fully compensated for it as she witnessed him fall head over heels in love with you, all over again.

“A kid?...Tell me ya not messing with me...are we really- I-” he swallows and his tears come even easier than before “We’re havin’ a baby?” With the sudden realisation, he turns to his Ma. “This beautiful woman right here’s havin’ my kid, Ma?” He looks between the two of you again, watching as you both nod and beam from ear to ear.

“You know you cried just as much when i told you for the first time too. i promise when the drugs are out your system it’ll all make sense again.”

Sy smiles, clutching your hand in his warm palm, almost scared to let go as the door is knocked and he feels you might be taken away. Instead, it’s a welcome visitor.

“Hey doc,” Sy greets the man who reenters the room, now freshly out of scrubs to visit his patient - who if anything is now simply love sick, no hernia to be found. “This is my wife, and she’s having a baby.” he looks back to you with a quirk of his eyebrow “My baby?” You roll your eyes and he confirms it; “my baby.”

“Oh, congratulations...again.”

The doctor’s evaluation and explanations don’t take long, and while Sy is being informed, you start rubbing your belly as a form of self-comfort. You will need to remind your child that while their father looks incredibly stern and impossibly large, he is silly and goofy and already loves them with his entire being. Over the course of the afternoon, Sy talks with you while the anaesthetic wears off. It turns out they had given him a pretty high dosage based on his height and muscle mass, so he would be out of action for a couple of hours at least.

“Oh, i have your ring” you pipe up before he starts getting too sleepy again, taking the thick gold band off of the necklace around your neck, placing it on his finger carefully.

“That feels better already” he sighs, as he begins to doze in and out of consciousness. Before he closes his eyes once more to rest peacefully, a small tear slides down his cheek, which you of course, notice. Sy has cried maybe 5 times in the time you’ve known him and three of those times have been in this very room.

“Honey what’s wrong? Are you in pain? i can call the doctor-”

“No i’m fine i’m fine i just-” he sniffs and tries to clear his throat from the sad, heavy pain he feels in his chest. “I’m gonna be real sad when I wake up from this dream. What if I can’t find you when I wake up?”

Oh your sweet, silly man.

“Bear it’s not a dream, I’ll be right here when you get up properly and we can go home and cuddle and I’ll heat up your favourite meal. I’ll be right there with you.”

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide. almost nervous to ask.

“Well they have to come too, they're with me. We can look at their pictures again so you can get reacquainted. And Aika will be so happy you’re back. We’ve been gone the whole day.”

“Aika!” your husband perks up, “Oh Aika, man....I love that dog..”

“I know you do bear, you just get some rest for now and then we can go home.”

Before you know it, he’s fallen back to sleep, his mouth wide open as he slumps against his pillow, completely out of it.

It’s dark outside when Sy opens his eyes again, watching as his Ma passes you a small herbal tea in the dimly lit hospital room. Technically visiting hours are over, but no one was going to argue with the Captain’s family. You smile, and he feels like he can finally relax, in your presence

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he growls lowly, and you look up at him from your phone, beaming in surprise, glad that your husband had woken up feeling a bit more like himself.

“Oh hello again” you smile and squeeze his hand, his slow blinking already indicating a much clearer mind, and that he knows exactly who you are.

“Again? What’d I miss?”

“The drugs” he stops you mid-sentence for a sweet kiss, acting as though a minute more without your lips would be the source of his downfall. “Mmmh, the drugs made you so loopy, it was the sweetest thing, Sy.” You grin as he pulls you up beside him on the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly with no recollection of any of the past events. Yet still, he smiles.

“Yeah? How’s baby?” he holds you close to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can cover your tummy with his palm.

“They’re great. Glad to have daddy back and sane.”

You swear that as you say that, he starts tearing up again, this time however he doesn’t let them fall. He was openly weeping earlier, but you won’t tell him that. Not yet.

“Damnit. Must be something in these drugs they got me on.”

“Mm-hmm sure bear.”

You stay close that evening, both curled up on a hospital bed that is already quite a tight fit for your husband alone. But as always, he makes it work. You’re half on top of him, both of you fast asleep, when the nurses come to do their rounds. Ma had left just after he had woken up, sneaking off into the night to let the rest of the family know how her most middle son is keeping after the operation. You’d cuddled and doted on each other until you’d fallen asleep, Sy following not long after as he bid goodnight to you and your precious cargo with a soft kiss to your lips, and protective rub of your stomach.

He counts himself more than lucky to have something so good, that it would pain him to forget. He was living the life that he’d been too scared to ever dream of, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

taglist: @ohmygoodie @michelehansel @la-cey @palaiasaurus64 @sassy-pelican @brandycranby

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momsopposed2theoccult · 3 years ago

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Not Alone

So I wrote a thing. It’s Tokka-ish but could be interpreted as romantic or platonic. I’m currently waiting on an Ao3 invite so I’ll probably post it on there as well once I receive my invite, but for now I figured I would post it on here because I’m excited to share it with you all! Oh and here’s a friendly reminder that Post Plus is bullshit and you will never, ever have to pay to read my writing. Writing is something I do for fun, and I post it on Tumblr because I want other people who love these characters as much as I do to be able to share that experience with me. Not to mention that I’m not looking to get sued by Nickelodeon.

The first time that Sokka noticed there was something wrong with Toph, she had been six months pregnant.

The two of them were lounging around her living room, Sokka stretched out across the couch with his left arm dangling off the side and Toph relaxing in an oversized armchair, her swollen feet perched on the ottoman in front of her and one hand resting on her rounded stomach. It was an unusually hot summer’s day, and the two old friends had happily retreated into the sweet relief of Toph’s newly installed air conditioning.

“Sokka, do you think I’ll be an okay mother?”

Sokka was taken aback by his friend’s blunt question.

“Well, just as long as you pay better attention to the kid than you did to Appa, I think you’ll be golden,” he joked, reflecting back briefly on the memory from their war days.

The then-tiny girl had tried with all her might to prevent Wan Shi Tong’s library from collapsing under the weight of Sokka’s own impulsive curiosity, all while trying to rescue their beloved sky bison from his captors. He would never forget the look on her face after it happened, nor would he forget the months she spent perfecting her sandbending afterwards, determined that she would never make such a mistake again.

Perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say.

Toph’s eyebrows scrunched together in a look of concern as she rubbed absentminded circles on the curve of her stomach with a flat palm.

“Sokka, I’m serious. Do you think I’ll be an okay mother?,” she repeated, some anxiety creeping into her voice.

“Well, yeah. Sure. Why wouldn’t you be?,” Sokka replied, although he couldn’t ignore the uncertainty in his own voice as he attempted to soothe his best friend’s anxieties surrounding the tiny life growing inside of her.

Toph exhibited many admirable qualities, but she wasn’t exactly nurturing. He couldn’t help but recall all the plants she had failed to keep alive over the years, or the way Katara was constantly scolding her for swearing in front of Bumi and Kya, or the way she tensed up around babies, as if she were afraid she might break them.

Toph sighed, blowing her sweaty bangs out of her face.

“I don’t know, I’m just… not great with babies. I never know what to do with them, y’know? They’re just so tiny, I always feel like I’m gonna break them in half or something equally barbaric.”

“No, no, I’m sure you won’t-,” Sokka began to reply, but Toph had not yet finished lamenting.

“And most kids get to have their dad there, but, y’know, any hope this kid has of ever meeting that lousy excuse for a man is long gone,” she huffed angrily.

“Daddy’s an asshole, isn’t he! Just a big ‘ole deadbeat loser!,” she said in a mocking babyish tone, giving her swollen belly a little pat.

Sokka rolled his eyes at his friend’s dramatics, but he couldn’t help agreeing.

The guy’s name was Kanto. He had been a bartender at one of Sokka and Toph’s mutual favourite dives, and an okay enough guy depending on who you asked, but as far as Sokka was concerned, he was the scum of Toph’s beloved earth.

The two of them had been getting a drink together like they always did on Friday nights, when Toph had caught the bartender’s eye. And honestly, Sokka couldn’t blame him. He certainly couldn’t deny that she was no longer the grubby twelve year old he had met all those years ago. He wasn’t going to pretend like he didn’t notice the curve of her hips or the way her tank top rode up her waist exposing a sliver of stomach. And he couldn’t ignore the way that other men checked her out nor how weird he felt about it when they did. Kanto had been one of those men. After a round of free drinks and a disgusting amount of quite frankly obnoxious eyebrow waggling, Kanto had somehow convinced Toph to come home with him, much to Sokka’s disdain. The rest was history.

The two of them had been an item for a couple of months. Toph claimed that she was happy with him, but Sokka didn’t need his friend’s talents as a human polygraph machine to figure out that she was lying.

He wasn’t all bad, he really wasn’t. He never laid a hand on her or anything like that. But Sokka couldn’t help noticing the subtle comments he made about her weight or her outfit or how she spoke just a little louder than he thought a woman should, nor could he miss all the changes she made to her beautiful, wonderful, perfect self just to fit his mold.

Sokka hated that Toph’s signature confidence could crumble so easily under the will of a man like that. It made his blood boil.

Toph began to fall apart when he finally left. Then when she found out that she was pregnant, she broke, and Sokka had been there to help pick up the pieces.

So yeah, not exactly Sokka’s favourite guy.

“You know you don’t need him, right?” He assured her.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she replied, brushing him off with a faint smile that she didn’t quite put her heart into.

Picking up on his friend’s feeble attempt to mask her obvious worry, Sokka got up from the couch and walked over to where Toph was sitting. He placed one hand firmly in hers and the other gingerly on her stomach.

“Toph, you’re the strongest person I know. Believe me when I say that if anybody can do this on their own, you can. But you won’t have to do it alone, because I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. Do you understand me?” He assured her.

She nodded in reply.

“Yeah, I understand. And thank you.”

But he could tell she didn’t really believe it.

____________

The second time that Sokka noticed something was wrong with Toph had been two weeks after Lin’s birth. Four old friends had gathered on Air Temple Island for a belated celebration of the new mother and child. Aang had cooked noodles, one of Toph’s favourites, but Sokka couldn’t help noticing that the latter had hardly touched hers.

“What’s wrong, Toph? Normally you gobble this stuff up in under five minutes,” Aang asked, voicing Sokka’s thoughts exactly.

The earthbender continued to absentmindedly twirl a piece of noodle around her chopstick, never bringing it to her mouth.

“I’m fine. Just not that hungry,” she assured them.

Sokka caught Aang’s eye and they shared a skeptical look. Katara looked at Toph with concern and a vague familiarity, as if something had suddenly dawned on her.

“You know, if something’s bothering you, you can always talk to us about it, right? I know that this is a new experience for you, and I understand if you’re feeling a little lost-,” Katara started, but was cut off by her friend’s inevitable defensive reaction.

“Oh, so you think this has to do with Lin? You think there’s something wrong with me? You think I’m not fit to be a mother? Well guess what? Lin and I are doing just fine on our own!,” Toph yelled in response to her friend’s gentle attempt to help her.

“Toph, I don’t think that’s what she meant. What she was trying to say is that being a new parent is stressful enough as it is, and I can’t imagine having to do it alone. We’re here for you if you need our help or advice,” Aang tried to reason with his angry friend, but to no avail.

“You know what, Aang? You can take your ‘advice’ and shove it up your ass. I don’t need your help, I don’t need anybody’s help. I’m a great mother!,” she shot back in response.

Sokka sighed. There was no reasoning with Toph when she got like this. Her fits of defensiveness and anger usually masked deeper fears and insecurities that could be difficult, nearing impossible to coax out of her at first. It was usually best to give her time to herself to blow off some steam, and only then could she be convinced to admit the truth about what was bothering her.

“I’m gonna go take a nap. That is, unless Sokka here has some unsolicited advice for me too,” she voiced in a warning tone implying that if Sokka did happen to have any comments to make, he better keep his mouth shut about them.

Sokka threw up his hands defensively.

“No, no, by all means, go take a nap.”

“Great, at least one of my friends doesn’t fancy himself a shrink.”

Toph stormed off in a huff to the guest bedroom, and although her fit of anger concerned him, Sokka was glad to see her getting some much-needed rest. The dark circles under her clouded eyes implying sleepless nights as of late hadn’t escaped him.

“What was that all about?,” Aang wondered aloud. “I’ve never seen her get that angry over nothing. We were just asking if she was okay.”

“I dunno. She hasn’t really been herself recently, has she?,” Sokka replied.

“I mean, she called me Aang. Just Aang. She only does that when she’s really upset.”

“Well, it is your name,” Sokka reminded him, although he too couldn’t help noting with concern that Toph had neglected to make use of her favourite choice nickname for their airbending friend.

“You know, right after I had Bumi I didn’t feel like myself either,” Katara shared. “It was like, before that moment, all I had to take care of was me. But then all of a sudden there was this tiny little human being who relied on me to survive, and I wasn’t sure if I could do it. I felt like my heart was walking around outside my body, and if I made even the slightest mistake I would destroy it forever. I doubted myself a lot. Everything was just so new and overwhelming, and some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed.”

“So you’re saying that you’re pretty sure that’s how Toph feels about Lin?,” Sokka asked tentatively as realization dawned on him.

Katara nodded.

“I do. Sokka, I think you should be the one to talk to her. She always listens to you. I’m not sure how you do it,” Katara remarked.

Sokka couldn’t deny the truth of the statement. In their twenty years of friendship, he and Toph had sought comfort in each other’s presence countless times. They had a mutual understanding that the other members of their group had often tried to imitate but could never quite replicate. Sokka went to Toph, and Toph went to Sokka. It was an unspoken agreement.

“Don’t worry, I will. I just think we should give her a little time to cool down first.”

“Good idea. You don’t want her to bite your head off,” Aang chimed in with a laugh.

____________

About an hour later, Sokka made the journey down the hallway to the guest bedroom to check on Toph and hopefully coax her out of her mood. He opened up the door to find the room dark and Toph laying on her side on the bed. She was trying to feign sleep, but Sokka could tell she was wide awake. Baby Lin was in her crib whimpering, supposedly for her mother. Sokka picked her up in his arms and rocked her back and forth, cooing softly.

“Here we go, Linny. It’s okay, Uncle Sokka is here.”

The child began to cry. She didn’t want her uncle, she wanted her mom.

“No, no Linny, don’t cry. Shhhh, Mama’s right here, see?”

Sokka carried Lin over to the bed where Toph was lying and tried to shake her awake, but was met with Toph’s hand slapping him away and an irritated growl.

“Go away, Sokka.”

“Toph, I just wanna talk,” he tried.

“Don’t you understand the meaning of ‘go away,’ dumbass?” She snarked.

“You’re really going to swear in front of the baby?”

“Great. Now you think I’m a terrible mother too. It’s fine, join the party,” she said in a sarcastic, vaguely accusatory tone, followed by her best attempt at rolling her sightless eyes.

“Toph, nobody is calling you a bad mother. We know you’re perfectly capable of raising Lin on your own. All we’re asking is that you let us help you. You’re not invincible, Toph, despite what you may have led yourself to believe.”

Toph paused, letting Sokka’s comment sink in.

“I- I’m sorry,” she began. “I know I was being kind of a bitc- a jerk back there. And I know you don’t actually believe I’m a bad mother but, but I’m not sure if I believe it. I’m so scared, Sokka. I don’t think I can actually do this alone. I- I know I said I could, but- but I think I was just lying to you, and to myself,” she choked out as tears began to cascade down her face.

Sokka raised his eyebrows in alarm at his toughest friend’s unexpected breakdown. He pulled her close to his chest and began to rub her back.

“No, no, Toph, don’t think that. You can do it, you can. But you don’t have to, because we’re going to be here for you every step of the way. I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. You don’t have to do this alone, you hear me?”

“Yeah- yeah I do. I do hear you,” she replied with newfound confidence, wiping her tears on his shirt. “And- and you know I’m blind, right? Not deaf. Of course I hear you,” she joked with a familiar smirk.

Sokka chuckled, glad to see that he finally had his best friend back. He pulled her closer to his chest and just sat there for a minute, planting a kiss on the top of her head and burying his face in her hair. Their moment of peaceful rest was broken by Lin’s frantic crying.

“It’s alright baby girl, it’s alright. Mama’s here,” Toph assured Lin as she picked her up and cradled her in her arms. As she carried her sleepy child back to her crib for some much-needed rest, whispering to her in soothing tones the entire time, Sokka couldn’t help noticing how at home she looked all of a sudden. How safe and comfortable she was with her baby in her arms.

She was going to be just fine.

#fanfic rec #tokka #nora speaks #nora writes

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aloysiavirgata · 4 years ago

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Love’s Austere and Lonely Offices

Title: Love’s Austere and Lonely Offices

Author: Aloysia Virgata

Rating: PG

Words: 5758

Timeline: Season 9

Summary: “ A letter is in fact the only device for combining solitude and good company.” -- Jacques Barzun

Author’s Notes: This fic was written in 2015. I couldn't bear the thought of their only communication in all that time being the "Dearest Dana" letters. (Which I added to just a teeny-weeny bit. Also added a little to Scully's Carterlogue to William.) Scully quotes from (what else?) Moby Dick and Mulder from The Divine Comedy. The title is from Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden.

Fe3O4 is magnetite and R2NCl is chloramine. I know my little ads are cryptic, so there's an addendum at the end for those interested parties. (See the end of the work for more notes.)

