#we all know John is smart enough to have been a doctor if he wanted to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

howredemptionwaswon · 2 years ago

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“How am I supposed to tell Arthur, Abigail? I can’t be pregnant. Not like this. I’m going to be thirty-five before the year ends. That doctor can’t be right. Arthur don’t want an old maid for his child. It has to be a mistake.”

Abigail could barely believe her ears. How could Mary think for one single second that Arthur would be anything but HAPPY about the news they just learned? She could understand this kind of reaction if they had been talking about someone like John ─ well at least the way he used to be when the gang was still together.

She had been preparing for this conversation ever since Mary asked her to take a trip into Blackwater with her to see the doctor. At first, she thought something was wrong with Mary, but soon enough she let her in on the secret. Honestly, Abigail was over the moon happy about the news. There was NOTHING in the world quite like motherhood.

“ That ain’t even true. I don’t see a man who carried your pictures around for years bein’ anythin’ but happy. That man loves you with everything he is. “ She tried to reassure Mary. “ And I don’t think three different tests are all gonna be wrong. “ She couldn’t help but smirk a little about how Mary had insisted they redo the test so many times. “ Listen, you’re gonna be a great mother, and Arthur, well he’s gonna be a great father. I couldn’t tell you how many times he went out of his way to do things with Jack when John wouldn’t. I think it’s just a case of nerves makin’ you overreact. “

Abigail could understand though. While most women like herself gave birth at an earlier age that didn’t shake the UNEASY feeling she had. John was still young and unsure of what he wanted at the time. She knew for a fact that Arthur wouldn’t take off as John had. Plus Abigail would be there every step of the way to help Mary through it all.

Mary could only nod along to what Abigail said. It all made sense. Arthur would never leave her. After all, Mary left him. They’d been young and in love, and Mary didn’t believe they could co-exist with such different lives. He proved her wrong, and in the end, they found their way back together, and it was like they never stopped loving each other. The pieces were picked back up, and they eventually became husband and wife. They couldn’t be any happier, but neither expected anything like this to occur. Arthur’s only child was killed long before they met, and Mary’s baby brother was practically her son whom she raised since their mother died when their father became a drunken gambler who cared more for himself than his own family. They doted on Jack like any uncle and aunt would, but to have their own child was simply remarkable and unbelievable. It was like a dream. In fact, Mary fainted in the clinic upon hearing the news. Poor Abigail had her hands full of her that day.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Abigail,” Mary told her as she took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Out of everyone in Dutch’s gang, she always liked Abigail the best. At first, she was taken aback by her role as the gang’s former prostitute, but she found the woman to be quick-witted, smart, and friendly to talk to. She didn’t make Mary feel like an outcast like the other girls had. And ever since then, she felt closest to Abigail, the one she could confide in most, so it was no surprise that she asked her to accompany her to Blackwater.

As they made their way to the carriage, with her arm linked with Abigail’s, she said, “I’m nervous and happy. I shouldn’t care what other people are gonna think about me being a mother so late in life. I should only care about what Arthur thinks.”

But how to break the news to him? Over a nice dinner? Or just bluntly? Too bad she couldn’t ask Abigail’s advice on that, seeing as how Jack’s conception and birth was a messy situation. Poor Arthur having to be present for all that drama must’ve been a headache.

“Should we buy anything else from the general store besides what the doctor gave me?” Mary asked. “Or you think we’re good for now?”

Abigail guessed running around with a bunch of outlaws helped her develop a thicker skin. It wasn’t easy hearing all the little whispers that would float around about who Jack’s daddy was. Everyone had a part to play and she guessed being a prostitute was the hand she had been DEALT. Long before she even got pregnant with Jack those days had ended for her. Despite the whispers, she knew who Jack’s daddy was. One thing she learned being in that gang was either you learned how to stick up for yourself and not take anyone’s shit or you ended up the ass of everyone’s JOKES and WHISPERS. She stuck up for what she believed in and no one could fault her for that.