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, May 26 2001 In this world, shipmates, Sin that pays its way can travel freely, and without a passport; whereas Virtue, if a pauper, is stopped at all frontiers. R2NCl + H2O = Bellefleur + Braddock Heights? So claims a woman with node at C5 **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, May 29 2001 These have not the hope to die. Developments? Nothing on my end. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 18 Jun 2001 Things are calm for now and hopefully communication can be somewhat regular for a time. I have a cash-under-the-table job at the moment and it covers basic needs. I know you wanted to come, but this is no life for a child. I will be home as soon as I am able. I know that goes without saying, but it makes me feel better to say it anyway. I have to go now. Tell me about William. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 18 Jun 2001 Mulder, It's so good to hear from you, you have no idea. Have you made any progress yet? There have been strange goings-on since you left, but I don't know what to make of any of it. I don't know whom to trust right now and just tell everyone I cannot contact you. I have not been able to make any sense of my last inquiry and am at a standstill. Please tell me everything you discover and let me know what I can do. Don't leave me in the dark on this, Mulder. You can't protect us that way. Let me be of use. Things are fine here. William eats well and sleeps less well, but I nap when I can. He's growing nicely and can focus his eyes for very long periods already and tracks objects at two feet away. His head control is excellent and he is already making deliberate reaches for objects rather than just grasping reflexively. He makes a gurgling sound if I run my finger up the midline of his foot. In addition to snapshots and videos, I have been keeping a journal of all of his changes for when you get back. My mother helps as much as she can but the truth is I prefer to be alone. She wants to talk, and doesn't understand that I just can't right now. I think she's afraid of the quiet and fills it up with noise. She talks to me but doesn't say anything. You know how to let me be silent, Mulder. I miss that. Frohike says William looks like me and Byers says he looks like you and Langly says he looks like Jack Ruby. Which is pretty much what you'd expect to hear from the three of them. Write when you can. Pictures attached. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Jun 2001 He still looks like Skinner to me, your feeble protestations of fidelity aside. He's got your eyes, Scully, and I wonder whose warped sense of humor he's going to claim. I'm not surprised he's ahead of the developmental curve. You read him Brian Greene while you were pregnant. That sets the bar rather high for a baby. Let your mother in. You're all she has nearby and she won't forgive herself for everything that's happened if you don't. Smile and nod, Scully. You do it better than anyone I know. Learn to let people love you. I haven't found much yet because I don't even know what the hell I'm looking for. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Jun 2001 We can only hope that his sense of humor is all his own. I think our particular brand of amusement wouldn't go over too well with the preschool set. Can you imagine Career Day, Mulder? We're going to have to be vague. Pictures of William attached, including one of him eating my hair. Have to run. Stay safe. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 28 Jun 2001 We'd be a hit at Career Day. You could tell them about your Invisible Guy Autopsy. And you know all the kids would want to hear about my time in low orbit. I'm leaving here soon, so it may be a while before I contact you again. Thank you for the pictures. I cannot believe how William has grown. He looks like his own man now instead of just a newborn. I know I once said I never saw you as a mother before, but I must not have been paying attention. You're beautiful, Scully. I miss you both constantly. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 29 Jun 2001 Mulder, I hope nothing serious has happened to necessitate this move and that you have made some headway. I am still having no luck. I'm going to start teaching at Quantico soon. I feel like I'm abandoning you in some way, Mulder. Abandoning our work. But I can't do field work like I used to - not with William - and Doggett and Reyes are doing a good job. I think you'd be impressed. William has been going to sleep at around 10 at night and sleeping until 6 or so. He is such an easy baby and already a hit with the ladies. I bring him to work sometimes and he's quite popular. Skinner gave him a stuffed McGruff the Crime Dog, but he prefers the doll you gave him and sleeps with it now. He's still rather small for the basketball, but that was never my sport anyway. I played field hockey, so free-throw instruction falls to you. Attached is a video of William laying on Skinner's desk. Stay safe. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 Jul 2001 He spit up on Skinner's desk? I could watch that all day. You're damned lucky it wasn't Kersh's or you'd be freezing your ass off in a Minnesota field office right now. And of course he's a hit with the ladies, Scully. Not everyone's as hard of a sell on the Mulder men as you. I made it to Wal-Mart and printed out some of those pictures you sent. Keep them coming. Don't ever feel like you're abandoning the work. The most important thing is that you and William stay safe and chasing mutants and government conspirators isn't really conducive to that. Sometimes the only thing that keeps me going is the knowledge that you're okay. The job at Quantico will be good for you both. I'm doing a little air guitar of "Hot For Teacher" right now… **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Jul 2001 Mulder, I'm sorry it has taken me a bit to get back to you. My mother and I took William to the beach for a couple of days. I dipped his feet in the surf and I was reminded that seawater has a similar chemical makeup to both blood and amniotic fluid. We crawled from those primordial seas so many millions of years ago and carry some of it inside of us to this day. I know you get seasick, but I think we are hardwired to crave the ocean and I want to take William sailing when he's older. I think he has the genes for it. You may not be a sailor, Mulder, but you know the unquenchable lure of the unknown and thrill of riding out a storm. I had a good time with my mom and tried to do as you suggested. She asked after you and I am confident that whatever else she thinks of my life, she accepts that you're an integral part of it. I start teaching next month and I must confess to some anxiety. It has been so long since I stood in front of a lecture hall. I've gotten used to an audience of one for my technical soliloquies. And Van Halen, Mulder? Really? What happened to the King? **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 4 Aug 2001 Was it Chincoteague, Scully? It's right around Pony Penning Day, isn't it? When he's bigger we'll get a place out in the country and let him pick out a pony of his own. And hell, I'll take some Dramamine and we'll all go sailing too. Get out your list-making paper and get to work. I'll be back soon and we'll have the rest of our lives to get it done. P.S. - I always kind of got turned on by your technical soliloquies, so you may want to be careful around some of your more discriminating students. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 5 Aug 2001 Mulder, We went to Assateague, actually, but he did see the ponies and we found horseshoe crabs washed up on the shore. Despite 445 million years of existence, they've scarcely changed at all. It makes you think, I suppose. All the work we humans do to better ourselves and horseshoe crabs have attained perfection. And a pony?! That's a pretty heavy upgrade from your fish. I was thinking we could move more slowly from Cyprinidae to Perissodactyla. Perhaps a stop at Rodentia would be appropriate if you want to venture into mammalian territory. (Are you getting turned on by this?) William holds his head up and looks around without any trouble at all. He wants desperately to sit up and is so frustrated that he can't manage it yet. Any news? **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, August 13, 2001 For where the instrument of intelligence is added to brute power and evil will, mankind is powerless in its own defense. Fe3O4 + R2NCl = ? **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, August 15, 2001 And some certain significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth... I'll let you know if I hear anything. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Aug 2001 Let me know if we can move lunch on Wednesday to 12:30. I printed out pictures from our trip and made you some copies. I will bring William's Celeste Sun toy with me at lunch if that's okay with you. Charlie, Larissa and the kids are coming in for Christmas this year. Talk to you soon. Mom **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 21 Aug 2001 Mom, That would be fine. Thank you for printing the pictures for me, and William will be fine without Celeste until Wednesday. **** Letter received on September 8, 2001 William Mulder 107 E. Cordova St. Apt. 35 Washington, DC., 01833 8-14-01 Dear William, I can only hope this finds its way to you but even if it doesn't, it's something I had to get on paper. Walking away from you and your mother is the single most difficult thing I have ever done in my life. I did it for reasons that I tell myself are right and noble, so why do I feel like I've let you both down? All I want is for you to be safe and I tell myself that leaving and searching for answers is the best way to do that. But the truth is, William, that your old man isn't making much headway here. Your mother sends me pictures and videos of you and sometimes at night I can close my eyes and recall your new-earthling smell. But it's not the same. I know your mother and I know that every night she shows you my picture and tells you I'll be home soon. I don't want to make a liar of her and I promise you both I'm doing the best I can. Every day I fight the urge to let this all go and come home, but I feel I have more to accomplish before I return. One day I hope you will understand all of this. One day I hope I will. I have no real wisdom to offer you, but let me at least tell you this. I have made many mistakes in my life, but through them all, I have tried to do what I feel is honest. And I have learned - as you doubtlessly will - that the right thing is not often the easy thing. I don't know what this world is going to be like when you are older or what role you will have in it, but to thine own self be true, William. I hope to see you soon. And in case your mother forgets to tell you: Elvis > Three Dog Night Hips before hands The Knicks will always be better than the Miami Heat Love, Your father **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 12 Sep 2001 Scully, let me know you're okay. I know you don't work at the Pentagon, but please check in. On the move again, but will write as soon as possible. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 13 Sep 2001 Mulder, We are fine and no one we know was hurt. While it feels as though the world is falling apart, knowing you're okay gives me something to hang on to. There's a long line of people waiting for this computer so I must run, but I got your letter to William. Be careful. We miss you. **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, September 17, 2001 There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke… Quantum suicide? **** Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, September 18, 2001 And downward to the secret things we went Biloxi MI - 6/ 86 Camden NJ - 11/91 **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Sep 2001 Mulder, Thank you for your help on the case. Do you have any updates on your end? Not much to tell here. I'm enjoying teaching very much; the students are so engaged and interested. It's a nice change from the endless parade of world-weary cops and agents. Were we ever that fresh-faced and eager? Thinking of you and aching to see you. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 23 Sep 2001 It is no longer safe for me to contact you. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 24 Sep 2001 Mulder, What's going on? Please find a way to let me know what's happening. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 13 Oct 2001 Mulder, William and I baked a cake and we sang Happy Birthday to your picture. We went shopping for presents and William picked out an oven mitt. I tried to steer him towards the Yankees DVD collection, but he was adamant that you needed protective gear. I have begun to entertain theories of genetic memory. Please let us know you're all right. Many happy returns of the day. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 17 Oct 2001 Hey there partner. Wanted to thank you again for the CPR. They don't really cover that in entomology doctoral programs though, so I'm hard pressed to return the favor. I know you're a mother but I assume you still eat so let me know if you want to grab a bite next time I'm in DC. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 Oct 2001 Dr. Bronzino, Thank you very much for the offer, but it would not be appropriate at this time. Dana Scully **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Oct 2001 Mulder, I know you can't tell me where you are and I am trying to respect what you're doing but this feels impossible sometimes. Not everything has to be a crusade, does it? You wanted to find your sister and while it wasn't the resolution you wanted, you found out the truth. Isn't that enough? We can have a life now. We have a son who needs both of his parents. Let this go, Mulder. **** E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 4 Nov 2001 Mulder, I don't even know why I'm writing this. I don't even know if you're alive. Attached are pictures of William in his Halloween costume. He went as a skunk and can sit up perfectly. **** Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, November 21, 2001 Lost: Norwegian Elkhound Answers to Heinrich Come home, Heinrich We miss you ****

December 3, 2001

Mulder,

I am so concerned for your safety right now that it is overwhelming. I am trying not to be angry with you - truly I am - but it isn't easy. I know what you've told me, I know we discussed all of this and I know we agreed it was for the best, but the reality is proving far different than the theory. As a scientist, I ought to have expected it and yet I was completely blindsided.

I asked you once years ago if we could just get out of the car and you looked at me like I was crazy and you kept driving. And I stayed. Hundreds of thousands of miles I've traveled with you, Mulder. Endless black ribbons of highways full of nightmares and lost souls and we went after them with badges and guns because we had a job to do.

But I'm asking you now - not as your partner, but as the mother of your child - to get out of the goddamned car. I can't live like this anymore, Mulder, and I will not subject William to it.

I love you but I cannot do this for the rest of my life.

I have nowhere to send this letter.

****

December 15, 2001

Mulder,

William said "Da" when he saw your picture today. I have a video.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Dec 2001

Hey Danes -

Our gang's catching an earlier flight from Puerto Vallarta and I wanted to see if you'd be free for dinner. I'm trusting you to pick a not-shitty restaurant because last time I left it up to Bill he said he knew of a "really good Italian place" and took us to the fucking Olive Garden and I swear to God Tara put some of those breadsticks in her purse.

Can't wait to meet my new nephew (you have a kid, Danes!) and see if either of my rugrats is taller than you yet. They're growing like weeds and Larissa's firm is keeping us in Mexico until the resort's finished, so they're all sun-kissed and blonde and I'm mostly a giant freckle.

Mom specifically told me not to ask about William's father, so I'm asking. This Fox guy…what's up with him? Is he good to you? Bill paints him as a kind of Anton LeVay meets Forrest Gump character, but Bill thinks condoms are Satan's party balloons, so what the hell does he know about relationships?

I'm bringing a case of fine champanya to ring in the new year.

Charlie

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 20 Dec 2001

Charlie,

I can't wait to see you all! It's been far too long since your jet-setting crew has ventured this way. Things with William's father are complicated, but it's due to factors beyond either of our control. I don't mean to be curt, but that's all I can say right now.

Dinner would be great. William still doesn't go to bed until fairly late and can be kept happy with a steady supply of food. He has an excellent pincer grasp.

Did Bill really take you to the Olive Garden? That's classic.

****

December 31, 2001

Mulder,

We celebrated Christmas at my mother's and Bill and Charlie and their families flew in. I have lots of pictures to show you of all of the kids together. William is babbling like a champion and I gave him a crayon to draw a picture for you on the back of this card, so turn it over. I remember New Year's Eve two years ago. Zombies, Mulder. And then you kissed me and here I am wishing maybe the world had ended after all because I'm remembering zombies with fondness and what the hell is wrong with my life and my God I miss you.

There was half a bottle of champagne left and now I'm drunk.

Happy New Year

Putting this card with your other unsent mail.

****

January 1, 2002 Dear William,

One day, you'll ask me to speak of a truth - of the miracle of your birth. To explain what is unexplained. And if I falter or fail on this day, know there is an answer, my child, a sacred imperishable truth, but one you may never hope to find alone. Chance meeting your perfect other, your perfect opposite, your protector and endangerer. Chance embarking with this other on the greatest of journeys; a search for truths fugitive and imponderable. If one day this chance may befall you, my son, do not fail or falter to seize it. The truths are out there. And if one day you should behold a miracle, as I have in you, you will learn the truth is not found in science, or on some unseen plane, but by looking into your own heart. And in that moment you will be blessed - and stricken. For the truest truths are what hold us together, or keep us painfully, desperately apart.

Know this, William, for it is the most important thing I can hope to teach you: It is not a weakness to love someone. There may come a time when it will be the only strength you have.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

Dearest Dana

I've resisted contacting you for reasons I know you continue to appreciate. But, to be honest, some unexpected dimensions of my new life are eating away at any resolve I have left. I'm lonely, Dana, uncertain of my ability to live like this. I want to come home. To you, and to William.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

I am physically shaking right now seeing your words - wishing it were you speaking them to me. I want so badly to see you too, but you are still not safe here. You don't sound like yourself, Mulder, and it's frightening me.

Where in the world have you been?

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 07 Jan 2002

I've seen things I cannot accept and don't know how to change. I feel like the fight has gone out of me and all I want is to come back and put this time behind us.

I will be home soon.

Details to follow in the usual manner.

****

Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, January 8, 2002

It was evening here But upon earth the very noon of night.

ncrl

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 10 Jan 2002

Mulder,

I hold no hope you can respond to this. Or that it reaches you. I only hope that you are alive.

I cannot help believing that you jumped off that train because you knew what I now know - that these "super-soldiers" - if that's what they are - can in fact be destroyed. That the key to their destruction lies in the iron compound at that quarry.

I am scared for you, Mulder. And for William. The forces against us are unrelenting. But so is my determination to see you again. To regain the comfort and safety we shared for so brief a time. Until then, I remain forever yours,

Dana

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, January 14, 2002

The whale, like all things that are mighty, wears a false brow to the common world.

Fe3O4

****

Letter received on January 27, 2002

Dana Scully 107 E. Cordova St. Apt. 35 Washington, DC., 01833

1-16-02

Not much time to write Sorry so short saw your note Agreed on Fe3O3 though not sure how yet Love to you both

****

February 2, 2002

Mulder,

I got your last letter and nearly wept with relief to hear from you. I hope this can all end soon. I pray you stay safe until then.

Not sure what the weather is like where you are, but the most beautiful snow has fallen here. William and I have been playing in it at every opportunity and there's a respectable snowman in front of my building now. William likes to eat the snow and blinks when the flakes cling to his eyelashes. He looks more like you every day.

I send regards from Skinner and the Gunmen and my mother lights candles for you.

I wish I had an address to send this to.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 11 Feb 2002

Mulder,

I am hesitant to contact you in this way because I know it is a risk, but I am beginning to fear the worst for William. I don't know what he is but someone does and they are trying to hurt him. I have been working with Reyes and we suspect it all goes back to that artifact I found in Africa, though I can't say I truly understand it. My mother says our son is a miracle and that I must simply accept him as that. But how can I do that, Mulder? After what happened to Emily, how can I not want to know how he came to be whatever he is?

William has been taken from me twice now and I am starting to despair of ever being able to protect him. All the sacrifices we're making right now - what if it comes to nothing? I don't know what to do.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 11 Feb 2002

Sorry, we were unable to deliver your message to the following address.

< [email protected] >

****

Ad placed in the Washington Post Classified section, February 23, 2002

O lady, you in whom my hope gains strength, you who, for my salvation, have allowed your footsteps to be left in Hell, in all the things that I have seen, I recognize the grace and benefit that I, depending upon your power and goodness, have received. You drew me out from slavery to freedom by all those paths, by all those means that were within your power. Do, in me, preserve your generosity, so that my soul, which you have healed, when it is set loose from my body, be a soul that you will welcome.

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, February 24, 2002

Let faith oust fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe.

****

Ad placed in the New York Times Classified section, March 20, 2002

All men live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks; but it is only when caught in the swift, sudden turn of death, that mortals realize the silent, subtle, ever-present perils of life.

Gunmen dead.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 26 Mar 2002

John,

My thoughts are with you and Barbara at this time. Take care.

Dana Scully

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 26 Mar 2002

Thanks Dana. It's been hard but the closure has come as a relief after all this time. I hope you are coming to terms with your own loss as well. They were the good guys.

John Doggett

****

April 20, 2002

Mulder,

I have come to an act of desperation. I have had no way of contacting you - no way to talk this over with you - and so I had to make this choice alone. I have had assurances that our information is to be expunged from every record and I tell myself moment by moment that this is his only chance at a normal life, but what if I have made a mistake that can never be undone?

I vacillate between thinking I have sacrificed my own happiness for his and thinking I have sacrificed him because I am not strong enough to accept what he is. What if that's the case? What if I was just too afraid to see him suffer? Watching Emily die slowly through the glass left me so cold I thought I'd freeze everything I touched, but I didn't know how to grieve for her. They had no right to take those ova from me, no right to create her, and no right to destroy her. She was supposed to be mine and whatever other children were created should have been mine also. But by the time I came to terms with the fact that I was truly her mother, she was already gone. What if the same fate was in store for William? I don't know that I could have stood it.

All I wanted was a child - your child, as the years went on - and I just cannot understand why anyone would create these lives for the express purpose of later destroying them. I don't think we can ever fully know what William means to the Project, but they wanted him dead, Mulder. They wanted to take our son and kill him and would have in time and came close even as I watched over him, and all this before he turned a year old. Jeffrey Spender came to me - terrible things have been done to him - and said that no matter what he did to undo the changes to his little body, William would never have any peace from the men who have been working towards the ends you and I have been fighting.

I believed him, Mulder. I looked into his ruined face and I believe he was telling me the truth and I believe it still. I did the only thing I could think of to protect our son and I can only hope now that you can forgive me.

I don't know what else to do but keep going. It's all I've ever known how to do.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Apr 2002

Dana, what in the hell have you done? Pick up your goddamned phone.

I just got off the phone with mom a little while ago and she's half-hysterical and I'm not far from it myself. What were you thinking? You put your son up for adoption, Dana? That really struck you as the best possible solution? That's what you have a family for. To help you. And no matter how bad things were you should have come to us. I don't know what has happened to you over the years and I don't think I even know who you are anymore, because my sister would never have done something so insane.

We could have taken him in for you if you couldn't deal with being a single mother. God knows where Fox is and why you put up with the crap he dishes out is beyond me, but he has molded you into a woman I don't recognize and I think there is something severely wrong with both of you.

I have faith that you are not beyond salvation, Dana, but you need to cut your ties with him. Come out to San Diego and stay with us. I have already contacted an attorney about having the adoption reversed and because of the extreme emotional duress you've been under he thinks there's a very good shot that Tara and I can get temporary custody while you get your life back together.

It's not too late for you. We love you and want to help, but you have to let us. I am praying for you.

Your brother,

Bill

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 22 Apr 2002

Hey Squirt. Just got an earful from Bill. Mom's too freaked out to be coherent.

I don't know what the fuck is up with you the past few years Danes, but the shit seems to have royally hit the fan of your life. Despite what Bill thinks, you were always the smartest one of us and if this is what you thought was right, well, I guess I have to trust that. I'm just so sorry that you're dealing with this.

We're moving to Marrakech in June for a restaurant Larissa's designing and we have this awesome house with plenty of room for decompressing Feds. Take some leave and come stay for a while.

Worried about you, big sister.

Charlie

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 24 Apr 2002

Dana, I am so worried about you and I think you might need some professional help. Please return my calls. We need to talk.

I love you.

Mom

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

Dana

Please call if you ever need to talk. I am here for you.

Monica

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

Monica,

Thank you for your concern. I'm going to be fine. I will be back to work on Monday.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

I hope this finds you well. Just wanted to see how you were doing.

John Doggett

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 25 Apr 2002

John,

Thank you for your concern. I'm going to be fine. I will be back to work on Monday.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 9 May 2002

Dr. Scully,

My name is John Reits and I am a parapsychologist. I'd like to meet with you concerning a former patient of mine. Please contact me at this address or give me a call at 714-555-0146.

****

E-Mail From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: 19 May 2002

Scully -

Do you ever answer your phone anymore? I need to see you in my office at once. Drop what you are doing and get over here now.

It's about Mulder.

****

The End

****

Notes:

Addendum:

R2NCl + H2O = Bellefleur + Braddock Heights? So claims a woman with node at C5

The Warrior Princess Super-Soldier chick had a node on the back of her neck (around the C5 vertebra) and had informed Scully that chloramine was being introduced into the water supply to transform the populace into super-soldiers. Scully was reminded of the water tampering in Braddock Heights (Wetwired).

****

Fe3O4 + R2NCl = ?

Mulder has discovered evidence of a connection between chloramine and magnetite, but isn't sure what it is.

****

Quantum suicide?