From the start Abigail always liked Mary. While she wasn’t like herself or any of the other ladies in the gang there was something about her that changed Arthur. Arthur wasn’t the same RUTHLESS CARELESS man when Mary had been part of his life. She made Arthur a better person and she wasn’t the only one who noticed that. She once overheard Dutch talking to Hosea about how he needed to talk with Mary’s father. Surprisingly it wasn’t long after that when Mary and Arthur started having troubles in their relationship. She knew it had been Dutch’s doing.

” What are friends for? “ Abigail smiled reaching over to place her other hand over Mary’s. ” I think I’m as excited about this as you are. “ She would laugh because it was well past time for Arthur and Mary to have a family of their own.

” See there, you’re learning already. Arthur and that baby are the only things you should be worried about. If someone’s got a problem with you having a baby then that’s on them. They ain’t the one having it so it’s no business of theirs. “ Oh, Abigail would LOVE to hear someone say something ill about it in her presence. She would bet they wouldn’t be doing it a second time.

Once they reached the carriage she helped Mary step up and then she followed suit behind her. ” I think we’re good for now. He gave you what he believes you need. If he wants to add anything to it he will on our next visit to him. “ Abigail knew a few TRIPS and TRICKS of her own since she had gone through this with Jack. She knew all the best tea blends for cramping and cravings. ” That reminds me, have you had any weird cravings yet? “

Abigail took the reins and gave them a crack setting the horses to take them home. ” Have you thought about how you’re gonna tell him? “ She asked once they made it out of Blackwater and were on the trail headed to their ranch. ” I used the straightforward method with John and we know how that turned out but John was a different person back then. I won’t lie, a part of me would like to be there to see Arthur’s reaction but I’ll just have to wait for you to give me the details in full. “

Mary carefully set the rifle across her lap as they rode along the trail home. Arthur taught her how to shoot, and while she wasn’t fond of using firearms, she knew it was important to protect herself and her loved ones. Fortunately, they didn’t live too far from Blackwater.

“Straight-forward will be best,” Mary decided. “I don’t like keeping secrets from Arthur. Seeing as how things didn’t turn out well with Dutch and all of them, with those secrets being kept, I don’t want to let this news linger for long. As soon as I see him, even if he’s busy, I wanna tell him.”

The more she thought about it, the more excited she became. Even when she remembered the doctor telling her of the high risks of being an older mother, it didn’t matter. Arthur had been a young father and lost Isaac and his son’s mother, Eliza. Given the circumstances, it was tough. The only worries Mary had were her age and her body. She had to do everything she could not to stress out so much. She had to be strong, for her sake and most importantly for the baby.

“I want all of you to be present if possible,” Mary informed Abigail. “Even if it’s just Arthur and you, I couldn’t be happier.”

Then she remembered Abigail’s earlier question about the strange cravings. “Hmmm… so far, I’ve been wanting chocolates, boiled eggs, and tuna fish. Just out of the blue. Does that sound strange…?”

Beecher’s Hope stirred with activity. John Marston was loading the last of the milk jugs onto the wagon. Jack was in his room reading “The Wonderful Wizard of OZ” by L. Frank Baum. Rufus ran up behind John and barked up a storm.

“What is it, boy?” John asked the family hound.

Gazing into the distance, another wagon rolled onto the property, being driven by a familiar blonde rancher.

“Miss MacFarlane,” John greeted the young woman who lived on her family’s ranch in Hennigan’s Stead. Once she was close enough, he asked her, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“And how many times do I gotta tell you to call me ‘Bonnie?’” she scowled teasingly, a bright smile visible on her face every time she saw John. It was no secret that while she pretended to chastise him here and there, she had a bit of a crush on him.

Pulling up alongside his wagon, she parked next to him and hopped down from her seat. “We have extra grains and decided to donate some to you and your family. Old Farmer’s Almanac said it’ll be a brutal winter this year, so you might as well stock up while the weather’s still in our favor.”

John couldn’t believe it. He was quite grateful for this donation, and while his family wasn’t struggling, they could always save provisions. “Miss MacFarlane, I can’t thank you enough. Lemme get some extra hands to help us unload. Uncle! Hey, Uncle!”

He went in search of the old man, and it didn’t take him long to find the old bastard drunk and passed out under a tree.

“That son of a bitch,” John muttered under his breath. “No good and useless as always. What else should I have expected.”

While Abigail wasn’t actively holding a gun in hand, she had a revolver at her side. She HATED that thing and knew how much trouble the guys got into swinging those things around. John however insisted she carry the DREADED THING with her anytime she was away from the ranch. He even took her out several times teaching her how to aim it behind the ranch. Admittedly, she got pretty good at popping cans off the fence line.

“ I know that business with Dutch wasn’t easy for Arthur or John. He was like a father to them. Much like how Hosea was like mine. But you’re right, keeping secrets ain’t a good thing ─ even if it’s a good kind of secret. ” This was the kind of news she knew Arthur would have wanted to share with Dutch and Hosea but that simply couldn’t happen now. God rest his soul, Abigail missed Hosea something terrible.

“ Not far now. ” Abigail nodded in front of them, knowing they only had a few more turns before heading down the stretch of road leading down to the farm. Reaching up with one hand she wrapped her scarf a little more around her neck. Seemed like each day was getting a little colder than the last. She’s heard the talk about how this winter wasn’t supposed to be good. She believed it because she could feel it in the air.

Abigail couldn’t stop smiling. She was FLATTERED that Mary would want her and John to be present when she delivered this news to Arthur. “ Alright. Shouldn’t be too hard getting them together. If you wanna do it soon you see him then get ready cause we’re making the turn now. ” They were making the turn under the fenced archway. “ Those boys are always out and about doing something. ”

Abigail laughed. �� Doesn’t sound strange at all. When I was pregnant with Jack all I wanted to eat was chocolate and peaches. I got some good tea recipes to help calm the craving so they ain’t so bad. ”

Up in the distance, she could see a strange wagon pulled up to the farm. “ Wonder who that is? ” Abigail remarked giving the horse another crack from the reins.

Arthur was busing himself with cleaning the horse barn when he heard Rufus barking. The familiar sound of wagon wheels beating against the ground made him believe the ladies had made it back from their trip into town. Despite the slight chill in the air, he was dirty and sweaty from the work he had been doing. Shoveling horse shit wasn’t the GREATEST chore but it had to be done.

Pushing the wheel barrel out of the way and then placing the pitchfork up against the wall he stepped outside the bar and down toward the house. His eyes would narrow a bit not recognizing the wagon. He did however recognize the BLONDE who stepped away from it. Bonnie MacFarlane, boy was this going to be interesting if Abigail made it back soon.

Arthur only shook his head when John began bellowing for Uncle. That boy was never gonna learn that the old man was never going to be found when there was work to be done.

After everything that happened back with the gang Arthur would be the first person to come down hard on anyone not pulling their weight but for some ungodly known reason, he always seemed to let it slip with Uncle. Perhaps it was because of his age. Or maybe it was because SOMETIMES the old man did come in handy.

“ Marston, stop bitchin’ at him. You know it ain’t gonna change nothin’. What are you bellowin’ about anyway? ” Arthur asked as he began heading back down to where Bonnie was waiting for them. The close they seemed to get the bigger Bonnie’s smile seemed to grow.

Boy oh boy, Arthur thought as he shook his head. “ Good day to ya, Miss MacFarlane. How’s the Ranch been treatin’ ya? ” Arthur glanced over at the wagon seeing the bags of grain loaded in the back.

“Howdy, Mr. Marston!” Bonnie greeted. “Daddy gives his regards for not stopping by, but he says he looks forward to seeing you again at the ranch for another round or two of poker. He says he’s developed a new strategy to clean your pockets good this time.”

Around the same time, Abigail and Mary’s wagon arrived from the opposing end of the ranch. Rufus barked and ran over to greet them. Uncle grumbled and rolled onto his side just as they passed the tree he was beneath.