Scully's hoping to get some help on the case from 4D. Quantum suicide - as it pertains to the many-worlds interpretation and the case - encompasses the idea that all moments (however unlikely) with possibilities of occurrence greater than zero are experienced in some dimension.

Mulder's reply is just directing her to some related case files. Which I made up.

****

It was evening here But upon earth the very noon of night.

ncrl

Mulder's train will arrive at the New Carrollton train station at midnight

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #season 9 #epistolary

52 notes · View notes

make-it-mavis · 4 years ago

Text

Homesick (Entry #34)

(cw: discussion of addiction) ----------

01/22/88 11:56 AM

Hey.

I left off the last entry at a very tense moment. What you might call a cliffhanger.

Well, I’ll tell you this. I certainly did feel like I was dangling off the edge of a deadly cliff, hanging onto bare roots that could have broken away at any moment, debating whether or not to grab onto the rope thrown down to me by a rescue crew that just so happened to include my attempted murderer. There were so many things that could have gone wrong.

Many of those things, granted, could have been caused by my own hand, and I knew it. I may not have known what to do, but I knew for certain what I wanted to do. I wanted to leap across the room and tear that bug apart joint by joint. I wanted to shatter her exoskeleton and use the shards to cut her into ribbons. I wanted to cause her every bit of pain she had caused me. And part of me -- a very dangerously large part of me -- believed that it might have been fate that brought us together. Like I was meant to take this chance for revenge.

After all, it’s not every day the Devs offer you your enemy on a silver platter. I had been through enough pain by then -- I deserved a chance to pay it back. An awful lot of it had been her fault, hadn’t it?

That fact boiled over in my brain, every popping bubble releasing another memory of what she had put me through. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. I just sat there, letting the frothing memories burn painfully, and grasping onto that pain like a concealed weapon. My broken brush. Your name on my chest. My legs torn to shreds. The humiliation. The nightmares. The paranoia. The violent buff hallucinations. The crushing fear that fed my addiction and landed me in that sad circle of addicts. It was all her doing.

Yet, for all that fear, she was just there, existing like a normal sprite. Not a disembodied hellish shriek of hatred, not the cruel hand of death that let me slip through its fingers, no. She was just some bug. Some other loser who had popped one too many power-ups.

It was striking to me, how she could be so mortal.

Listen, I’ve said this a thousand times -- I don’t really wanna hurt anybody. But during that session, part of me wondered if I just didn’t have a reason to hurt anybody. Because a big ol’ reason was plopped right in front of me that night, and… I think I would have killed her right there, if they let me. I wanted to wipe her from existence.

Obviously, I did not do that.

I actually made it through the session without even realizing. I did not absorb anything much, and I had not spoken at all, but I think I got a free pass for it being my first time. I was also very concerned that it would be my last. How could I be expected to attend therapy with that monster?

I didn’t mention it to Surge on the way back, and I did not tell Fix-it at first either, even though he could tell I was shaken up by something. I’d been staying with him for a little while by then, as odd as that might seem. He was keeping an eye on me while I recovered, and while it was not the most comfortable thing for me, I was nervous to be alone with how much I’d been blacking out. But that night, I needed space, so I went up to the roof of Niceland to pace around and weigh what little options I had.

Option one was to simply attend and ignore her, which I wrote off as impossible. Option two would be to quit, which I refused to do. Option three would be to reach out for help, finally telling someone of the attack I suffered at this bug’s creepy hand, which I was not eager to do. Option four was to brutally maim her and be locked up for life. It was amazing, really, how long I spent debating option four, yelling curses into the sky and pulling my hair out. Hours of heart-pounding anxiety went by as I paced between the decision to quit and the decision to maim, until I found myself sitting down and breathing into my hat, nursing a panic attack, trying not to let it remind me of my last night with you.

I’d been up almost all night by the time I’d come to a decision. My decision was… I couldn’t trust myself to make a good decision. Not after everything I’d done.

So I’d have to ask for help. Option three.

Still was not a fan.

All the same, that was the route I took. Surge seemed like the right guy to tell, but it was not like I could leave my game and flag him down, and I couldn’t keep the raging conflict to myself a moment longer. So I went back inside and rode the elevator down to Fix-it’s apartment. He was asleep when I came in, but I sat on his bed and viciously poked him until he woke up.

Now, I don’t really wanna bore you by recounting that whole conversation. You’ve heard me tell the story of my attack already. And it was actually easier for me to open up about it than I thought it’d be. Once upon a time, it felt like such a big deal to keep it a secret. But that felt like such a long time ago. Something had changed.

I wasn’t really sure if I was coming to trust Fix-it a bit more than I did before, or if it had more to do with the fact that by then, the night I was attacked was no longer the lowest point of my journey. He had seen me sink way lower already. So… I guess I had just become forcefully accustomed to having him see me at my most pathetic.

Is that what trust is?

Fix-it, however, took it like a blubbering baby. In fact, I’m pretty sure he did most of the talking while I just held the tissue box for him. He asked the same questions over and over, which I got bored of answering, but did anyway. He was horrified. He was outraged. He could not believe anyone would do something like that to me, or to anybody. And he suddenly understood so much more clearly why I’d turned to buffs, if I had been keeping a secret as horrible as that. The fact that I’d been carrying that alone for so long seemed to thoroughly break his heart.

My favorite question he asked me was, “Mavis, for the Devs’ sake, just how many near-death experiences have you had this year?”

I sort of laughed at that, which he didn’t like. “Year’s not out yet,” I told him.

“No,” he scolded me, in genuine distress, “don’t say that!”

It was a long, trying process. But I’ll admit that I came out of it feeling kind of lighter. Maybe I was more relieved to get it off my chest than I thought I would be. He sure did thank me thoroughly for telling him, even as he wept in horror.

I did still have to make a decision. Even though Fix-it did want me to go to therapy, the idea of me attending with her terrified him. I wasn’t sure if he was more scared of what she’d do or what I’d do. In any case, he made a feeble effort to make two-years confinement seem like not the worst alternative. He grasped at all kinds of ideas of what we could do to make it enjoyable and productive, even conducting therapy himself. As if he had not been attempting that for the last 4-ish years.

No. Quitting did not feel like an option for me. I would just have to talk to Surge and see what he could offer me.

Not much at all, it turned out.

I was able to have a conversation with Surge that day in my game’s cord station. He was decidedly less emotional about it than Fix-it had been. He barely seemed surprised. I reminded him of the day he helped me across Game Central when I was torn to shreds, and he remembered it well. As I told him the rest of the story, he took notes on his clipboard, only nodding and asking the occasional question. When I finished, I guess I was hoping he’d tell me that he would arrest Worluk and pull her out of therapy, so justice could be served.

That’s not what he told me. Quite the opposite.

He said he believed me, but one sprite’s word is not enough to go on for an arrest, especially for attempted murder. And especially if all I could identify her by was her voice. If I had any evidence or witnesses then it might have been a different story, but I sure did not. That was hardly my fault, though, was it? I was ambushed alone. I didn’t choose to have no witnesses. It made me so angry, I wanted to throttle the bastard. Even more so when he suggested that I wait until Worluk was done her required therapy and then begin mine. That could have taken two years anyway, for all I knew!

He did offer me this: He would hire an extra security guard, and make sure all three of them knew to keep an eye on her. It wasn’t much at all, but it was something, at least.

So, that was it. I knew all my options, and barely any of them actually helped me. If I wanted to get help, I had only one real choice.

I had to help myself. I had to REALLY give it my all.

I had to march right into therapy and roll with the punches. It just so happened that punching and screaming had gotten me nowhere over the past couple months. As badly as I wanted to rip Worluk to shreds, I was painfully aware that doing so would solve nothing. It would only land me in deeper trouble than I was in already. So, as impossible as it seemed, and as agonizing as it felt to go against my instincts, it was time to keep my mouth shut and keep my hands to myself. Time for the aforementioned ‘Option one’ that I had also called impossible --

Just deal with it.

With this new mile-high hurdle in place, my second session came sooner than I’d have liked. I mean sure, I could have postponed it, but to what end? Whether I liked it or not, it’d be over sooner if I started sooner. That’s what I kept telling myself. Just go, get it over with.

I arrived at that tiny room in Pac-man as I had before. I sat down in the same spot. It seemed like everyone who was present for the last visit also came that day. Everything seemed to pick up exactly where it left off. Except this time, there were, as Surge promised, three buff guys from Front Line observing from the corners, and my sickening anxiety came less from the program itself and more from the pressure to behave as if my mortal enemy was not sitting in the same circle of folding chairs as me.

Before long, the group was going around in a circle and talking about what step they were on in the twelve step program. Their insights, their struggles, their epiphanies, and all that. I tried my best to listen over the screaming in my brain, but it was deafening. All in response to that one freakin’ bug just sitting there. Just going about like I wasn’t even there. Just doing the work. Y’know, like I was supposed to be doing.

I forced myself to take some deep breaths and look away from her. If she could pretend, then I could, too. I would not give in and lose to her in this battle of willpower. I would outlast her. I would outlast her. I would not back down. No matter what. I would win.

I meditated on that thought. I let it loop around my light, dizzy head. Over and over and over.

“Mavis?”

I jolted.

It was just Clyde. I think he noticed me sweating bullets, because he had floated just the tiny bit closer to whisper to me while the rest of the group was occupied. “Are you okay? You look a bit faint.”

“Uh-huh,” I answered automatically.

He asked me something else, but the words didn’t quite make it into my brain. I’d noticed that someone was speaking to Worluk about something -- maybe some experience they’d had -- and I was listening hard for any response from her. Any brief window into that sick brain she was hiding. But she was stoic. Cool and calm. Wretchedly silent.

Still, I absent-mindedly answered the question from Clyde I didn’t hear. “Uh-huh.”

“Wonderful,” he said, and after the monologue pointed Worluk’s way ended to a small round of golf claps and no further insight about the bug, Clyde announced calmly, “Alright everyone. Mavis is ready to take her first step with us.”

Oops.

I jumped and stammered just a bit, but tried to just roll with it. “Uhhh-- yeah, yeah, let’s do it.”

Everyone was looking at me. Waiting.

Those few seconds were an intense struggle. I was scouring my brain for any memory of what the first step was, all while fighting the overpowering need to keep my guard up with Worluk watching. I had to say something, and the obvious answer came to me when I remembered how everyone introduced themselves before speaking. I let it come out on autopilot, so absent I barely heard myself.

“My name’s Make-it Mavis, and I’m an addict.”

More golf claps.

I was confused until Clyde spoke. “Congratulations, Mavis, you’ve taken the very first step to recovery: Honesty. We all begin by admitting that we have a problem. You’re already on your way to recovery.”

It felt weird, hearing all that. I never liked to be told I had problems, but if all it took to get started was admitting that things were bad… Well, that seemed obvious enough.

“Really? That’s it?” I asked suspiciously. “I just gotta say it?”

Clyde gave a gentle laugh that was a little annoying. “No, not quite. Admitting it once might be easy, but moving forward into sobriety, you must always be honest with yourself. Never fool yourself into not taking your addiction seriously.”

“Right,” I said, trying to take paraphrased notes in my head while I watched Worluk in my peripheral. She still wasn’t looking. Unless she was doing the same thing I was. Did she have those compound eyes that some insect sprites have? Could she see me even when it seemed like she was looking away? It’d be hard to sneak up on her, then, with those bulging red eyes. They practically took up her entire head.

These are the sort of thoughts that drowned out the rest of the meeting. But I got more out of it than I did the first one, at least. I’d completed a whole step, apparently. Hooray?

Except the second step, I’d find, would be vastly more daunting than the first. And even after that, I’d still have ten more to go. All of increasing difficulty, and all, assumedly… with Worluk.

Hooray.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #fix it felix #make it mavis #original character #homesick

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gasp-iwrotesomething · 5 years ago

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prompt idea, sort of going off a couple of the earlier ones you've done - xenia finds out she's carrying the heir instead of mc after they use gideon's potion and they have to figure out how it happened; maybe include a reference to xenia's dream of starting a family coming true after all, even if it's not the way she expected (if you'd like).

Wow, this is such a cool prompt idea, anon! I would love to write this for you! Also, when you said ‘she’s carrying the heir instead of mc’, I assume you mean that the child is the heir instead of MC--do correct me if I’m wrong though. Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy! (Sorry this got out so late, had a moment where I lost motivation 😬)

Summary: Xenia and MC discover that the heir to the throne isn’t MC... but the baby flourishing in the Spymistress’ belly. The two of them must investigate the cause of the weird phenomena all while Xenia struggles to come to terms with the fact that she’s becoming mother.

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How could this be?

Xenia paces restlessly, her chin stroked with thought as the room seems to spin with her footsteps. How could the heir be... Her extra set of arms wrap around the swollen bump where her child rests--grows and listens to the world through her belly button. She wondered if the child could feel her heart thumping--if it could feel the stress wobbling her composure. Stress... A tip advised by Gideon flares in her mind about pregnancy and she stops, taking a deep breath to soothe herself. Stress wasn’t healthy for the baby; Xenia had to keep that in mind for the sake of her child. Of the rightful heir of Altadellys. Still, even after a few hours of sitting on the newfound scrap of news, Xenia could not believe it. MC wasn’t the heir--their baby was. The baby that had been conceived through one of Gideon’s magical potions after Xenia and MC had decided to become mothers together. Maybe it was inappropriate and selfish to think but Xenia found the second portion to be the most enthralling part--the one about her making the decision to become a mother. Just a span or so ago, Xenia was unable to perceive a reality where she bore children--where she was able to indulge in her dreams rather than leave them out of grief and acceptance. Now here she was: far enough along to stick out like a sore thumb among the nimble and slim nobles of Lysende.

MC enters the room then. Her arms are laden with various massaging oils, scented candles, and sweets that had been of Xenia’s request. “Special delivery for the gorgeous Mistress of Spies,” MC teases. Those elated, freckled features rise then fall at the sight of Xenia’s perplexed and utterly crestfallen face. “Xenia, is there something wrong? Is it your back again?” Quickly but carefully, MC sprawls the ingredients across the nearest surface and approaches her stricken wife, who sighs and absently rubs her belly. “No, it isn’t so much a problem with me as it is a problem-” Xenia’s eyes open again and her gaze is a white monument of anxiety and worry befalling MC “-a problem between the two of us.” MC blinks, even more confused, her brows dwindling down into a perch of concern. What was bothering Xenia? Was it... was it their baby? With that question in tow, MC is at Xenia’s side within moments with an arm cautiously wrapped around her waist. “I don’t understand. Is there something wrong with our baby? Did Gideon find a side effect to that potion-?!” The redhead’s intrinsic questions are snuffed out when Xenia tugs her into a tight hug, her protruding belly pressed against MC’s midsection. MC returns the embrace with all that she has since she knew that something had happened and that it had saddened--or at least perturbed--Xenia. Her wife was always composed and cool, never one to emit her true emotions unless she was comfortable with the person in question. Now, with how vulnerable she seemed to be, MC feared that something had gone terribly wrong. Was it the potion? The pregnancy? Her age? Gideon had said her age might affect her pregnancy but still... why not tell me?

“It’s not physically affecting neither me nor our child,” Xenia prefaces in MC’s fiery red hair, “it’s something that I’m afraid trivializes our entire plan to place you on the throne.” That shocks MC. After a moment more, MC pulls away from Xenia and grasps her tenderly by the arms encircling her waist. In MC’s, the spymaster’s hands felt like an embrace continued; something MC could revel in for comfort. “What? Xenia, I’m not sure I understand still. It trivializes our plan?” She watches as Xenia’s delicate eyes fade into something grim--the gentle concern melting away into glum reality. The look made MC fear the worst. “Gideon summoned me to the tower for an intrinsic meeting this morning, claiming that there had been a new discovery born from his extensive research. He had said that the potion had little to no side effects when we retrieved the potion but he had assured that the side effects were minor--nothing to worry for, correct?” Xenia’s explanation lulls with a brief question and MC nods, wanting to hear more. Her dark lips thin as she continues, eyes suddenly a distance away. “Well, after months of more intensive studies, Gideon has contrived that there was one more significant side effect. One that could threaten the welfare of our effective plan to place the crown upon your head as rightful Queen of Lysende. How it works is still being thoroughly sleuthed but the effect is that... that the child is now the heir; not you, dear.”

Like a punch to the gut, MC’s breath is sucked away and her previously formed thoughts swim.

“I... I am no longer to be crowned Queen? Our baby is-?” Everything fails her, including words, which coalesce then dangle uselessly from her mouth. Xenia continues to observe her reaction as an arm strokes her back, coaxing the tumult inside her to thin. “No one knows that you are no longer heir,” Xenia assures softly, the illusion of professional equanimity falling over her, “other than Gideon and I. That is why I believe that we can still manage to continue with our original plot. But the problem arises with where the rightful heir is--it would seem frugal and improper to steal the crown from the child who had little to do with it all.” Suddenly, the atmosphere becomes much thicker and prone to splintering under pressure; a feeble but heavy air. MC ponders their options all while tracing the concerned lines of Xenia’s face. She lets go of Xenia’s hand to touch her swollen stomach, mind askew. The breath of life within doesn’t react to the touch, which in a twisted and slightly selfish sense made MC feel as though it was ignoring her. But that’s not true; it’s still early in the pregnancy, there’s little chance that our baby will kick now. Xenia overlaps their hands and they share a solemn silence, as if giving their condolences to the plan they had toiled over for so long. “I’m unsure of how to feel,” MC finally shatters the carefully sewn silence, “but I know of how to think. We must try to figure out why this has happened. It is only right--for not only our plan, but for our baby.”

The redhead’s voice softens as her emerald eyes gaze down at Xenia’s belly--the space where a child woven from their genetics was flourishing.

Though her words don’t wipe away the sad glint in Xenia’s eyes, they do cause a gentle smile to curve her thinned lips. She slants to her wife and presses a kiss to her temple. “I believe they agree with you, darling,” she grasps MC’s hand and relocates her palm to a lower position on her belly, “I felt it move when you said that. Our baby gives its blessing.” The Spymistress coos softly, her tonality one of motherly love along with melting affection. It was hard to remain disdained after that. MC laughs gently, cheeks coloring, as she rubs circles in the spot Xenia relegated her hand to. “Good. I don’t believe it would want it’s mother to wear herself rugged.” Though her hands frame the swoop of Xenia’s stomach, she feels little to no movement--just a gentle flutter that could go unnoticed if MC wasn’t so focused on feeling something. Xenia’s crackling laugh follows and a hand sifts through MC’s hair. “Perhaps. If it is your child truly then I believe compassion and empathy will be its birthright.” That makes MC blush but she doesn’t deny Xenia’s gentle acclaims--masked compliments disguised. To abate the flush in her cheeks, MC throws her head to the side to the range of ingredients laid out on the table. “I do believe you are due for some pampering, Mistress Xenia. If there is nothing to be done today, of course.” MC’s fiery brow cocks and she slinks her arm around Xenia’s waist; a suggestive touch. Xenia thinks for a moment, running over all of the plans congregating in her mind, before nodding with a faint smirk.

“I do believe I am free for the day. Do you think you could cure me of all of these hardships of bearing, dearest MC?” Xenia quips back, gently, like the brush of a thousand feathers.

MC is already scampering towards the items in question, a goofy grin on her lips.

“You won’t ever know what it feels like to be without a cure; promise!”

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Thanks again for the request! I hope this could live up to your expectations cause I loved writing this for you 😘

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

#xenia of the autumn #reigning passions

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noire73 · 5 years ago

Text

illogical week (Bill Masters x Alec Hardy) Day 5- Job switch

Rated: G

I wanted to do more for this the illogical week from @illogicalhusbands prompts, but I couldn’t make time for it, but I really, really wanted to write this. I’ll put this on my AO3 later on along with the probably other 4 days i missed xD.

----

“I can’t imagine having your job,” Alec had said almost out of nowhere during one of the rare breakfast moments Bill managed to force his spindly boyfriend into having.