“Ladies, ladies,” he complained as he finally came about to consciousness. “Was tryin’ to sleep.”

John went over and kicked his shins. He didn’t care what Arthur said. “Get up!” he snapped. “Quit lyin’ around and be of use for once.”

Mary narrowed her eyes as she realized who the new arrival was. “It’s Miss Bonnie MacFarlane.”

Bonnie, taking note of Abigail being the driver of the other wagon, offered her a polite nod, and one to Mary as well. “Hello, ladies! Just here to give your families some extra supplies our ranch had on stock. Can’t be selfish, especially with winter lookin’ to be real nasty and all. Us neighbors gotta look out for one another and all.”

Jack emerged from the house, having heard all the commotion, and approached everyone. “Hi, Ma! Hi, Aunt Mary! Welcome back! Hey, Uncle Arthur! … Oh! Hi, Miss MacFarlane!”

John came back with Uncle and was relieved to see his son. The last thing he wanted was both Arthur and Abigail getting on his case about Miss MacFarlane. Time for a distraction. “Son, go help Uncle and Miss MacFarlane put the new supplies in the barn.”

Uncle groaned. “But I’m feelin’ my lumbago kickin’ up a fuss again, John.”

Jack happily offered, “Uncle, we can make a game out of this!”

“Ohhh, the only game I play is the one involving money,” was Uncle’s huffed and annoyed response.

Bonnie tried to hide her disappointment, as she ducked her head and headed back to her wagon. She climbed back onto it, where she assisted Jack to the seat next to her, while Uncle reluctantly led the way to the barn.

“Well,” Mary replied awkwardly once their wagon stopped, and she carefully climbed down from her seat. “That was… interesting… Now’s as good a time as any to tell Arthur, don’t you think, Abigail?”

Arthur wanted to crack a joke about what Bonnie said about her father but he thought better of it since all the ladies were present. He could already tell by the look on Abigail’s face that she was none too happy to see Bonnie.

As POLITELY as she could Abigail returned the nod. “ That’s mighty kind of you. Not many people are that generous without having other motives in mind. ” And for Abigail, that was being EXTREMELY polite. She had seen the way Bonnie just lit up like a bulb whenever she was around John.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust John because she did. It was the blonde female she didn’t EXACTLY trust. What decent woman doted over a married man? It just wasn’t right in Abigail’s book. “ I’d say looking out for one another is a good idea. ” She quickly added. The whole bit of her Daddy wanting to play poker with John made her feel like John was spending ENTIRELY too much time at that Ranch.

“ Old man all you do is sleep. ” Her head turned when she heard Jack calling out to them. “ Your FATHER is right Jack honey. See if you can’t help get those supplies into the barn. ” All the while Abigail didn’t look at John. She was fuming and knew John and everyone else could see it. Her attention now turns to Uncle. “ Old man you better help or so help me you won’t be eating tonight and you’ll be sharing the barn. ”

She watched as Bonnie climbed on her wagon looking so UPSET that John wasn’t coming along with them. Lord god if there was one up above she prayed he gave her STRENGTH to bite her tongue and not ruin this moment for Arthur and Mary.

Abigail removed herself from the wagon after Mary. instead of walking over to where John was standing, she stood closer to Mary and near the back of the wagon. “ I think it’s a good time. Needs something to brighten the mood around here. ”

If looks could kill both Bonnie and John would fall over dead. Abigail was blazing mad. He’s seen that look in her eye numerous times before. Arthur also knew when she had that look to steer clear of her. He felt a little bad for John but at the same time, he could only IMAGINE the rage he’d feel if he saw someone opening crushing on Mary. He’d lose his damn mind.

Making his way around to where the ladies stood Arthur crossed his arms looking a little confused. “ Tell Arthur what exactly? ” A brow lifted now wondering what those two had gotten into while they were in town.

John realized that Bonnie was looking at Arthur and probably meant to say “Howdy, Mr. Morgan,” she instead said “Mr. Marston.” Christ help him. He needed to talk to her and be blunt about where their relationship stood. He was lovingly and happily married to Abigail. The two of them went through so much together that there couldn’t be, and wouldn’t be, anybody else he’d rather be with than her. Bonnie was a hardworking girl who’d find a decent man one day, but it wouldn’t be him. Never in a million years. He’d have to make it up to Abigail. While he loved her spitfire, he didn’t want her fuming for days on end. While she was in this mood, he wouldn’t put it past her to really put rat poison in his dinner.

Mary bit her lower lip, and offered Abigail one last look, before approaching Arthur. He smelled of sweat and barn animals, but she didn’t mind. It was all part of the job. Hard work suited him. Living on a ranch wasn’t easy, but she enjoyed every moment of it. She loved it, as she loved this man before her. She wouldn’t trade any of this for the world.

Standing in front of him, she placed her hands over his. Her nerves were shot, but she somehow maintained some composure. She peered into his eyes and stated, “Went to the doctor’s today because I hadn’t been feeling well. Turns out…”

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

“I’m with child, Arthur. We’re going to have a baby!”

She smiled and even squeezed his hands with emphasis. To think she was terrified in the beginning, but the more she talked about it, the more thrilled she was to become a mother.

Despite being called Mr. Marston Arthur knew Bonnie was talking to him. He was the one who had been playing poker with her father. Arthur had been in the process of talking to him about finding a good place where he could buy or rustle up some chickens for their own Ranch. He should probably tell Abigail that it wasn’t John that was hanging out at the MacFarlane Ranch but he’d let John SWEAT a little before he offered up that information. Hell, after that slip of the tongue from Bonnie he wasn’t even sure his fessing up that information would even HELP matters. Arthur was pretty sure that one way or another John would find a way to make it all up to Abigail.

Abigail gave Mary a smile when she looked at her and nodded her head. She PROMISED she would be there and she wasn’t moving until the news was delivered and received. Under better circumstances, she would be at John’s side right now with her arm wrapped around his ready to celebrate this news.

Arthur’s head would slightly tilt to the side when Mary took his hand into hers. What had gotten into her? She was acting a little STRANGE and it was starting to worry him, even more so when she said she had gone to the doctor because she wasn’t feeling well.

He let out a deep breath, one that expelled his ENTIRE lung capacity in one breath. He didn’t move a muscle because he was replaying those words in the back of his head. It almost felt like the wind had been knocked right out of him but not exactly in a bad way. The news had taken him by surprise. It wasn’t like the two of them hadn’t been together before and both of them were younger back then and nothing ever came from it. Maybe he had thought after Isaac’s death that he wouldn’t be blessed with another because he had failed his son.

He took a step back, speechless as he looked Mary in the eyes. She was the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on from the day they first met and from that day forward. Their relationship blossomed faster than a field of wildflowers. They had their bumps in the road but they found each other despite the odds against them and made things work this time. He truly loved this woman, and something about this news made his heart SOAR.

He wouldn’t admit it but he was sure she could see his eyes getting a little glossy. “ A baby ─ are you sure? ” He found himself having to ask once more to make sure he had heard her right.

After giving her hands a squeeze he pulled her in close to him. His lips found hers in a way to reassure her that this was the happiest news he had heard in some time. He was going to be a father and he couldn’t be happier about that. This is how their life should have been all along.

Once he broke away from the kiss he looked to Abigail and then to John and shouted as loud as he could, so loud he was sure Uncle, Jack, and Bonnie could hear in the barn. “ I’M GOING TO BE A DAD! ”

Mary wasn’t sure if she could contain her delight. Her spirits soared high. “Doctor performed three tests to be sure, Arthur. It’s true.”

She was then pulled against her husband’s broad chest, and they shared a kiss. She hugged him tight as joy engulfed her. This was a dream come true for them both. Yes, they were up there in age, but they didn’t care. They shouldn’t. This was what they wanted, and so what if this milestone came later in life? They had no more worries, no more dangers. They had a home, they had family and friends. Likewise, they were settled and safe. For them, this was the best time to start a family. If not now, it would be never.