“Why not? I thought we had agreed that in concept it’s a very similar situation,” Bill said, folding his newspaper. “We both need to be prepared for an emergency as we could get called at unexpected hours, we have to deal with people on a daily basis, late shifts-”

“Yes-no but, I mean- I don’t think I could bare telling an expecting mother their baby-” Alec pursed his lips, stuttering for a moment before he found the right words to continue. “It’s hard enough as it is on my side, I wouldn’t want to have to experience it from the very beginning like you do.”

Bill sighed painfully. He knew what had prompted this, he just wondered why it had taken Alec this long to comment about it. A few days ago, Bill was called in the middle of the night to perform an emergency c-section to an unfortunate miscarriage. Alec had been the one to drive him to the hospital, arriving just before the ambulance had.

When Bill had returned from the ER, he had been white as a sheet of paper, hands in his pockets, and gaze firmly stuck to the floor tiles. He had avoided the waiting room -where Alec had stubbornly decided to stay- the minute he had seen him from afar, not wanting to give into the suffocating need of grabbing him by the hand and running away from the hospital. He didn’t want to see the disappointed look on the would’ve-been older siblings. He didn’t want to have to see an elderly woman cry, small, fragile thing; he most certainly didn’t want to see the husband’s reaction, the sheer devastating realization of impotency, and anger. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of himself when he had been on the man’s shoes.

It had been so long ago. Why now? Why was he being haunted by it now?

Bill had been so out of it, he didn’t see Alec approach him until he felt his hands softly on his arms. He tried to look at the taller man but he couldn’t will his eyes up or even lift his head just a tiny fraction. His eyes rested on the second button of Alec’s shirt, fighting a hard battle to keep the tears at bay.

“Six months,” he barely whispered. “Stillbirth. We took it- took... out of her to- to prevent infection.”

“Bill-”

“Get me out of here,” Bill commanded in a shaky voice (barely louder than before) still not looking up at Alec, who didn’t take much convincing before he was leading them back to the car, a hand on his back the only thing he cared to focus on. The trip back home had been a complete blur of shadows and blinking lights.

They didn’t talk, even though Bill could see from the corner of his eyes how Alec would sometimes look at him before huffing loudly. He had not been in the mood to talk about it yet, but having Alec beside him trying to figure out what was appropriate to do or say was really getting on his nerves, even though most of the times he found it endearing. Bill waited until a red light.

“I bought a couple of Cabernet Sauvignon from my last trip back to the States,” Bill placed a hand on Alec’s knee, squeezing softly, trying his best to look at Alec. “Maybe we could open one if you want.”

“If you’re up for it, yeah,” Alec dropped a hand from the wheel to cover Bill’s, entwining their fingers together. “There’s still some leftovers from earlier, we could- if you’re hungry, I mean,” his thumb was rubbing circles on Bill’s little finger.

“Yes, sounds nice,” Bill tried to smile, feeling just a small tug at the corner of his lips. Right before the light turned green, Alec lifted their joined hands to his lips, leaving a soft kiss on Bill’s fingers and carefully dropping his hand back to his lap. Bill started to miss Alec’s hand the moment the light change.

The moment they were back inside the house, Bill leaned heavily against Alec, holding weekly at his jacket. There still was a hesitance in his partner’s response to this sort of contact, even after almost a year into their relationship. It was always a slow reach of hands that would snake their way up his back until they were wrapped around his shoulders. Slowly but surely, Bill thought. For all bones and sharp edges, Bill found out Alec gave pretty good hugs, always feeling the safest when he was cradled in his arms; that time hadn’t been an exception.

As soon as Bill rested his head on Alec’s shoulder, his thin arms moved to encircle his shoulders, resting his scratchy cheek on Bill’s temple. He wasn’t hungry, he didn’t even want to drink really, he just wanted to lay in bed as the soft rhythm of his boyfriend’s breathing, the thumping of his once feeble heart.

That’s all he needed. That’s all he wanted, but his feet were firmly planted on the floor. Not really knowing what else to do, his body completely frozen and unwilling to move, Bill finally left himself go, feeling a wretched sob tear through his body as he grasped Alec closer.

They held like that for a long time, with Alec whispering sweet, encouraging words on Bill’s ear. His arms eventually dropped down his waste to keep them upright better. Eventually Bill pushed himself away, apologising as he tried to dry his tears with the back of his hand roughly enough to feel the stinging drag of the skin, before Alec held on to it and whispered a soft “don’t do that.”

Moving to the living room with bottle and two glasses on hand, they sat there side by side, drinking slowly. At some point, Alec had reached an arm behind Bill, supporting it on the back of the couch, Bill started talking; he narrated what happened a few hours ago with detail, making Alec squirm just a couple of times (not really finding it in his heart to stop Bill as the medical report seemed to calm him down, even though Alec was having a hard time following up the more technical terms). It wasn’t until he reached the part where he had held the baby in his hands that he stopped, looking to a point far beyond the wall.

Although he drew a couple of conclusions as to why this had affected his doctor so much, he was still unprepared to hear it.

“It happened to us. To Libby and me. I held our- I held her in my arms and I just- I…” he had been so stupid. “Our first success after so many attempts… after many failures,” said Bill, spinning his glass of wine by the stem with a shaky thumb and middle finger. “I was so afraid of- of how things would change. If I was really up for it or if I was even going to be a good father -which, well, we know had that turned out- that I thought it had been my fault she died because I didn’t want her...”

“Oh, Bill, that’s-”

“I know- I know. It took me a while to understand how out of my control that had been. Or- or so I thought,” Bill downed the rest of the wine. “I’ve been present for many similar procedures to this one but this time, it felt- if felt too close to home.”

Alec reached for the bottle, unsure of what he could even say to something like that. He filled their glasses with what was left, watching Bill make a face at his, wishing it was something ‘stronger’ than wine. “Look, Bill-”

“Do you ever regret choosing being a Detective?” Bill turned to look at him a bit more abruptly than his wine-dazed mind had appreciated.

It took him a couple of seconds longer than he intended, still a bit aghast from the sudden change in their conversation. “No.”

“Even after all the things you’ve been through? That- that thing about being the, er, ‘Worse Cop in Britain' thing?” Bill leaned closer to Alec, pales eyes trained on the other’s darker ones.

“I-It has its ups and downs, like any career. Aren’t you the same?”

Bill sat further down the couch with pouty wiggle. “I guess so…”

“Do you?”

“What?”

“Regret it?” Alec asked in almost a whisper.

“Not really. I knew what I wanted to be very early on. Never saw myself as anything else,” Bill took a couple of sips of his wine. With an amused snort, he continued: “Imagine me as a lawyer or a politician.”

“Wouldn’t vote for you, that’s for sure.”

“Well, I wouldn’t for you either,” Bill elbowed him softly.

Alec pushed back. “As a lawyer I think you would be quite fierce and unrelenting. Wouldn’t want to be the poor bastard that had to go opposite of you, though.”

“Like you wouldn’t be the same,” they laughed, the bubbly feeling of the wine was finally make its effects present. “How about a Detective? What do you think?”

“Oh, you want my job?” Alec said with a wide grin, his arm had fallen into Bill’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he teased.

“We could switch. I could be the Detective Investigator while you’re the Doctor for a week and then we switch back the next one.”

“That would be a terrible idea! Can’t even find your own house keys in the morning, ya want to find a criminal like that?”

Bill slapped him in the knee with his free hand while having a giggling fit. It was rare to see a drunk Bill Masters enjoying himself instead of the angry and tired mess he occasionally allowed to surface. Alec was determined on keep making him laugh like that more for as long as he could.

“Seriously though, I have terrible bedside manners, you would probably lose a lot of patients because of me.”

“Might be more fit for the morgue, then,” Bill slurred.

The gasp that escape Alec sent Bill into another fit of laughter, having to resign on leaving his empty glass of wine on the side table to prevent himself from dropping it.

“You cheeky bastard!”

That had been days ago; the idea of switching careers stayed with them for a couple of nights. Nights that served to show both men that they would’ve probably died of hunger as actors. Still, they entertained the idea for long enough were Bill would sometimes refer to Alec as ‘Dr. Hardy’ when on the telephone and Alec would call him ‘Detective Masters’ in return. Bill didn’t think he would’ve taken it as a serious consideration until he sat down for breakfast.

“You thought about that often, then?”

“Not often, no,” Alec played with his omelette. “It came to mind recently.”

Bill nodded, having to agree on daydreaming on the ‘what ifs’ a couple of times. “To tell you the truth, I couldn’t see myself in your place either. I don’t think I would be able to cope with the things you’ve seen. I admire you for that.”

The sudden declaration took Alec off-guard, looking at Bill with wide-eyes. “Um, er, yeah- yes. Likewise.”

#illogicalweek2019 #illogical husbands #illogicalhusbands #alec hardy #bill masters #Bill Masters x Alec Hardy #fanfic

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kenzieam · 6 years ago

Text

It’s Time - Chapter Two

Rating: M (language, eventual smut, angst)

Genre: Drama/Angst

@captstefanbrandt @iammarylastar @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @notimetoblog @captain-ariel-barnes @jaamesbbarnes @lancefvcker @bitsandbobsandstuff @softlybarnes @lovelybbarnes @buckitybarnes @bucky-plums-barnes @moonbeambucky @badassbaker @citylights221 @empress-of-boujee @tbetz0341chook007 @shynara51 @diinofayce @casestudy-mw @jewels2876 @damnaged-princess @everythingisoverrated @allmyfanficfaves @melgoodwin @clarabella960 @curvybihufflepuff @angryschnauzer @wowspideyholland @sergeantwhitewolf @smilexcaptainx @plaidcat4815

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

Potential Triggers, please read with caution

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“Levi.”

There’s only one person who calls me that, pronouncing it like ‘when the levee breaks’ and there’s only one person whose voice gives me chills, even after all these years. I take a deep breath, steeling myself and turn around.

“Bucky.”

He smiles tentatively, the smile dropping when I don’t return it. I notice his hand is clutching at the neck of his beer bottle, the knuckles white; is he nervous?

I’m not going to be the first one to talk, so I keep my mouth closed and study him instead. He’s thicker than he was in high school, far more muscular and defined; his hair is longer too, brushing his stubbly jaw. He’s wearing worn jeans and a red Henley, the sleeves pushed up; work boots like he came over directly from a construction site. But the eyes are the same, the same deep, soulful blue, the same blue I found myself getting lost in too many times to count.

“Can we.... can we talk?” He asks quietly, uncertainly.

I sigh. “What is there to talk about, James?”

He winces, I never use his given name and it only reminds him of the distance between us, exactly what I intended.

I’m too sober for this. “Nice to see you,” I chirp, totally aware that I’m being a petty bitch, and owning it. “Say hi to the wife and kid, or I guess, kids, by now.” I whirl and almost skip away, eyes searching for someone else to talk to.

Nat eyes me when I nudge her shoulder, make ‘gimme’ fingers for my niece. She hands her over with a tut of disapproval. “You enjoy that?”

“What?”

“Bucky. You couldn’t stand there for five minutes and talk to him?”

“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’ and start cooing down at Lou.

“He looks crushed.”

I don’t bother to glance up. “Good.” I coo, making Lou grin and babble up at me.

Nat sighs. “Lev, we’ve been friends a long, long time. You and Bucky have been an item since our first nap-time in kindergarten..... you’re being a real bitch right now.”

I pause in my baby-babble and glance at her, crane my head past her to look over at Bucky. He’s in profile to me, head lowered, picking at the label on his bottle. As I watch he inhales deeply, like he’s steeling himself, and walks away, past Sam and Wanda, past Steve and Clint at the grill and out the front gate. I feel a strange flutter in my chest, one so damn similar to what I’ve been feeling thinking about Clint left to deal with mom’s illness, and recognize it as guilt.

Dammit.

Giving Nat the stink-eye I hand Lou back to her and go after him.

“Bucky, wait!” I call, jogging between the vehicles in the driveway, nearly sideswiping Clint’s SUV because my head’s on a swivel, trying to find him. I spot him a couple dozen feet away, reaching to open the door of a battered pick-up.

He looks up, and too many emotions flash across his face for me to read. He turns to face me as I round the back of the truck and stumble to a halt a few yards away.

I cross my arms; Nat may have guilted me into going after him, but I’m not going to make this easy on him. “You wanted to talk?”

He swallows hard and nods, rubbing a hand over his mouth. After a moment he gestures to the cab. “You want to go for a ride?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

I pretend not to notice his slightly unsteady exhale and stay silent. He wanted to talk, so talk.

“I...” He breaks off, fiddling with his keys.

“Okay.” I snap. I tried. I turn to sprint back.

“Wait!” The edge of panic in his voice makes me pause and I turn my head to side-eye him, my chin touching my shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

That pisses me off. Sorry? I whirl and let him have it.

“Sorry?! Sorry is what you say when you break my favorite coffee cup, not when you fuck someone else!”

“We were broke up!”

“A week!” I hear myself screech. I hate the sound and hold my hands up to silence his response. After a long moment I look up to meet his eyes. “You waited a week, then you stuck your dick in another woman-”

He opens his mouth but I cut him off.

“- and knocked her up too! That’s way beyond a pathetic ‘I’m sorry’, Barnes.”

“You never gave me a chance to explain-”

“Explain?! What is there to explain? You know what? This is stupid. Go home to her, James. You chose her over me when you fucked her.” I’m vibrating now, fighting the urge to storm forwards and punch his guilty fucking face. Instead I whirl and sprint back to the party, deciding it’s time to trade up from beer to the hard stuff. I don’t look back and, as I pass through the gates, i hear his truck start.

Nat looks up as I storm past her, heading for the drinks table and Clint grabs the second shot I’ve poured for myself out of my hand before I can slam it.

“Stop it.” He orders and I don’t even bother trying to reach for the glass, he’s using his Dad voice. He grips my upper arm and pulls me away from the table, up onto the covered deck before releasing me. “Now listen to me. I love you with all my goddamn heart and I will always support you. But this has to stop. It has been five years. Because of one man’s mistake and your overreaction to it I’ve missed out on five years with my twin sister in my life. You missed Lou’s birth, you haven’t been here for Mom and I’ve had to watch one of my best friends tear himself apart every single day since you ran off to Seattle.”

His words burn, but I can only focus on one thing. “Overreaction?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Yes. Overreaction. You had every right to be mad, but you didn’t need to move to the other side of the damn country!”

“I went to school there.” It’s a feeble reason, but I’m using it.

“Yeah, because there’s no schools on the east coast you could have gone to.” His voice is tired, resigned. “They’re not together anymore, they haven’t been for a long time.”

Despite myself, I find myself responding. “So?”

Clint raises his head, fixing me with an implacable expression. “You know as well as I do he was only with her out of obligation, and they broke up right after the baby was born.”

“Why? Novelty wore off? Taco no bueno?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“You don’t know or you’re just not going to tell me?”

“Not telling. You’ll have to lower yourself and speak to the man if you want to know.” With one last disapproving Dad glare, he walks away.

I watch him go, the conflicting emotions in my stomach starting to sour it. The warm and comforting coat I’ve been wearing, ‘V’ for Victim proudly displayed, is starting to itch.

Fuck it.

I’m not thinking about that shit right now, I not going to even entertain the possibility that I’ve wasted the last five years, that I’ve overreacted.

I storm back towards the booze.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** Oh God.

What the hell did I drink last night?

I remember getting into some type of competition with myself, to see how many shots I could down, but it gets fuzzy after that. Something’s woke me up and it takes a second, between my impending hangover, and the goddamn sun shining right in my eyes, to realize that someone is sitting beside me, or more correctly, on the edge of the bed I don’t remember crawling into. Wincing and squinting, I finally narrow down the stranger and my eyes fly open, causing a stab of pain right into my brain.

“Ow! Jesus, Clint!” I try to hide under my blankets again but Clint rests his hand on my shoulder and murmurs my name, in a tone I’ve never heard before. It sobers me up quick. I raise my head and look at him.

“The hospice just called. Mom died this morning.” His voice is quiet.

“W-what?” I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. “She’s dead? Why didn’t they call us sooner?”

Clint sighs. “They checked in on her at shift change, and when they looked in again less than a half-hour later, she was gone.”

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. No, this is too soon. I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until Clint answers me.

“I think she was just waiting until you came home. She made all the arrangements months ago, all we need to do is call the funeral home when they open. I-” His cell phone rings.

He answers and even I can hear Lou crying in the background. He grimaces at me.

“Go,” I push gently, shoo my fingers at him and he stands, leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Come over to the house. People are going to start showing up and I don’t want you to be left alone.”

I nod numbly and he hurries out.

A thousand different emotions run through me, from guilt to sorrow to shame. And rising out of that murkiness is one definite, one constant that my body and mind has always called for when I feel like this, the one place where I feel safest; and I’m too messed up right now to remind myself that it’s wrong. I want Bucky.

No. NO.

I stumble out of bed, trip over my cast-off jeans and barely make it to the bathroom before I start vomiting. But it’s not my hangover emptying my stomach, it’s sorrow, grief and confusion. One part of me, the part that’s caving in on itself with anguish, wants Bucky right now, so badly it hurts; but another part is still raging and righteously indignant, still screaming for his head, ready to deny the comfort he would bring solely to continue to punish him.

I’m still heaving long after my stomach is empty and finally collapse over the seat, spitting weakly. When my head stops spinning I stagger to my feet and into the shower, sticky with sweat and shame.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************** The funeral food train has definitely pulled into the station. Every available surface in Clint and Nat’s kitchen is covered with dishes; casseroles and cakes, jellied salads and squares. People appear with food, murmur their condolences and leave again. Nat has drifted into the nursery with Lou, eyes red-rimmed while Clint has disappeared completely.

There’s an air of relief, and faint shame in the house and around everyone who stops by. Everyone is relieved that Mom has finally passed on, found the peace in death that the cancer stole from her life, and cannot help but feel a vague shame for that. You are not supposed to be happy that someone has died, even if it liberated them.

I drift through the kitchen, pausing to sniff furtively at a few dishes, at a loss for what to do. There are no arrangements to make, no flowers to choose, song to decide on, location to secure. Mom handled all of that when she was first diagnosed, citing her desire to have everything ‘just so’ for her final send-off, not anyone else’s idea of what she would have wanted. And while that’s something that is comfortingly Mom, it’s still aggravating. It’s taken away the busywork that helps a person along after the death, gives them something to focus on besides their fresh pain.

I find myself wandering up the stairs and into the guest room. The bedspread is a beautiful quilt, soft under my fingers. Pushing the curtains aside, I look out the window, let my gaze travel without aim over the backyard. While Lou is far too young to use it, there is a new playhouse in the corner, cheery flowers painted on the sides. Probably a gift from Mom. Movement catches my eye and I lean forwards, looking down.

Clustered in a loose circle, standing near the house are Clint and a few other men. Two of them are vaguely familiar from the party last night. The other two I know all too well. Steve is at Clint's right, in profile and on Clint's left, facing me, is Bucky.

They all hold beer bottles loosely in their hands and Bucky, surprisingly, has a cigarette dangling from his lips; as I watch he inhales deeply and pulls it from his mouth, flicking ash onto the grass and holding it down by his thigh between his index and middle finger with practiced ease. Clint, Steve and Bucky look morose, shoulders slumped, talking in low voices. Mom always favoured Clint over me, but she also doted on Steve, Sam and Bucky, her other 'boy-children' more than any female friends we brought around; and I realize that while Clint and I are mourning the loss of our mom, Steve and Bucky have lost a mother too.

A new rush of guilt hits me, my confrontation with Bucky last night was ugly, and so he was already emotionally overwrought, only to have it compounded by Mom's death this morning. I study his face, see lines that weren't there even last night and have to fight a sudden urge to turn around and run down the stairs, out into the yard and fling myself into his arms, tuck my head under his chin and hold him tight.

As I'm staring, thinking these forbidden thoughts, Bucky looks up, his eyes locking with mine.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #au bucky barnes #bucky and nika #bucky and lev

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cornfedcryptid-archive · 7 years ago

Text

Crucible Match

This is a little drabble I made a while ago, when I initally shipped my exo hunter and awoken titan. I’ve been hanging onto it for a couple on months, debating on if I wanted to publish it. But fuck it. I love my trash guardians and I want everyone to know about them. There is a cameo from @fadedforyou‘s titan Alik.