When Arthur broke the kiss, Mary couldn’t help but cover her mouth with her hands and laugh with joy. His reaction was priceless. She loved every moment of this. She wished there was one of those fancy motion picture men around to capture this on film.

Not wanting to test his luck with Abigail just yet (but absolutely wanting to make things up to her as soon as possible), John decided to give his support to Arthur and Mary. First, to his brother from another mother, he threw his arms around Arthur and gave him a hearty hug.

“Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy,” he told him, meaning every word. “You and Mary will make a fine family, and we’re gonna help you every step of the way.”

After patting him on his back, he went over to Mary and hugged her as well, along with a polite kiss on the cheek.

“Congratulations, and don’t you worry about nothin’,” he promised her. “We’ll take real good care of you and the baby, Mary. Real happy for you.”

Over by the barn, Jack stood up when he heard Arthur yell. He dropped the sack he’d been carrying and turned to Bonnie. “Did you hear that, Miss MacFarlane?”

Bonnie nodded as she stepped down from the wagon. “Sure as the sun would rise in the morning, Jack. Looks like you’re gonna be a cousin in nine months! Let’s go congratulate the happy couple!”

“Least we’ll know who the papa is,” Uncle commented, remembering the mess that came out of Abigail’s pregnancy. Then, remembering Jack was present, he shooed the boy out of the barn ahead of him before he could ask questions. Bonnie just gave the old man a strange look, shrugged her shoulders, and followed the boy out.

So many thoughts were swimming through the back of Arthur’s mind. For a moment he thought he might have to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t DREAMING all of this. For years he wallowed in his misery thinking Mary had left him for good and that he’d NEVER find that kind of happiness again, not like he had with her. Now here they were about to bring a new life into the world. Life was good.

Mary always had this radiant glow to her but right now she GLOWED in a way he had never seen before. He just wanted to wrap his arms around her, spin her around and then just dance all around the ranch with her. How he would love to freeze this moment in time with another one of those pictures so he would NEVER forget the look on her face right now.

Before he could even think about his next act John was embracing him in a hug. Arthur pat him on the back and gave him a nod when he pulled away. “ Thank you, brother. Gonna need all the help I can’t get. This is going to be all new to me. ” Arthur wasn’t there when Isaac was born. Yet another thing he could THANK Dutch for.

When John went to hug Arthur Abigail seized her moment. She put her arm around Mary and pulled her close against her arm. “ I know I done told ya all this before but I’m so happy for the two of you. Just like I told ya you had nothing to worry about. ” Abigail grinned.

When John started heading Mary’s way Abigail pulled away and made her way over to Arthur where she gave him a tight hug and kissed him against his cheek. “ Always told ya you were a good and deserving man, Arthur Morgan. You keep her happy, ya hear me? ”

“ Got no worries there, Abigail. Gonna do my damnedest in that department. ” Arthur commented back.

Just for a moment, Abigail forgot about their visitor. She was so happy that she just wanted to hug her husband. With her head slightly dipped she started making her way over to John.

“ Aunt Mary, Miss MacFarlane wants to congratulate you and Uncle Arthur! ” Jack could be heard shouting in the distance.

Suddenly Abigail was reminded and her face soured once more, just short of reaching John. She couldn’t handle SEEING that woman again and not going off the handle on her. “ Excuse me, I’m going to go start dinner and hunt down the rat poison. ” Abigail brushed past John and headed straight up to the house where she slammed the door closed behind her.

John’s shoulders slumped and he sighed. “Goddammit to hell,” he uttered. He couldn’t let this fester for long, and he was instantly on Abigail’s trail, following her into the house.

Before Bonnie could even call out to John, yet another wagon pulled up to the house at an alarming speed. Amos, one of Drew’s ranchers, was driving the wagon. “Miss MacFarlane!” he shouted. “We need you back on the farm! Got problems with the horses and the corral!”

Bonnie scowled. “Not again! I swear, nothing can get down when I’m not there!”