Note: the italics are when Alik is speaking Russian.

Enjoy!

“Now that’s just not fair. Muscle Milk only has one newbie with him. How did I get saddled with three?” Z-9 gestured from his feeble team over to Alik and his. “Mine look like they still have bits of dirt from their graves on them. This is hardly a fair fight.”

“Are you, how you say ‘chickening out,’ Z-9?”

“Perish the thought, Muscle Milk. But the odds aren’t exactly even. You only have one newbie.” He turned his attention to the short titan and looked her up and down. “I didn’t think ghosts resurrected titan’s that small. Are you sure you’re not supposed to be a warlock?” Z-9 held up his hand and pretended to squish the small titan between his thumb and forefinger. “I would suggest a hunter, but I do think there’s a height limit to that too.”His gears clicked and whirred in excitement as the titan in question threw him a withering glare. From the expression alone he could feel her murderous intent. “Good,” he thought. All that was left was rattling the other two and his team might just have a chance. But from their gear he could tell they were seasoned guardians. A simple taunt wouldn’t distract them. Before he could act, the buzzer sounded overhead. With a final look, the two teams parted and retreated to their starting areas.

“The loudmouth, he’s mine,” Iona snarled.

Alik looked down at his friend and chuckled. “Da.” He shouldered his weapon and tossed Iona her helmet. Z-9’s obvious taunt did exactly what Alik knew it would. From day one, he knew mentioning Iona’s height would guarantee their win. He saw it many times in the crucibles. Each time a cocky hunter or haunty warlock mentioned her height that opponent died more times than any other on the opposing team; and knowing Z-9, he was sure to bring it up.

Iona grabbed her helmet and shoved it onto her head. Since she had become a guardian she had been thrust from one thing to another. Running for her life, training, scouting missions and even more training had taken up all of her time, and then some. She rarely had a moment to stop and think or question what she had become. What few moments she had were still filled with people telling her what to do, where to go and what to think. At first she tried to fight it, but it proved futile. She learned over the months keeping her mouth shut and head down made her life infinitely easier. Each day she felt more and more of herself being chipped away and remodeled into the “perfect titan.” But the one thing that never seemed to wear away was her one major tick. She had been told time and time again that she was too short to be a guardian. Time and time again she proved each person wrong, usually by beating them in the crucible. This exo was going to be no different.

“Hey! Useless! Take out Muscle Milk!” Z-9 snapped as he laid down cover fire for their cowardly titan to charge. Only the titan didn’t charge. He had hesitated, and in that hesitation the other team’s hunter took him out with one bullet to the head. “Dammit!”

The warlock’s spell missed its mark. Instead of knocking Alik over the edge like Z-9 had wanted, it hit Iona in the shoulder, and set her helmet on fire. She yanked it off her head and threw it at the warlock as she charged. He dodged the helmet but was not able to regain his footing. She used the opening to run up and empty the remainder of her clip into him. He dropped like a rag doll, Iona’s empty gun landing next to him. She snarled at Z-9, and lobbed one of her grenades in his direction.

“Can none of you fuckin’ fight?” He grabbed the other hunter and hightailed it back into the ruins of the city, the grenade exploding behind them. They were getting decimated. It seemed every other second one of the newbies on his team was being killed. At first he thought preventing their sniper from hitting would have solved the problem. But he found their biggest concern was not the unseen sniper, but Muscle Milk and the pipsqueak of a titan. The two of them were like a sword and shield, and impossible to kill. At first when he saw the small tick in her jaw he thought his goading had gotten under her skin and would make her mess up. He was right in only one of those two things. He did in fact get under her skin, but what would have been foolish mistakes if made by others instead were tactics that downright scared the newbies. Multiple times she charged head on into the thick of them, killing whoever was too slow to get out of her way. One would have thought the newbies would have learned the first few times she killed them point blank. But their stupid tactic was to huddle closer and hope for the best. Not once did it work out. She herded them closer and closer, until a single grenade took all three of them out.

“Quit fucking circling together like a bunch of fucking sheep! If you don’t start fighting back I will fucking kill you myself!” He kicked the hunter in the back, sending her scrambling forward. “Get out there! We don’t have much time left! I will not lose this bet because of you fucking idiots!”

Alik’s plan was working. He watched as Z-9’s temper caused his movements to become more erratic. “We have few minutes left. What is status of trap?”

“Last I checked they had the trip mines in place. All we need to do is herd them into Zone B.” Her last clip clicked into a place and an almost feral grin crept across Iona’s face. “Time to herd the sheep.”

The small nod of Alik’s head was the only indication he gave that he heard her, before he stepped off the ledge and walked into the middle of the street. Well placed shots from both him and Io had the three novice guardians scurrying back into the buildings. They left Z-9 to the hunter and the warlock, knowing the two of them would be able to handle the erratic exo.

“One minute left!” Shaxx’s voice echoed throughout the area.

Alik felt more than saw the change in Iona. Heat started to radiate off of her body and from the corner of his eye he could see the flames curling around her. He felt her power from spike as they rounded the last corner. They had the three novices herded into Zone B, and were just waiting for their other teammates to herd Z-9. As if on cue, the hunter in question charged into the area guns ablazing. He fired off several shots, hitting both Io and Alik. Before his shots could kill either, Alik erected a barricade and jumped out of the area.

“Fight back!” Z-9 loaded another clip into his hand cannon and looked at the three before them. There was not a scratch on them, but they acted as if they had seen death itself. That’s when he saw the trip mines. While Alik, Io, and the warlock had been wrecking havoc all over the arena, the hunter in question had been filling Zone B with enough trip mines to collapse the whole building. Before he could act, a hammer went whizzing past his head and killed the hunter behind him. One by one the rest of his team was killed off; their bodies throw back into the trip mine sensors. There was nowhere for him to escape. The last thing Z-9 saw before the building came crashing down was the smug look on Iona’s face as she threw her hammer at the remaining support beam. It was in that moment that he realized he may have fucked up. When he came to, the titan in question was nowhere to be found; only her path of destruction remained. As far as he was concerned if he never saw her again it would be too soon.

***

Z-9 found himself at the bar between Alik and Cornelius, going shot for shot with the two large humans. Friends and acquaintances trickled into the bar as night wore on. Halfway through the third bottle, he noticed the wink Cornelius gave Alik.

“Wait a minute,” he hiccuped. “Cookie, you were in on this weren’t you?”

“My dear friend, what ever gave you that idea?”

“The wink!”

“The wink?”

“Yes! You gave him the wink; the wink that is filled with dastardly intentions. I’ve seen it before. But to think it was used against me. I thought we were friends Cookie.”

“I allow you to call me Cookie. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“To think my closest frie-”

“Only friend,” Cookie corrected.

“Only friend,” Z-9 amended. “Would do such a dastardly thing behind my back. I feel hurt…betrayed even. I don’t think I can recover from this.”

“Do not be such sore loser!” Alik clapped Z-9 on the back, sending the exo stumbling forward.

“Every time, Muscle Milk,” Z-9 grunted. “Gentle. I am a fragile baby boy.”

“You are no little boy!” Alik laughed and slapped Z-9 on the back. “You are very funny! Drink! We celebrate my victory over your bet tonight!”

“At the expense of my wallet.” A bottle of vodka appeared in front of him. Without a second thought he tossed his card to the bartender, opened the bottle and clinked it against Alik’s.

“Cheers!” The tipsy Russian chugged the last of his bottle and surveyed the room. He spotted a familiar mop of purple hair in the back of the bar and made a beeline. “Io!” Alik’s voice boomed.

She jumped and looked up as the giant Russian sat at her table. Iona had been in the bar for less than two minutes before he found her. “Alik.” She took the offered bottle and took a few swigs. The vodka burned her throat as a familiar tingle settled in her fingers. She felt her nerves calming and the bar no longer felt like an ogre trying to kill her. Now it just felt like a lowly thrall, gnawing on her ankle.

“You have made it! Come! Drink with us! Z-9 is buying!” He dragged her back to the bar and all but lifted her into the seat next to Z-9. “Barkeeper! Another drink for my friend!”

Several drinks in Io slumped forward onto the bar and scrubbed her hand under her topknot. “Wait,” Io hiccupped. “What was the bet exactly? How drunk were you that you willingly made a bet against Alik?”

“Short answer: I was sauced. Long answer: Muscle Milk just has this very Russian way of getting under my skin and he outdrank me.”

“But you’re an exo?” Confused she titled her head to the side, grabbed the bottle in front of Z and refilled his drink. She downed the rest of the bottle and dropped it onto the counter.

“Holy shit! I’m an exo? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Panicked, he ran his hands over his body as if it was something completely foreign.

For a split second Io stared at Z before she threw back her head and started to laugh. She rubbed her hand over her freshly buzzed side as her laughter died down. “I can’t remember the last time I have laughed that much.”

Z-9 slid another drink over at her and chuckled. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to laugh more. There’s no need to be so serious.”

“I’ve tried.” She downed half of her drink in one gulp. The burn of the drink had her gagging and gasping, much to Z-9’s amusement. “But you wouldn’t understand,” she choked. “You’re a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Curious he leaned closer to the drunk woman in front of him. The murderous woman from earlier that day had been replaced by the giggly woman that was having a difficult time staying on the barstool. Twice in the past ten minutes he had to catch her from sliding onto the ground. Luckily for him or her in this case, she had a habit of veering towards his direction.

Another snort escaped her as she downed the drink. “You know exactly what I mean, Z.” A hiccup escaped her as she slid closer. “All hunters are a little unhinged. It’s to be expected. But not titans. No…we…we must be the wall. Stoic. We are the last defense of this city. They wear you down, until the old you is no more, and make you up to be the perfect titan. I found it was easier to keep my head down and go along with what they wanted.”

“Is that why you’re so uptight?”

Her face scrunched up as she smacked him on the arm. “I’m not that uptight, am I?”

“Dimples, if you were any more tense I could shove coal up your ass and you’d shit out diamonds a week later.”

“Do you have any coal?”

Z-9 looked at her for a second before he chuckled and bumped his shoulder into hers. “What do you know, Dimples you can make a joke.”

“Oh I’m a very funny person,” she slurred.

“I do not doubt that, Dimples.” He reached over and grabbed the glass out of her loose fingers. He set it next to his empty one and looked down at the figure slumped against him. Every assumption he had for the pint-sized titan had been proven wrong as the drinks kept flowing. What was once a stony face soon became one that hid no emotions and every time she laughed Z-9 found himself drawn further and further into her. He wanted to hear more of that laugh. To see the way her nose crinkled when he told a bad pun or joke. If someone were to ask him why he felt the sudden desire, he couldn’t say. That fact alone stirred a curiosity in him he hadn’t felt in ages.

Several weeks passed before Z-9 saw any sign of Iona again. At first he thought she had been sent out on patrol. It took several bottles of vodka one night in the bar with Alik, before Z-9 found out where she had truly gone. To think an Iron Lord so thoroughly thrashed in the crucible was both a balm to his ego and a shock. He had thought Lord Saladin kept his new recruits hidden in the mountains and the wastelands, like before. But what shocked him even more was seeing her in the hanger the next morning.

“M’lady returns.” He set the butt of his rifle on the ground and executed an overly dramatic bow. “Are you to accompany us on this fine day?” A swift smack to the back of the head, by Cornelius’ hand sent him stumbling forward.

“She is the newest member of your fire team.”

“What? Her? There’s no way.”

“Don’t act so excited, you might break something.”

He searched her face, trying to find the drunken girl from the bar. All he found was another stony faced titan. As he looked away he thought he saw a twitch of her lips in the corner of her eye. When he looked back, he saw no sign of the mirth he thought he was going to see. “Damn.”

“She passed the test.”

“Test? What test?”

Cornelius’ voice drew Z-9’s attention away from Iona’s face. “You were the test.”

“Me? How am I a test? Does this have anything to do with Serenity-12? She was always looking for reasons to shoot me.”

“It does. I needed to find a titan that wouldn’t snap every time you angered them, which as we both know will be a lot.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I am a delight.”

“Delightfully annoying,” Iona muttered under her breath.

She had thought no one could hear her, over the noise of the hanger. None would, if there had not been an exo among them. But he heard. His hope and curiosity were brought back to life once again. “There she is,” he thought. She was in there. He just needed to find a crack in the wall and slip through. Lucky for him, he’s a hunter.

#destiny #destiny 2 #crucible #titan #hunter #warlock #origianl character #my writing #destiny writing

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lightbreatheslife-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Multiplicity

Originally published by Twiniversity.com. Follow the link or read below: https://www.twiniversity.com/2019/05/idea-of-twins/

We sit in firm, angular chairs in the grey-carpeted waiting room of Duke Fertility as smooth jazz wafts from speakers in the ceiling. My husband checks work email on his phone while I scribble updated contact information on a medical clipboard. My stomach is bloated and the top button on my jeans is jabbing into belly rolls I would generally rather pretend do not exist. My body is lethargic, heavy, the way it feels the morning after I’ve taken sleeping pills and the grogginess has yet to wear off. My mind, however, is alert, anxious, awaiting the next set of data to determine if our first pregnancy, at six weeks in, is still a go.

“Kathleen Straight,” the nurse calls, poking her head around a heavy wooden door to beckon us back to the land where dreams just might come true. I feel a bit like Dorothy being let in to see the Wizard--if Dorothy were bloated and nauseous and about to lose her lunch. We hop up and scuffle through the doorway, down a bright hallway shellacked with pictures of newborn babies with thank you notes taped beside. “Our little miracle! Thanks Duke Fertility!” I read quickly as the nurse ushers us into a darkened exam room. Two chest-height machines topped with computer screens flank a tissue-covered table, beside the table another chair.

“Here’s a robe—it opens in the front,” the nurse says. “Go ahead and take off everything but the robe and I’ll be back.”

Quite sure of our places, my husband settles into the chair while I change into the starched sheet with arm holes and lie on the exam table, crinkling the paper below as I adjust to get comfortable. The nurse reenters, confirms my date of birth while staring into the computer monitor, clicking the little mouse every few seconds with her index finger.

“Your numbers look great,” she says, “We are going to take a look and see if we can’t find a nice heartbeat.”

She squeezes what looks like a ballpark condiment bottle of clear goo onto a long grey wand with a chord that trails back to the machine beside her. Noticing my breathing is shallow, my heartbeat quick, I force a deep breath in and out and make a feeble attempt to relax my lower body as she inserts the machine wand up into my uterus.

Indiscriminate motions flash on a black and white screen as the nurse adjusts the wand, searching for life. The machine speakers emanate indistinguishable shushes and slurs, much like the sound of the old home videos my dad used to take (almost without fail) directly into the wind. This moment, with the screen like a black ocean and the white noise of a microphone searching for sound, this moment lasts forever. My breathing freezes somewhere halfway into an inhalation.

Shushshssh….shlurrrrr….shushshsh…schlurrrr.

“Wup, there’s a nice heartbeat!” the nurse finally says as she zeros in on a tiny black dot I never could have found in a million years amid an ocean of dark grey on the screen. “Let’s see if there’s another…”

And before we can exhale, before we can celebrate the first, the sound of a second heartbeat fills the room.

“Oh, there it is--twins! Let me just see if there are any more…”

In a split second upsurge, every conceivable emotion rockets its way from the bottom of my gut, through my heart and up into my head. Joy, fear, shock, trepidation, insecurity, wonder: all of them at once explode like a giant Fourth of July firework trapped in the space between my ears. My eyes fill with involuntary tears.

“What?! Twins!?” Justin exclaims, smiling, as the weight of tears in his eyes, too, gives way and trails down his cheeks.

We look at each other to ground ourselves, check in on a reality too surreal to grasp without each other’s witness. In this moment, we are mirrors reflecting back at one another the same kaleidoscope of emotions: we smile, eyes wide and watery, each shaking our heads to somehow let the news settle where it needs to in our brains before it can be classified as reality (much how that little disk plinks its way to its final category in the game of Plinko on The Price is Right).

“Twins?!” I finally say, ever late to the party when it comes to formulating words in the midst of intense emotions. “Twins?!…Twins.” My brain has found a tiny space. The news begins to settle in.

“Looks like your uterus dropped two eggs: see here, and here,” the nurse says as she somehow identifies two small dark spots amidst the sea of near blackness.

“Almost certainly fraternal. They’re di-di--each have their own sack and placenta--which is good, statistically lower risk…”

Nothing she is saying makes any sense to me except that there are two little lives with beating hearts growing deep inside my body.

My mind races to a conversation I had just two days earlier while walking with a friend. “What if you have twins?” she asked.

“Ha! Well, I know there’s a chance…I guess we’ll just have to figure it out, won’t we?!” I replied, laughing all the while as if there really was no chance, as if we’d never really have to (get to?) figure it out. “We did go to a prayer service a few months ago at our church and out of nowhere this lady says, ‘Lord, I feel like you’re asking me to pray for twins for this couple.’ So there’s that! Ha!” I say, again dismissing it all as the over-spiritualized fancy of a well-meaning cat lady who volunteers to pray at church and goes home to keep company with 15 felines and a basket full of crocheted cat sweaters.

We had a similar experience years back, after all, when that crazy Korean missionary had us over for dinner and prayed for Justin and me, newly dating and unsure of each other at the time, to get married. Obviously she was certifiably nuts. Except, I suppose, for the fact that in the end we did get married.

Now, sprawled on the crinkling paper of the exam table with a (seemingly magic) wand waving around my uterus, it appears that cat lady may have been on to something (or she just prays for every human to have a litter like her kitties). I rub my hand over my bloated belly and wonder how my 5’3, 115lb frame is going to grow and carry two little babies around for the next 8 months without constantly tipping over front-wise.

The nurse explains that our pregnancy is considered high risk and we will now need to pursue obstetric care through one of the established hospitals around Durham—UNC or Duke—as opposed to the zen birthing center I had my eye on (the one that lets you birth in pools of Alpine spring water blessed by the Dalai Lama while getting a henna tattoo and seaweed facial). I push aside a split second of disappointment to take in our new reality: a high risk pregnancy will mean bi-monthly doctor visits, frequent ultrasounds, and enough data about premature birth risks to make any expecting mom all but confine herself to a padded room for the duration of the pregnancy.

“Congratulations,” the nurse says, handing me a folder of photocopied pamphlets titled “What to expect when expecting multiples.”

Thoroughly checked and deemed “all systems go” by a medical team for which hearing two heartbeats is a happy but routine data point, we are dismissed until the next follow-up appointment. I squeeze myself gingerly back into my jeans--leaving the top button undone--and walk with a new sense of caution out into the parking lot. The blinding sun bounces off hot black asphalt as Justin and I attempt to wrap our heads around our burgeoning reality.

It takes several weeks before the news begins to settle into all the parts of my brain, seeping slowly into the far corners, as my body rounds into curves. My chest, my hips, my butt, my belly—all the parts of my athletic, linear figure (that just sounds so much better than flat and angular, doesn’t it?) begin to plump and push outward. It seems my body is determined to share the happy news of my pregnancy before my words can get to it. But this pregnancy is young and high risk and Justin and I agree that we’ll wait to share after the first trimester is safely behind us.

This agreement lasts about one day before I am confronted with the reality that I have no self control. I’m convinced I will actually explode like one of those gender-reveal balloons unless I can share our insane news with someone.

“So...how about I just tell my mom?” I say.

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“aaaand, Lashelle. …aaaaand Kristen and Shey? But that’s it,” I say.

“Okay. I’ll tell Micah,” Justin relents (secretly busting at the seams himself).

I think of a clever way to share with my mom—a texted picture of two buns in an oven. Well, a bun and a bagel to be precise: the grocery was low on buns. She doesn’t get it, thinks I’ve taken up baking.

I call to clarify. “We’re pregnant! With twins!”

My mom, now a 69-year-old widow and mother of four middle-aged adults, has waited years for grandkids. To her credit, she never nags or pulls the passive aggressive, “It must be so nice for all your friends’ moms to have grandkids already.” She hopes secretly, wordlessly, ready to pounce on all the baby clothes Target has to offer as soon as she’s given the word. With the news of not one but two grandkids on the way, my mom is at once thrilled and beyond mystified (and likely already in the car headed to Target).

“Where are you going to put them?” she says.

“Well…huh, I guess we’ll make the back office a nursery…”

“No, in your body! Where are you going to fit them?!”

That question is trickier than the back-office renovation. I’m not sure what to say. I have no idea where I’m going to “put them,” but I’ll do my damndest to stretch out a comfy little cubby somewhere between my neck and their eventual exit door.

There are so many questions--posed by others and myself--that I am suddenly fielding. How are you going to manage two babies at once? How will you breastfeed two? Is the fertility medicine behind the multiple pregnancy? Or is it simply (or not so simply) an act of God? Will I be put on bedrest? Can my body nurture and carry two babies to term? Sweet Jesus, will they make it? Will they both make it? Will I be a good mom? Will I ever sleep again? Where have these voluptuous breasts been all my life?

I do not have a single answer. I am in territory I have never in a million years imagined my life navigating. What I do know is multiple doctors told me I would have a difficult time getting pregnant. Multiple doctors offered multiple diagnoses—from polycystic ovarian syndrome to hypothalamic amenorrhea—as the reason I have not yet been pregnant and might not ever be. And now, seven years into our marriage, seven years of not knowing whether we would ever have the joy of welcoming a child into our family, I am pregnant—with not one, but two babies. I do not know how the story will play out, but I recognize the grace, the excessive giving of a Cosmic Mom who offers two funfetti smash cakes when I ask for a crust of bread.

“Lord, I feel like you’re asking me to pray for twins,” that cat lady prayed while Justin and I both resisted the urge to interrupt.

“Whoa, whoa. You’re off script, lady,” I wanted to say at the time. “That’s not what we asked you to pray for.”

It wasn’t. And I’m scared. But I’ve lived long enough to understand that life is so rarely filled with precisely what we ask for. And every so often, that’s a good thing. Sometimes, it’s the best thing.

Katie Straight is a writer, poet and stay-at-home mom of three: twin five-year-old boys and one two-year-old little girl. Previously, her professional work focused on international development and international education policy (Harvard, MEd ‘12). She lives in Charlottesville, VA, with her husband and kids.

Photo credit: Lashelle Chappell Photography

#twins #multiples #infertility #prayer #birth announcement #ultrasound #motherhood #pregnancy #surprise #parenting #moms #babies #lashellechappellphotography

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anons-y-221b-blog · 8 years ago

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The One That Got Away

So, in one of my previous entries I mentioned that growing up I was never attracted to any girls that I actually knew in real life. In high school, I got super into chat rooms and stuff when that sort of thing really became popular (nothing weird, just being stupid after school at the library). I found myself being flirty with girls on there, but that was the extent of it. Mostly because, as I just said, I just wasn’t attracted to any girls that I knew. I wasn’t sure what made me flirty in chat rooms, but that was just how it was. Maybe it felt safe. Exciting, but safe.

Even now, I really don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to any females in “real life” so it’s weird that I think about it so much. Maybe it is just a stupid fantasy, all in my head. Maybe I just like the idea of “forbidden fruit” since it’s not the norm for society. I really couldn’t tell ya.

But, if I’m being 100% honest, there was this one girl. Isn’t there always?

I changed schools at the start of high school, which is a really awkward time to start a new school. Especially since the school I was entering was tiny (I think my graduating class was like 51 students or something). I came from an even smaller school district, if you can believe that, so the small class size was actually comforting to me.

The challenging thing is that, with a school that small, coming in as an outsider is a Big Deal. At that school, you were okay if you had a lot of money or if you had gone there since kindergarten. I, obviously, met neither criterion. So, it was potentially going to be a tough crowd to break into.

Luckly for me, I was immediately (somehow) brought into a group of four really awesome, accepting friends. To this day, four of us are still super close despite being spread out all over the country.

Notice I said four of us are still super close, not all five. One girl sort of separated from the group around our senior year and went her own way. Part of it was just different interests I guess. She was very sporty and athletic (the other four of us, not so much) and also ended up doing post-secondary classes at the local college our senior year so she was only in school with us part time anyway at that point.

Looking back, part of it was my fault, too I think. It was around that same time I started to actively distance myself from her. We’ll call her B. Freshman year, when I started at this new school and became friends with this group, B and I were pretty close actually. Instant connection, similar interests, same sense of humor, all that good stuff. In every group of friends, I think, you still tend to have closer knit pairs within the group. As I remember it, I felt closest to her initially. That changed throughout the years, naturally. But I always felt we still had a special connection.

The irony of this situation is that at the time, and even up until recently (like, a couple months ago), I always felt like she might be a lesbian. Honestly, I kind of assumed she was. She never talked about boys and I just could NOT imagine her dating a guy. She seemed like she had no interest in it. Then, junior year I think it was, she would talk about this guy at her work that was always hitting on her, and giving her little gifts, and asking her out. I’m not sure if she ever went on a date with him actually. She would always talk about it like it was ridiculous, kind of like she was making fun of him, but not maliciously or anything.

Then when I was at her house one day I noticed she had one of the little gifts he’d supposedly given her tacked up on a bulletin board in her room. I remember being confused at how I felt. I was upset that she had it because she’d always said how ridiculous it was but here she had a memento hanging up in her room. I was also confused because I felt a little jealous. I brushed it off, assuming I felt jealous because she had a boy interested in her and I’d never had that. Looking back, I wonder if it was something more that was bothering me.

Anyway. So senior year arrives and I find myself distancing myself from her. I don’t even remember the catalyst for this, or if there was anything specific. B was smart and intelligent. VERY smart and intelligent. She ended up being our class salutatorian (which might not seem impressive in a class of 51 students, but she would’ve been that (or better) anywhere she went). She often (in my opinion) could come across as kind of condescending to those who weren’t as smart as her. She never made fun of me, or made me feel bad about myself that I remember, even though I wasn’t as smart as her (I did well in school, mind you, always in the honors class and always near the top of my class, but I wasn’t near as intelligent as she was).

So I think all of these things came together at a time in my life when I wasn’t very comfortable in my own skin and I started to push her away. Not nicely, either. I don’t think I ever said anything mean to her, but I just completely quit talking to her. It’s something that I’m still very ashamed and embarrassed of to this day. Cutting her out of my life is something I’ve always, always regretted.

Looking back, I’ve come to a couple of (potential) conclusions. Or at least some insights into myself and my behavior in high school. I’ve come to admit to myself that I (shocker) had a crush on B but didn’t understand my feelings at the time. I think my assuming that she was a lesbian and was attracted to me (I don’t think I mentioned that part earlier but there it is) was me projecting my own feelings onto her. I felt attracted to her but didn’t understand it, so I flipped it around.

I also think my pushing her away might have been due to that, as well. I think she intimidated me for so many reasons. How smart and intelligent she was (I was worried she’d realize I wasn’t that intelligent and eventually get bored of me). How talented she was (I ended up dropping out of band (for stupid reasons not talent-realted - I was actually quite good) while she contined to excel, I wasn’t athletic at all while she was amazing at fast-pitch). And on top of all of that, I was struggling with feeling attracted to her and not even realizing it. I also thought she found my sense of humor stupid as the years went on so I felt self-conscious all the time.

Funny enough, watching Sherlock ALWAYS reminds me of her. I feel like she was Sherlock to my John. So intense, beautiful and smart while I always felt so dull and feeble-minded next to her.

So, there’s my sad story of the one girl I think I was actually attracted to. And how she got away? Well, how I pushed her away I guess.

We did reconnect via facebook a few years later. It was very sporadic though. I apologized for pushing her away so I guess that was good. At that point though, I still didn’t understand my own feelings. I’d message her every couple of years and we’d have a small flurry of e-mail exchanges that would eventually trickle down (I was almost always the one who dropped the conversational ball).

Now, I’ve finally begun to admit some things to myself. I won’t even say “realize” things about myself. I think I’ve known for a long time, just never verbalized it. And now I’m only doing it via an anonymous blog. Baby steps I guess.

Now I want so badly to reconnect with her. Not with any agenda or motivation, just to bring her back into my life. She’s not active on facebook though. Profile is still there, but she hasn’t posted anything in years. I messaged her 6 months ago and again about 2 months ago (messenger shows she hasn’t seen them, but who knows). I don’t have her e-mail address or phone number any more. I asked our group of friends, and no one has any contact information from her.

It kind of stinks, realizing you had feelings for someone so long after the fact. At a time when you can’t even do anything about it. Even if I WAS able to get in touch with her, and even if she DID have feelings for me, there’s nothing to be done about it. So, maybe it’s for the best that I can’t get in touch with her. I think I’ve had so much time to think about it that I’ve romanticized the idea of her. Who knows what it would be like if we started talking again. Maybe we’d have nothing in common anymore.

Or maybe there’d still be some connection. Sadly, I’m starting to think I’ll never know.

#personal #my thoughts #the one that got away #b

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dmitri-smerdyakov · 8 years ago

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Barely Holding Onto You - a Newt/Tina fic (Clean Version)

Tagging: @pinkdiamonddolphin

Based on THIS post

Basically, due to the lightning curse/whatever Grindel!Graves used on Newt in the movie, it’s left him infertile. Now Newt and Tina are married, and they’ve been discussing having a family but nothing’s working.

This fic has been…painful to write. Not because I have experience with the topic(s) but because I just struggled writing it. It’s been a labour of love, blood, sweat and tears (literally that last one), so I hope that I’ve done it some justice.

This is NOT related to any of my other Newtina fics – this is a one off. As such, some other things are different too so that I can separate it more clearly from my other fics: for example, Jacob/Queenie and their kids are different, as are the years that everything happened etc. etc. It’s a whole new fic-verse!

To add a few other notes:

I’m not sure how much they knew regarding sperm and eggs during the mid-30s but I’ve tried to be somewhat accurate on everything else historically.

The “glass/jar” was used instead of a plastic cup for male (in)fertility tests – thank you @katiehavok for that information!

This post is for the CLEAN VERSION OF THE FIC. If you want to read the explicit, read it HERE. Because this one is the clean one, I’ve had to edit the original smutty fic down – it’s still heavily implied what is going on, but I have done my best to make it clean without taking out important parts of the story.

Anyway, here’s the fic - enjoy!

She already knew what she’d find before she pushed back the duvet – she knew because of the tell-tale cramp in her lower abdomen, because of the sudden stickiness between her legs, because she just knew.

It didn’t soften the blow at all when she saw the crimson stain on the sheets and her pyjamas.

Tina inhaled heavily, closing her eyes and lowering her head; it wasn’t the first time she had gotten her hopes up, and it probably wouldn’t be the last…but she had hoped so desperately, and for a moment that seemed like it might have been enough. She allowed herself a few seconds to wallow in her own self-pity before pulling herself together; there was no point in sitting in bed depressed over such a thing, and she had to get ready for work.

All it took was a quick Scourgify for the evidence to be removed from the sheets – it was as if it hadn’t happened. Newt would never know any different, really.

Tina had a quick shower before dressing, ignoring the pain she felt inside as she pulled on the elastic belt that always pinched at her skin, the one with the persistently-stained cloths that never seemed quite clean no matter how much she washed them, and hurriedly finished dressing. When she re-entered the bedroom, her husband was still blissfully unaware as he continued to sleep; he would be rather disappointed, she knew, once he found out that another month had passed and they still hadn’t been able to conceive a baby. It had been more than two years now since they had discussed and agreed on starting a family, more than two years of regular trying…but nothing was happening, no matter how hard they tried.

It’ll happen soon, Queenie had assured her just a few days ago, just you wait.

It was easy for her to say, Tina had thought, for her sister and Jacob already had three children of their own (with many more sure to be on the way, the rate they were going).

She immediately felt guilty for thinking that; she adored her niece and nephews – she and Newt both – and she was of course happy for her sister because she knew that it was what Queenie had wanted since she and Jacob married. Having said that, it was difficult not to feel slightly bitter that her sister was able to do yet another thing that she didn’t seem to be able to: perfect blonde Queenie was of course able to have as many children as she wanted without really trying while Tina – bland, plain, prickly Porpentina – struggled with something that should have come so naturally to her.

She slipped on her shoes and shrugged on her jacket before casting one last look at Newt; he would see the bloodied pyjamas in the wash basket and he’d know that this month had brought yet another failure – that she had failed him again – and she didn’t really want to be around when that happened.

I’m sorry, Newt. You deserve so much better.

Newt was silent when Tina joined him the case that evening, not even looking her way as he finished throwing pellets for the mooncalves; she didn’t say a word either, watching him intensely as she waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, merely casting a glance her way before moving on to the next habitat, she cleared her throat loudly.

“Newt.”

He stopped, slowly turning to look at her; his eyes, usually so alive and bright, seemed dullened with misery. For a moment they just took each other in, waiting for the other to say something to break the course tension in the air – neither of them wanted to be the one to do it, even if it was a topic they absolutely needed to discuss.

Finally, Tina looked down at the ground and folded her arms. “I got my period.”

“I know,” Newt muttered, voice rather hoarse. “I saw your pyjamas in the basket this morning. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Her glare was half-hearted, clearly not convinced by his feeble words.

“No, I really am sorry,” He repeated, louder this time. “Next month…maybe things will be different.”

“You say that every month,” She stated, and though she was trying to stay strong there was the faintest waver to her tone. “And they never are different.”

Newt swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly wishing that he knew the right things to say, the right things to do. “Oh, Tina… I’m so sorry.”

Perhaps it was the tenderness in his own voice that caused her to crack, or maybe the pained expression on his face – but either way, Tina found herself suddenly moving forward into her husband’s arms as she struggled not to allow her feelings to overcome her. He held her dutifully as she pressed her face into his shoulder, his hold on her secure and comforting as he listened.

“I’ve let you down again.”

“You could never let me down, love. Never.”

“What if it’s my fault?” She asked, no louder than a whisper – but he heard it as if she were shouting, painfully clear. “What if it’s my fault we can’t have a baby?”

“It could just as easily be me,” Newt reminded her despondently. “There are a number of things that mean it could be my fault…the war, an experimental potion gone wrong without me realizing…”

She pressed closer to him, obviously trying to hide the fact that she had broken into tears. “I’m sorry, Newt.”

It was a word that was continuously being used between them lately, it seemed – but it was also the only word that really seemed to fit their situation too.

Later that night, as they lay in bed tucked closely together, Tina rested her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath, avoiding his eyes.

“What if I can’t have children?”

“Tina…”

“What if…if I’m physically incapable?” Her eyes were glistening again. “What if I can’t give you children?”

Newt brushed a finger against her jaw before using it to tilt her chin up to look at him. “Don’t say that. I’m more than sure that there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you – it could just as easily be me.”

“But what if-?”

“Then that’s fine,” He interrupted gently. “We’ll love each other and grow old without children; we’ll have all of our creatures to love, and our nieces and nephews. Besides, for all we know, we could conceive in just a couple of weeks from now if we continue trying regularly.”

“I…I suppose.” Her fingers drifted over the hard lines of his chest slowly, her mind clearly miles away. “I didn’t think I’d want a baby this much…but I do. I want our baby.”

He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes as his lips brushed over the top of her head. “I know. I want that too, Tina; I want more than anything for us to have a child together…we’ll just have to wait and hope that it will happen soon.”

As always, the bleeding came and went within just a few days that seemed to stretch on more than they should; as soon as their creatures had been fed and settled for the night, Tina had taken his hand and led him upstairs to their bedroom. She was somewhat unsure as she kissed him, and it was this uncertainty that made him falter.

“Hang on, love,” Newt murmured, hands resting gently on her shoulders. “We don’t have to…not tonight, not if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” She stated quietly. “Not because of a baby – I just need to know that…that you do still love me, even if no baby does come of it.”

“Oh, Tina… Always,” He affirmed, leaning in to-capture her mouth in a searing kiss. When they pulled away briefly, his words were warm and soft against her lips. “Always and forever.”

They turned down the lights in the bedroom completely before moving to the bed, kissing and stripping off the layers of clothing bit-by-bit; they were slow as they laid together, whispering words of love and devotion to each other.

“I love you.” His words were muffled into her skin as he pressed his lips to her neck, inhaling her. “Don’t forget that…I want you, no matter what.”

Their love-making was tender and sweet beneath the covers, thriving on the touch of skin-on-skin as they moved together. They held each other close as they finished, sighing and gasping with relieved relief.

Afterwards, as they shifted and he tucked her underneath his chin, he felt her crying openly; he didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what was bothering her. “Tina…”

“I’m fine,” She dismissed weakly, pressing her ear against his chest; she could hear the steady beat of his heart, a strong thrum.

He ignored the burn of his own tears, clouding his vision, and instead closed his eyes. “Please don’t forget… I need you, Tina – no matter what comes, I need you.”

Tina remembered how it used to be before – before they had started trying for a baby, before things started to go wrong – and ached at the memory of what she was now missing; instead of passionate love-making it was now the business of trying. Each time they both worried if it might have worked, and each time it was proven that it hadn’t; it was tiring, a routine…and she hated it, she hated that something so intimate and wonderful felt like a chore.

But this hadn’t been trying – this had been different, this hadn’t been about if they could conceive a baby, but rather just being together, loving each other. She didn’t want to lose him – couldn’t – because she knew, as self-sufficient as she made herself to be, that she needed him too.

Over the years, Credence had found himself growing more and more at home inside the case; perhaps because, when he was there, he didn’t feel so strange or like a freak (a word he still hated with a passion, a word that brought back awful memories he’d rather forget), not when he was surrounded by all of these wondrous beasts. While at first he had been hesitant to come out of his shell, scarred in more ways than one by the past, he was now a far cry from the frightened young man who had repressed his magic with frightful consequences – and he had two people in particular to thank for that.

It was more than easy to quietly study Newt and Tina in the case; both of them were rather awkward in the real world, outsiders like himself, but down here they both seemed just as at home as he himself felt. They had helped him more than they could possibly imagine, giving him shelter and protecting him, making sure that MACUSA were unaware he had in fact survived their attempt to kill him, and they had even helped to teach him magic in whatever ways they could – they had given him a place he could call home, and that was this case.

Credence usually enjoyed watching them from afar: they had both grown as much as he had with time, their relationship moving and blossoming like the various herbs that Newt grew in and around his shed, and while they weren’t overly affectionate as a couple there was still a certain aura that seemed to encompass them when they were together. He knew that they were both very happy together, that they certainly loved each other (unlike some couples he had occasionally witnessed); in a strange way, being in their presence put him at ease and watching the small moments between them gave him an inexplicable warmth.

Things hadn’t been like that recently.

A certain tension had seemed to materialise between the couple over the past few months, driving an invisible wall between them that neither acknowledged – but Credence knew about it, and he felt it as though he were trapped in the wall like a ghost, caught between the two. There were no arguments, of course, for they weren’t the type – but their interactions had turned rather frosty with the time that passed, as if they were avoiding talking about something they should and instead fumbling for something else, something meaningless. It was clear that things had changed, and certainly not for the better.

It greatly unsettled Credence, if he was being honest: he didn’t like the terse interactions he witnessed, didn’t like how cold things had become – it reminded him too much of how things had once been, and he hated it. The comfort and ease he had once felt at being surrounded by wondrous magical creatures had faded into something strange and unpleasant because it didn’t feel right at all.

That July afternoon, Newt had appeared somewhat more frustrated than usual; he had lost his temper quicker than usual when the Niffler stole his wedding ring, shaking it more vigorously than he normally did, and Credence could just tell that something was very wrong. This was why he approached the older man with slight trepidation later, debating just how best to discuss the matter.

“Mr Newt?” It was a habit he still hadn’t shaken, no matter how many times they corrected him for it. “Is…everything okay?”

“Completely,” Newt stated firmly, not even looking up from the Occamy he was tending to. “I’m absolutely fine.”

Credence gave a nod. “O-Oh. Well. It’s just that…that you seem kind of tense. You and Miss Gol- Miss Tina both, I mean.”

The Magizoologist seemed to freeze at his words; the Occamy in his hands gave an indignant chirp at being ignored, and after a moment he lowered it back into the nest. “I see. What makes you say that, Credence?”

“Nothing really,” He hurriedly dismissed, suddenly worried he’d annoyed the older man further with his remark. “It’s just that I’ve noticed you and Miss Tina are…cold. Neither of you smile so much, and I just thought…it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Newt assured him half-heartedly, looking somewhat surprised. “I suppose…you’re not wrong, really.” He sighed as he straightened up, avoiding his assistant’s eye as he tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “Things aren’t exactly…easy for us at the moment, I’m afraid…you see, Tina and I have been hoping for a while now that we might have a baby.”

Credence blinked owlishly at this, clearly taken aback. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” He muttered. “We’ve been trying for two years now to have a baby, you see.”

“Two years?” The younger man was quite shocked by this revelation. “Does it usually take that long?”

Newt’s expression darkened. “No.”

Finally Credence understood where the sudden tension had come from – while he wasn’t quite an expert on human relations (he felt himself grow pink in the cheeks just imagining it sometimes), it made some sense that having trouble having a baby might cause a couple to grow apart with time with stress. “I’m sorry, Mr Newt; I had no idea that-”

“It’s fine,” Newt interrupted, looking up; his eyes were glistening with tears, a clear sign that he was pained by the subject. “We’re going to continue trying…it will happen at some point, of course…sooner or later.”

Credence wasn’t so sure that this was true – even he knew that two years was a rather long time to be trying and waiting to have a baby. He didn’t dare say this, however, out of the fear that he would upset or push Newt away if he did; instead, he gave a small nod and merely said, “I’m sure it will, Mr Newt.”

He hoped it would – in his opinion, if two people deserved to be happy and get what they wanted, it was Newt and Tina.

She could have sobbed when she woke up to blood-stained pyjamas that morning, any hope she had held broken and shattered.

Instead Tina cast a cleaning spell on the bedsheets before retreating to the bathroom to clean up; she let the water in the shower run blisteringly hot, scorching her skin and turning it pink, hoping that perhaps the pain she felt inside would be numbed by a different kind of pain outside. She put on the awful cloths and belt again, hands shaking somewhat, and left the ruined pyjamas in the washing basket – a silent sign for her husband to notice every month, a representation of her failure.

She dressed for work quickly, not wanting to have to face him when he woke now, before taking a moment just to study him; Newt was blissfully oblivious to her agony as he slept on peacefully, and a tiny part of her wanted to hate him for it. He would wake in an hour or so, go to the bathroom and see the pyjamas in the basket – and then any affection he felt for her would probably ebb away, perhaps replaced by loathing or disappointment.

I can’t even give him a child – something that should be so natural and easy.

Not for the first time, Tina wished that she were more like Queenie; usually it had been some envy that her younger sister was so confident, so vivacious, so perfect – now it was resentment due to the undeniable fact that her sister had no trouble whatsoever having children. She still loved Queenie, of course, but it was unfair that her perfect blonde sister had to be able to do yet another thing that Tina herself couldn’t.

No matter what her husband said, she still felt that she had let him down – that he deserved someone else, someone who could give him what he wanted…someone who wasn’t her.

As had become the custom, things were once again tense between the two of them: they barely spoke for the next few days, awkwardly avoiding any topic of conversation that would have required them to speak more than a few words. It was only at the end of the week, when things seemed unbearable, that Newt finally brought the topic up whilst they were working in the shed together.

“Tina, I know that you…you had your period this week,” He stated carefully. “I think that perhaps we should talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” She denied, gritting her teeth together as she plucked some herbs from a plant.

He gave a sigh. “Tina-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Tina snapped, turning on him. “Mercy Lewis, Newt, can’t you just leave it alone?!”

“I’m trying to help!” Newt defended, frowning deeply at her. “Tina, it’s been well over two years now since we started trying for a baby and nothing has come of it – something is wrong, and we both know it!”

“Nothing is wrong!” She snarled, slamming her hands down on the wood of the workbench. “Everything is perfectly fine-”

“We both know that’s not true!” He interrupted, and his voice sounded harsh even to his own ears. “If it were perfectly fine then we would have a child by now – we would probably have several, the way we’ve been going – but we don’t and there’s something not right about this! Merlin, Tina, can’t you see that something must be wrong with one of us?!”

Tina straightened up, her glare almost-murderous. “How dare you?!”

“Can’t you see that we need to seek out some help?” Newt questioned. “If there’s something wrong with either of us then we need to be aware of it so that something can be done… The way we’re carrying on, Tina, we’re never going to have a child and we’ll end up hating each other because of it!”

There was a long silence that seemed to stretch and settle over them as they stared each other down, the tension reaching a painful peak that only served to remind them how far a chasm had been created.

Suddenly, there were tears in Tina’s eyes – and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop them from rolling down her cheeks; Newt was by her side immediately, anger vanished and replaced by concern as he embraced her. “Tina…”

“If you want a family and I can’t give it to you,” Tina wept, shoulders shaking. “I’d…I’d understand if you wanted someone else.”

“What?” He felt his heart sink into the deepest pit of his stomach at her words; for a moment he was quiet, avoiding her eyes as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Is that what you want? Is this what this is truly about? You…You want to be shot of me?”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all!” She choked out. “No, I mean…if you want children and if I can’t give them to you, you…you should just put me away, get rid of me, and… I wouldn’t blame you, Newt, if you wanted to marry someone else, someone who can give you children and a family.”

Newt pulled away, shaking his head as his eyes filled with tears. “No…No, don’t say that…don’t ever say that, Tina!” Suddenly he was sobbing, pressing their foreheads together as he broke down without any warning. “Never…Never, I could never want anyone but you.”

They were crying together steadily, holding each other in the middle of the dimly-lit shed as all of the feelings and emotions they had kept hidden poured out into the open; Tina buried her face into his shoulder, clutching to her husband as though he would be pulled from her grasp at any moment. “Of course I want you too, I could never want anyone else either, but…but you deserve so much better, you deserve someone who can give you what you want-”

“I crossed oceans to be with you,” He whispered, still crying heavily. “Do you not know how…how awful it was, some days, being separated from you? I wouldn’t ever be fool enough to give you up, Tina, never, never in a thousand years would I be that big a fool… What I want is you, as trite as that sounds, a-and I want you for as long as you’ll have me.”

The noise she made was somewhere between a laugh and another sob. “I know, I know…I waited for you too: I waited for your letters, for your book, for you… Do you think I’d push you away after all that?” She took his face into her hands, pressing their foreheads closer together. “I’m not going to abandon you, Newt, not now and not ever…but if you really want children, and I can’t give them to you-”

“Stop it,” Newt interrupted, his hold on her tightening just a tad. “If we end up never having children, then so be it – you’re all I need, Tina, and I mean that. I’m not going to leave you, I’ll never leave you.”

He was surprised when she pressed a kiss to his mouth, but he responded all the same; she was still crying, her body trembling somewhat, but he pressed himself against her as his hands drifted to her waist. When they separated, both somewhat out of breath, Newt could feel his eyes stinging with tears again.

“Tina…”

“I need you,” Tina exhaled, voice breaking. “I need you, Newt, I need to know for certain that…that you mean it.”

Somehow they managed to stumble to the bunk that was in his shed, never once separating; he laid her down beneath him, licking his lips before leaning down to trail kisses down the soft expanse of her bare throat. She sighed, a mangled variant of his name mixed with pleasure and tears, hands tangling in his hair. He was tender as he undressed her, his lips following his hands in worshipping her body devotedly.

“Is this still okay?”

“Yes,” Tina agreed, voice tremoring slightly. “Completely.”

It wasn’t long until he undressed too, leaning over her and stroking her cheek. “My absolutely stunning wife. I love you so very much.”

“I love you too,” She managed. “It’s only ever been you. Please, Newt, do it…make love to me.”

As they made love, he mumbled loving sentiments into the hollow of her throat, holding her to him; he would never abandon her, he told her, for she was his wife and she was his – and he was hers too. He didn’t want some exotic wife, not even one whom could give him a family, for all he wanted was this beautiful woman he loved so dearly.

He was there to catch her as she finished, and he was not far behind. They held each other close for a few moments afterwards, recovering from their activities; both were blissful and sated, if only for a short time.

And then she felt the wetness of tears against her collarbone.

“Newt?” Tina whispered, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “Dear, what’s the matter?”

Her husband was silent for a long moment, body still shaking from the intensity of his release, before lifting his head to gaze at her. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh, love,” She soothed gently. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m here.”

“I know, I know, it’s…I just…you are everything,” Newt admitted, face flushed from their activities – but also some embarrassment. “I don’t want to be without you, Tina.”

Tina was suddenly cupping his face, her eyes also filled with tears. “Without me? You won’t be, Newt, I promise.”

“But…” He choked, suddenly overcome. “What if it’s my fault we can’t have a child? I know you’re convinced that it’s somehow your fault, but what if it’s my fault? It’s a fair possibility…”

And just like that, she understood. “Newt…”

“What if it’s because of me that we’re not having children? What if I’m…I’m the problem?”

Tina had grown very quiet, clearly trying to sort through the thoughts in her head and comfort her distraught lover efficiently. “Perhaps…Perhaps you had a point earlier.” She took a deep breath, swiftly looking away from him. “Perhaps we should seek out some help.”

A torturous silence fell in the room at her words, and it took a moment for Newt to find the words to respond. “Okay,” He muttered weakly. “Okay.”

They didn’t speak as they separated, moving to clamber underneath the covers of the bed – usually they would sleep outside of the case, in their usual bedroom, but for some reason it seemed only right that they rest in the shed, near to their creatures. Once they were both settled somewhat (not bothering to dress, for there didn’t seem much point), Tina rolled over onto her side to face him; even in the dark, he could tell that she was torn.

“I’m sorry I reacted badly earlier,” She said finally. “But I think you were right and we should see a Healer…like you said, at least we’d know for sure.”

Newt found himself reaching for her, needing to feel the warmth of her bare body against his own, his favourite comfort. “Yes…I do suppose that would be for the best really. There’s no point in continuing this cycle, not when it’s making us both so miserable.”

Tina pressed herself into his side, resting her head on his chest – her preferred position to sleep in – and closed her eyes. “No matter what happens…no matter what they say…you’ll still love me?”

“Of course,” He agreed, his hold on her tightening just a tad. “No matter what, we’ll still love each other…nothing will change that, love. Nothing.”

As expected, the Healers at St Mungo’s had decided that the best course of action would be to run various tests in order to determine any possible problems. An additional appointment was made for a week later to run a few examinations on Tina – and, as it turned out, for Newt to “leave a sample” for testing.

It was a week later, and they were once more seated before Healer McCarthy, Newt bouncing his leg nervously as Tina chewed at her bottom lip. The older woman smiled kindly at them as she went through their papers, making sure that everything was in order; finally, she stood up and used her wand to levitate the files into the air.

“Alright, Mrs Scamander, if you just come with me then we can start the physical examination. Mr Scamander, one of my colleagues will be with you in just a moment to take you to a quieter room.”

Tina looked rather nervous as she was led away, and Newt wished he could go with her, if only to make sure that she wasn’t alone; instead he looked down at the floor and tried to calm the beating of his heart. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done this, if he was being honest, far from it – but it was rather embarrassing all the same.

The male Healer who came to accompany him looked rather sympathetic and smiled cheerily at Newt as he took him down a long corridor and to a small room; it was white-walled, sparse, little furniture save for a few chairs and a table. There was an empty glass object on the table, and he tried not to go too red-faced at the sight of it – he knew exactly what it was for.

“Take as long as you need,” The Healer said kindly, still grinning somewhat as he closed the door behind him. “Just leave it behind the glass window when you’re done.”

Newt sat down on one of the chairs nearest to the table, trying to avoid looking at the cup again just yet; of all the things he had been asked to do, this might have been the most embarrassing – it was one thing in the privacy of a place you called home, but a hospital did not qualify as that at all. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and willing himself to remain level-headed: the sooner he got this over and done with the better.

What a coward he was, he thought to himself: the only contribution he really had to make was by pleasuring himself – Tina would be prodded and interrogated mercilessly, asked intimate questions that even he wasn’t quite sure the answers to, and yet she had gone ahead without a single complaint. He knew that it was because she wanted a child – she had for two years now – and if this perhaps brought them one step closer to achieving that then it would be worth it.

Truthfully, he was terrified of what the results would be: he had made sure to constantly assure Tina that, should the blame lie with her, then he would love her no matter what – but what if it was his fault? What if he was the reason that they had been so far incapable of producing children?

Thoughts like this weren’t helping him in any way – especially not with this – but he couldn’t help it; once the sample was tested and the Healers had the results, that would be it. There would be no uncertainty, no returning to how things had been before – there would be a final outcome, and they would have to work around it no matter what it was.

Newt thought about his wife – how she was most likely feeling the same way he was – and sighed; she was the reason he was doing this, he reminded himself, the reason he was sitting in a small room with a glass jar on a table. For the past two years, he had watched Tina grow more and more disheartened, more depressed with each month where they didn’t conceive a child, and it pained him to see her so unhappy. They had been stuck in the same dreary cycle for two years now: trying to conceive, failing to do so, feeling miserable, trying again…it was exhausting, and it had taken a toll on Tina as well as himself.

He cast a look at the cup and looked away again hurriedly; pleasuring himself into a small cup had not been something he’d ever imagined doing, yet here he was.

I’m doing this for Tina – if this is what she needs me to do, then so be it.

With that in mind, he tried to force himself into that headspace: he’d never get anything done worrying about the future, and he had been the one to suggest seeking help…he had to square up and get on with things, as one might say.

Alright, Newt forced himself to think: I’m doing this for Tina. She’s the reason I am here – I’d do anything for her if it made her happy, even this… She wants for us to have a baby, my baby, and I want her to, so I have to do this…

Somehow he manged to get it done; it took a great deal of imagination and recalling memories on his part, but eventually he managed to do what he needed to into the cup. He took a few minutes to recover, cheeks flushed; when he opened his eyes, he was rather embarrassed by the sight of the cup and had to drag his gaze away to look at something – anything – else. He knew that there was a reason he had done it, but all the same…it was not something he would ever want to do again.

The hardest part was over, Newt told himself as he readjusted his clothing; he just had to leave the cup behind the small sliding glass door on the other side of the room, and that was it. The Healers would test it to determine if there was any problems and give them results in a week or so.

Being honest, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the results or not.

He carefully placed the lid on the cup, making sure not to spill anything, and silently left it behind the sliding glass door; no one appeared to be on the other side watching him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew what he’d been doing in this small bare room. Briefly, he found himself wondering just how many other men had been in his position – how many had done the same thing he had just done in a moment of desperation.

It’s okay, Newt told himself in a half-hearted attempt to reassure himself; after all, it’s not as if anyone but myself or the Healers will see it…it’s for us to have a family, it’s important. No need to be so embarrassed really.

Even with that frame of mind, he didn’t want to remain in this room for much longer – the sooner he left and attempted to forget this the better.

Tina’s examination and questions ended that afternoon with the conclusion that she was healthy and didn’t appear to possess any illnesses that would have made it difficult to conceive; far from putting Newt at ease, it only increased his anxiousness for his own results, which would not be available for another week or so. The Healer affirmed that she would let them know when his results were ready so that they could come in for another discussion on what the next step would be.

As soon as they had apparated home, Tina looked visibly relieved.

“I thought…I thought there was something wrong,” She admitted. “When they started asking about my…periods…and they asked if I got them heavy, I was certain that they were gonna say it was me.”

“Well, it doesn’t appear to be you,” Newt assured her, forcing himself to smile despite the fact he was internally worrying very much. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

It had been a week since they had last been intimate together, and so as soon as all of their creatures were settled for the night the two retreated to the bedroom for some very much needed time alone. There were no words as they kissed and embraced, moving together in a way they were rather fond of, and it wasn’t long until they were cuddled underneath the covers together, both sweaty and sated.

Newt’s eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. “If it’s me-”

“I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with either of us,” Tina interrupted quickly, sensing the silent struggle he was enduring. “Maybe we’ve just been trying at the wrong times…maybe there’s nothing at all to be worried about.” Her hand cupped his cheek gently, a kind warmth in her touch. “Don’t fret over this, Newt. Please. There’s no use in it.”

There was no disagreeing with her when she used that tone of voice, firm and set, so he simply nodded and pulled her closer to him so that they could get some much needed sleep; as Tina dozed off beside him, rather content, he couldn’t help but wonder just how much longer he had left to enjoy sleeping beside her before it all crumbled away.

Healer McCarthy was smiling as she greeted Newt and Tina a week later, a folder full of papers in arm. “It’s lovely to see you both again. Now, Mr Scamander, you have a choice; some men prefer to be given their results in private, as a matter of pride – so if you’d prefer for your wife to wait outside then that’s perfectly fine.”

Newt cast a look at Tina – and he knew immediately what his answer would. “No, I’d prefer for Tina to be with me, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” The Healer agreed kindly. “If you’ll just come with me then, we’ll go to my office for a chat.”

Her hand slipped into his, a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless, as they followed the older witch down the corridor and into a small but well-decorated room. As soon as they were seated, Healer McCarthy looked at them both seriously – and it was obvious that whatever the news, it wasn’t good.

“As you’re both aware by now, the examination that we performed on you, Mrs Scamander, showed that you’re relatively healthy – even with a heavy cycle, it should still be more than possible for you to carry children.” Her eyes shifted to Newt, and he felt his stomach drop. “I’m afraid, Mr Scamander, that the issue here seems to lie with you.”

He could feel his wife’s hand squeezing his own, an anchor as he listened to the very news he had dreaded hearing for so long.

Healer McCarthy looked rather sympathetic as she gazed at him, her papers and folders spread out before her on the desk. “In the sample you gave, we found that while there were plenty of seminal fluids, there weren’t very many… “swimmers”, as it were – certainly not enough to impregnate your wife. To add, the ones that were there had a low motility…any would have died before having the chance to join an egg.” She paused. “I’m very sorry. I know that this is very difficult for you both to take in. If you like, I can leave you two alone for a moment before we discuss the options that you both now have.”

Tina gnawed on her bottom lip, looking to her husband; his face was uncharacteristically darkened, angered, as he swallowed. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“Alright then,” The Healer acquiesced calmly. “The chances of you getting pregnant with your husband’s child, Mrs Scamander, are extremely low.”

“But not impossible?”

Healer McCarthy gave a small nod. “Nothing’s impossible, dear, but it’s extremely unlikely – I wouldn’t count on it happening, I’m afraid. Now, if you both decide that you still want children, then there are other options; adoption, fostering…they’re both very big decisions, not to be taken lightly, so I don’t recommend making your mind up immediately, especially after the news you’ve just received.” She paused. “Again, I am…truly sorry.”

Neither of them spoke as they returned home and went through the usual daily motions without enthusiasm; immediately after they returned, Newt retreated into the case with his creatures – Tina knew, even without him saying a word, that he needed to be alone for a while. Instead, she settled for making herself a cup of coffee (as strong as she could) and curling up in the bedroom upstairs with a book.

Newt appeared a few hours later, avoiding her gaze as he walked into the room and started to undress; by this time, Tina had changed into her nightclothes and was waiting for him in the dark whilst sitting against the headboard. She silently watched him as he undressed and changed into his own pyjamas before settling into bed; he didn’t look at her as he rolled onto his side to face away from her, clearly not in the mood for words.

But it needed to be spoken about, whether they liked it or not, and they both knew it.

They were silent for a few minutes, both waiting for the other to speak first; finally, Newt gave a sigh, his voice quiet as he finally allowed himself to speak to her.

“I’m sorry,” He muttered, still not looking at his wife. “I’m so sorry.”

Tina’s heart clenched in her chest. “Newt…”

“This is my fault,” He stated, tears glistening in his eyes. “It’s all my fault we can’t have a child…it’s all because of me. I’ve…I’ve failed you as a husband, Tina.”

“No, you haven’t,” She denied weakly, putting a hand on his shoulder and turning him towards her. “You haven’t failed me at all, dear, I promise.”

“It’s my fault that we don’t have a baby,” Newt murmured, looking up at her through bleary and tired eyes. “You deserve so much better…you deserve a husband who can give you what you want.” He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. “I know I’ve let you down…and so if you wish to end our marriage, to wed someone who can give you what you want, then I won’t blame you-”

“Stop it, Newt!” Tina exclaimed, though it was clear she wasn’t angry. “Don’t be so ridiculous – I’m not going to ask to annul our marriage because of this, not at all!” She cupped his face with her hands, forcing him to look up at her so he knew she was serious. “We promised in our vows that we’d never leave each other, and I intend to stick by that promise until I die – nothing will change that, Newt, nothing.”

He choked, emotions suddenly getting the best of him. “But…But you want a child…”

“I wanted a child with you,” She reiterated firmly. “Our child, something we made together – but if we can’t have one then I will learn to accept it. I don’t need a herd of children to make me happy because I’m at my happiest when I’m with you, Newt, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“Tina-”

“We have our creatures,” Tina stated firmly. “They’re our children already, even if they’re not human; we already protect and love them so much, both of us. Besides, you heard the Healer: there’s a chance that someday we will have a child – nothing is impossible.”

She wrapped him in her embrace, holding him as he started to sob into her side; she said nothing, instead waiting patiently as he finally release the emotions and heartbreak he was feeling to her. She was also disappointed by what they had been told, just as much as he was – but she had meant every word of what she had said too: there was no one else she could imagine spending the rest of her life with, no one else who made her feel the way he did.

“I love you,” She told him firmly, turning his face up towards her. “Baby or no baby, I will always love you.”

Newt was still crying as Tina brushed the hair from his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead; for a few moments they remained this way, a quiet calm settling over them. After a short time he shifted, and she could feel his warm breath on the skin of her neck and chin – and then his lips seeking hers; despite her surprise, she found herself kissing him back on instinct, and for a moment it was easy to forget.

But then she felt him tense, and he was pulling away suddenly.

“You don’t have to,” He muttered, avoiding her gaze. “There’s…There’s really no point, we won’t make a baby…”

“I am not doing this to make a baby,” Tina stated firmly. “I’m doing this because I want you… But if you don’t want me to, then that’s fine; I won’t force you, Newt, not if it makes you uncomfortable. We can just sleep if you want.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, casting his eyes downwards before closing them tightly. “I…I don’t know,” He finally said. “I feel silly and pathetic saying this aloud but…but I do need you, Tina.”

“Yes… I need you too,” She agreed, cupping his face and trying to pull him back towards her. “Let me show you, Newt: let me show you how much I want you.”

“I…I need you,” He repeated, voice extremely weak. “I need you, Tina…I need you…”

She shushed him gently, pressing small kisses to his face; when she reached his mouth, however, she hesitated for just a moment. “Let me look after you, just this once…let me take control of things.“

He gave a small nod, and with that she leaned forwards to kiss him; there was no fire or passion but a loving tenderness, as if she was waiting for him to push her away again. It took a few moments for him to respond, and she wondered if he did want this – but then she felt his mouth working against hers slowly, his hands coming to grip her own tightly, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

When they separated, his eyes were glistening again. “I…I…”

“I know,” Tina said sincerely, rubbing her thumb over his cheek; he hadn’t shaved over the past few days, and his stubble felt rough to touch. “You don’t need to say it – I know. You’re mine, Newt, alright? You’re always mine.”

For a few minutes they merely kissed, slow but warm, familiarising themselves with each other. As her hands drifted down to his pyjama shirt, she pulled back somewhat and looked at him seriously, a question.

“Is this…still okay?” She asked, resting their foreheads together. “You can say ‘no’ at any time if you want, I promise.”

“No,” Newt said hoarsely. “Still okay. Please, Tina…”

There was no rush as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it down his shoulders; with this off, she leaned in to press another kiss to his mouth, reassuring him gently. She could feel the tears wetting his cheeks as he returned the kiss, could feel the pain he was going through as keenly as her own.

“Hold on,” Tina whispered, reaching for the buttons on her own nightwear. “Only fair.”

He was reminded of their first time all of a sudden, of how tentative they had been, and his heart ached at how simple things had been once. Not for the first time, he became aware of just how lucky he really was to have her – why she would have wanted to marry him in the first place had always been a mystery to him, but he hadn’t questioned it in case it ruined things.

Tina embraced him once more, her arms welcoming and as familiar to him now as his case with his creatures; as her mouth found his in another soft kiss, he hesitantly found himself moving his hands to her back so as to hold her. He wanted to feel her, not out of lust but because he needed to know she was still there, that she hadn’t abandoned him: he wanted to hold her close, just to know that she was there with him.

“I love you,” She murmured again between kisses, one hand cupping his face while the other slid around his shoulders. “I don’t want you to ever think otherwise.”

Newt closed his eyes as he tried to relax more into the kiss; he had been admittedly worried that she would no longer want him after the news, that she would want to leave and find a husband who could give her what she wanted…but she hadn’t, she had proclaimed that she still loved and wanted him. A part of him was relieved – the other slightly less rational part was still waiting for her to turn around and kick him out of their bed.

A soft hand dusted over his shoulders, down over the hard planes of his chest and his stomach; it stopped just above this waistband of his pyjama bottoms, and she pulled away to allow them both some space to breathe and to look him in the eye. “Only if you’re sure. I don’t want to push you-”

“No,” He interrupted, not looking at her. “I don’t want to stop. Keep going.”

She remained slow as she continued, reaching for him – only to falter when she found evidence that he was not quite enjoying this as she had hoped.

He choked suddenly, lurching away from her. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” Tina said quickly, pulling him back towards her. “Newt, listen to me; I’m not upset. If you don’t want to do this then please don’t force yourself – I won’t be angry or disappointed. I only thought that…I mean it, if you want to stop then I promise that I will not mind.”

“It’s not that,” Newt muttered, and he was starting to cry again. “I want to, I do, but…but I keep thinking about it, Tina, that I can’t give you a baby and…and I can’t help it.”

“Newt…”

But he was moving away, hiding his face like a wounded animal. “I can’t give you children – the one thing I should be able to do naturally. You deserve so much better, Tina, and I am…so sorry.”

“No, love,” She disagreed, shaking her head as her own tears started to prick at her eyes. He was surprised when her hands suddenly cupped his face, steering him towards her. “Listen to me, Newt: you are more than…than that to me. Nature doesn’t always get things right, and you know this better than anyone. I won’t lie to you, I’m…I’m devastated that we can’t have a baby,” She admitted carefully, wary of hurting him. “I wanted to have our baby more than I thought I would…But this doesn’t change how I feel about you at all. I married you because I love you – if we cannot have children together, then we have nieces and nephews and our creatures.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” He sniffed, looking away.

“I am not lying!” Tina stated, clearly appalled by this. “Newt, look at me: I would never lie to you, never." A tear rolled down her face, and he watched it fall with wide eyes. “You promised that if it was because of me then you’d still love me…why can’t you believe the same of me?”

Newt swallowed thickly. “I…I don’t know.”

“I do still love you,” She insisted fiercely, and she was suddenly crying with him – he couldn’t remember a time when she had cried quite like this. “For better or for worse. Please don’t think I don’t, Newt, please… I don’t need a baby to make me happy – you’ve already made me so much happier than I imagined ever being.”

For a few minutes they just held each other, sharing the grief that they both felt as they cried and embraced; it felt painful and raw as they both came undone, trying to offer each other comfort whilst also allowing their own miseries to wash over them. It was only as they both started to calm down, sobs dying into hiccups and sniffles, that Tina pulled away and rubbed at her eyes; underneath the hurt and sorrow, he could see that she was understanding too – giving even when she was upset herself.

“I don’t think we should,” She whispered mournfully, reaching for where her pyjama shirt had been discarded further up the bed. “I…I don’t want to force you.”

Newt felt his heart constrict in his chest. “No, you’re not forcing me at all, I promise. I do want you…I need you. I want to do this – I want to be close to you.”

Tina hesitated, her shirt clutched between her fingers as she considered what he had said. “Are you sure?” She questioned uncertainly. “Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes,” Newt affirmed, and he suddenly found himself reaching out for her, needing to feel her skin against his own. “Please, Tina…please.”

She dropped the garment back onto the bed, moving closer to him; she still looked unsure, even somewhat anxious. “Only if this is what you really want…as I’ve said, we don’t have to-”

“I want to,” He repeated, bringing his fingers to brush along the edge of her cheek. “I… A part of me needs to know that you do still want me.”

She took a deep breath, resting their foreheads together for a moment. “I do…always, Newt. Always.”

It was a newfound tenderness that they joined together in the dark; Tina continued to murmur and breathe reassuring sentiments into his ear – he could feel his heart swell when she called him “My Newt”, but he tried not to show it, for getting too emotional would do him no good really. He agreed, instead, for he was hers. Each kiss that she peppered him with was to convey to him everything she wanted him to know; she wanted him to know that she loved him so much more than she would have dared admit aloud, to know that she would never leave him, that of course she wanted him, in all the ways it was possible to want another person. His response was somewhat more obvious this time, fumbling as he kissed and drank in everything she had to offer like it was his last chance.

When they broke apart again for much needed air, Tina’s hands came to gently push at his shoulders. “Lie down for me, Newt; let me show you.”

Newt did as she asked, somewhat hesitantly, and watched as she moved to hover over him. Her mouth started near to his ear, kissing softly at first before moving down to his bare throat and nipping – not hard enough to hurt but enough to make him gasp out her name.

“Mine,” He heard her murmur into his skin. “Always mine…always.”

The kisses started to trail lower, over his collarbones and his chest; she paused over a particularly visible scar, just a few inches from where she knew his heart was, and brushed her lips over it. He couldn’t help but shiver slightly at the feeling, tilting his head back with a low sigh.

“My brave husband,” Tina stated, moving onto another scar. “You’re so brave and I am so lucky…and nothing will change how I feel…nothing…”

He closed his eyes as her kisses drifted down his torso, worshipping each of the scars she found and whispering an adoration into his skin to reassure him. She watched his face as she did this, studying his reactions to be sure that he was still completely consenting and comfortable; when she had finished kissing a scar on his lower stomach, she sat up and slipped her hands in his, squeezing his fingers in her own.

“Don’t you see?” She whispered to him, suddenly emotional. “You’re so much more to me than…than having children; you’re my husband, and I love you. I will keep saying it until you realize it, Newt – I love you, and I’ll always be here for you.”

Newt felt the air catch in his throat as he looked up at her, suddenly struck by the realisation that he was so ridiculously, unbelievably blessed; that afternoon as they had returned from their appointment he had thought that she would surely leave him, be so repelled by the fact he was the reason they could not conceive a child – but she hadn’t talked of leaving him at all, instead being so incredibly understanding and giving. She was a giver in every sense of the word, giving him so much more than he felt he deserved sometimes, and he found himself overwhelmed.

Tina brought one his hands, still linked with her own, to her lips and pressed a kiss to where their fingers interlocked; she maintained eye contact with him, gazing with unabashed adoration. “My Newt.”

“Please,” He found himself muttering, a surprising desperation in his voice. “Tina, I want you…will you show me?”

The corners of her lips lifted as she leaned down over him. “Of course, love.”

Newt found himself watching as she unlinked their hands and peppered kisses back down his body; when she had finished worshipping him once more, they met in an impassioned kiss that caused him to reach for her. They sat up together, holding each other close, as they continued their activities; when they were joined in the most intimate way possible, Tina shifted and looked down at his face – even in the dark it was obvious that he was trying to stop himself from crying.

“I love you,” She found herself murmuring softly, pressing her lips against his temple.

It took him a moment to reply, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. “I love you too.”

The pace that they made love with was erratic and heated – but it wasn’t about the physical gratification, really; he could hear her soft adorations in the air around them, could feel the love in her touch. Similarly, he wanted to drink her in and forget himself; it was a wonderful dance, he found himself thinking, a dance where they both gave and took in equal abundances.

He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, to thank her for still wanting and needing him – but he couldn’t find the words, instead only the occasional sound of pleasure. He refused to cry – not now, not while he had her loving him in such a way. He wanted this moment to last forever, this moment where they were intimately close and connected.

It didn’t last particularly long, but that was hardly the point.

Tina recovered first, her breathing shallow; she retracted her nails from his shoulders and instead slowly spread her hands over his skin – she had left light scratches and marks across his torso, marking him as hers and hers only. He had pushed his face into her chest when he had finished, and his entire body was shaking with small tremors; she pressed a kiss to his forehead, running her hand through his hair and feeling the sweat-soaked curls through her fingers.

It didn’t surprise her when she felt his tears on her chest, his quiet muffled sniffles echoing in the air.

“Newt, love,” She whispered, still slightly out of breath. “Talk to me – tell me what you’re thinking.”

Newt gave a choke, trying to contain himself. “I’m…I’m sorry,” Her husband croaked, lifting his face to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Tina stated calmly, brushing her thumb over his cheek ever so softly.

She held him as he cried, burying his face into the crook of her neck; it was uncomfortable for them to remain in this position, especially seeing as they were both sated and sweaty, but neither of them made to part just yet. She didn’t say a word as he allowed his emotions to pour out, instead dutifully stroking his hair back and holding him against her body.

Eventually his tears stopped, replaced by unsteady exhales and a slight hiccup as he forced himself to calm down; she was still there with him, gently cupping his face and tilting it towards her so that they were eye-to-eye.

“I’m sorry,” Newt said again quietly.

“You don’t need to be,” Tina repeated, resting her forehead against his. “It’s not your fault – you had no control over something like this… Besides, I don’t need a child to be happy, not really – I just need you. We can continue trying because it’s not impossible, the Healer herself said so, and if nothing comes of it then that will be fine because we’ll have our creatures and our nieces and nephews…and we’ll have each other, of course.”

His grip on her tightened, firm but not painful, and he inhaled heavily; for a moment he was silent, and she waited patiently for him to speak again. When he finally did just minutes later, his voice was weak and pained – but there was also a sense of relief too, she noted.

“Thank you.” His eyes were teary once more, though not with misery now. “Thank you, Tina.”

They slowly separated, not bothering with their nightclothes and instead slipping beneath the sheets; immediately Tina was wrapping her arms around him, nestling into his side with her head on his chest – as normal, as if nothing had changed between them.

Nothing had changed, Newt realized, and he felt the slightest feelings of hope and warmth settle in his stomach at the thought.

“I love you,” He murmured, closing his eyes as he relaxed into her touch.

Her voice came to him in the dark, clear as day and like a shining beacon. “I love you too – always, love.”

Two Years Later

It was relatively late when Tina joined him in the case that evening; Credence had gone home, and most of the creatures were either asleep or preparing to rest. She looked somewhat tired, but her smile was genuine – and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Long day at work then?” Newt mused, turning back to the Graphorn he had been attending to; it wasn’t the first night she had come home late, usually caught up with paperwork or another task at the office. “You should get to bed early, love, I can settle everyone for the night.”

“Actually,” Tina said quickly, and there was the slightest hint of nervousness hidden in her voice. “I’ll wait for you to finish your rounds…we need to talk.”

He was admittedly surprised by this but nodded nonetheless. “I see. Very well then – I won’t be long.”

It took just ten minutes to finish putting all of their creatures to rest for the night; his wife was waiting patiently for him near the tree that homed their Bowtruckles, arms folded as she gnawed on her lip. She forced herself to smile, however, as he approached and took the hand he offered without hesitation.

“Alright, what do we need to talk about?” Newt asked, looking her over.

Tina hesitated, looking across the expanse of the case – their case – at all of their creatures. “I…haven’t been feeling all that well lately.”

Ah, yes, he knew that already: she had come down with quite a nasty bout of flu just a couple of weeks previously, and he had helped to nurse her back to full health despite her complaints. “Are you feeling ill again?”

“Not quite,” She said slowly, looking back up at him. “But I haven’t exactly been feeling myself, so I thought I’d go to the Healer to check – just to be sure.”

“You should have told me,” He stated, somewhat anxiously. “I would have come with you-”

“It was a last minute appointment,” She confessed quickly, casting her eyes down at the floor. “I…I wasn’t sure if I should go, really, it seemed silly…”

Newt frowned but didn’t comment on her latter comment. “Well, what did the Healer say? Is there something that we need to be concerned about?”

Again, Tina paused and seemed to consider something before speaking. “I’m just thinking… Do you think we’ll have room for a new addition?”

“Well, I suppose it depends on the size,” He pondered thoughtfully. “There’s only so much space, even if I do extend some of it more. To add, there are some creatures that I’m sure we sadly can’t keep down here, no matter how much we might want to-”

“Newt,” Tina interrupted, and she waited until he looked at her. “I’m not talking about a creature…not really…”

He stared at her for a long moment, not quite understanding – and then their eyes met, and it hit him suddenly just what she meant. She waited with bated breath to see how he would respond, not looking away.

“Tina.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you mean…?”

And then she beamed at him, tears in her eyes as she nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

Suddenly Newt was kissing her hard on the mouth, pulling her towards him; when they broke away, he gave a shaky delirious laugh. “Oh Merlin…”

Before she could respond, her husband had sunk to his knees in front of her; he placed his hands on her stomach, spreading his palms wide as he looked on with wonder. Tina felt her heart warm when he pushed his face into her stomach, kissing it through the fabric of her work blouse – when he pulled away, however, he was sobbing.

“Newt, what’s the matter?” She asked anxiously. “Have I done something wrong?”

He choked, shaking his head. “No, no, not at all, it’s just…” His hands slipped into hers, fingers intertwined as he struggled to find words. “I think I need to hear you say it. Please, Tina, say it so I know for certain…”

She tearfully laughed, squeezing his hands tightly. “Newt…I’m pregnant.”

The noise he made was halfway between a sob and a chuckle. “Again.”

“I’m pregnant,” Tina repeated, and there were tears streaming down her face now too. “I’m pregnant – we’re having a baby, Newt.”

“Yes,” Newt gasped, resting his head against her abdomen. “Merlin, we are.”

“We’re having a baby,” She cried joyously, heart feeling as though it were about to explode through her chest. “We made a baby.”

His breath caught in his chest.

“We made a baby, Newt,” She reiterated tearfully. “After so long…”

He unlinked their hands so that he could push up the fabric of her shirt; before she could say anything else, he was pressing soft kisses to her navel as his shoulders shook. “We did it,” He whispered disbelievingly. “Tina…this is real.”

“You’re happy.”

“Of course,” He agreed, standing now; his hands remained on her stomach as he leaned in towards her, lips brushing against her temple. “I am so…so unbelievably happy and overjoyed, Tina. You are…glorious…magnificent. And you, you’re happy too?”

Tina forced back a sob of her own as she held him close to her, mouth turning up into one of the most beautiful smiles he had seen. “Yes, yes, I am!”

“I’m going to worship you,” Newt declared, taking her hand and leading her towards the shed. “I’m going to worship you and every single moment of this…I love you so much, Tina. Thank you.”

Tina gave a small laugh as she followed him eagerly, squeezing his fingers tightly in her own. “I love you too, Newt – always.”

THIS BASTARD IS FINISHED, THANK FUCK FOR THAT.

Literally. This fic is like…an alien, and I have finally killed it. (okay that’s a weird thing to say but it’s late and I’m tired)

I hope you all enjoyed (kind of). I kind of did enjoy writing it on a weird level…? If only because it was something new and separate from what I’ve written before.

Anyway, thanks for reading, I love you all!

#newtina #newt scamander #tina goldstein #porpentina goldstein #fanfiction #writing #infertility #my fanfiction #my writing #newt x tina #newt x porpentina #fantastic beasts and where to find them #credence barebone

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