The blonde made her apologies before she told Amos she’d meet him back at the ranch. After bidding everyone goodbye and even thanking the Morgans once more, she quickly helped unload the rest of the grains, climbed back on her wagon, then made haste back to the MacFarlane homestead.

Once the dust settled, Mary couldn’t help but rub her temple. “That was… chaotic,” she couldn’t help but admit, and it was followed by a quiet laugh. “I suppose it added to the excitement of our baby announcement. I do feel a little tired, though, Arthur. I’m going to need to sit down for a bit.”

Inside the house, John caught up with Abigail. He stood before her and cut her off in her path.

“Stop, will ya? Why you gotta let Bonnie get to you like that, huh? Every time she comes around, you get riled up. What do you want me to do? Cuss her out? Shoot her?!”

Bringing a hand up, he caressed the side of her face. “Darlin’, there ain’t no other woman who could make me happy like you, and you know that. I love you.”

Awkward indeed but Arthur was more than used to John and Abigail having moments like these. He was sure that somehow John would make it up to her. That boy always seemed to find a way to get himself out of the DOG HOUSE with Abigail.

Arthur was sure to make sure Mary was clear out of the way when another wagon came barreling into the farm, kicking dust in its wake. In a way a made him feel a bit UNCOMFORTABLE. Normally when folks drove like that someone was hot on their tail and not in a good way. A hand rose to block the sun from his eyes and that’s when the man became recognized by him. Amos, he had seen him on the MacFarlane ranch many times.

Side by side with Mary he listened as the exchange was made. Taking about an evening filled with the unexpected. After Bonnie gave her apologies he nodded his head. “ No need for that. You got a ranch to tend to. Thanks again for the supplies, hope everything works out for you. ”

“ Can’t say that I miss that kind of chaos. ” Arthur was quick to agree with his wife. “ Have to disagree on that one. Don’t think anythin’ could be more excitin’ than that news. ” He would grin but would become a little more serious when she made mention of needing to sit down. “ Say no more. ” And with that Arthur placed an arm against her back and used the other to scoop up her legs to carry her bridal style. Up to the house he carried her until they were at the front deck where he sat her down in one of the chairs. Thankfully the houses were far enough apart that they couldn’t hear the yelling coming from John and Abigail.

“ Mrs. Mary Morgan I didn’t think you could find a way to make me anymore happier than I already am. ”

" Get outta my way, John. ” Abigail stopped in her tracks when John quickly cut her off.

“ Of course, I get riled up. I won’t stand for some woman comin’ to our home crushin’ all over my husband, John Marston. ” Her arms quickly snapped up to fold against her chest. “ You’re a married man and she knows it and it doesn’t stop her from tryin’ to flaunt around here tryin’ to get your attention and in front of your wife of all people. She doesn’t even try to hide it. Women like that ain’t decent, John. ” Reaching out she slugged John in the shoulder. “ Of course, I don’t want you to shoot her you big silly man. What you can do is set her straight John. Tell her can’t be no more of that behavior around here or anywhere else. If you don’t it’s only gonna encourage her. ”

She took a deep breath and exhaled after he said he loved her. It was UNFAIR when he used that method to try and make her less angry. “ Love you too John but it doesn’t change my mind none. Cause next time I’ll tell her myself. ” Stepping forward she rested her head up against John’s shoulder.

Mary held onto her husband tight as she was swept off her feet and carried back home. It brought back wonderful memories of her wedding day with Arthur. Best day of her life, really. It was everything she could ever dream about. The only person missing on the day was her mother, and as she sat on the chair beside her husband, and recovered from her dizzy spell, the harsh reality set in once more. Reaching for Arthur’s hand, she gave it a firm squeeze and didn’t let go.

“I’m so happy too, Arthur,” she told him, but her smile faltered just a bit. “I only wish Mama was here. I wished she was here for our wedding day, and I wish she was here for our baby.”

There was no shortage of support when it came to love, no question about it, but she had to take her mother’s place when it came to taking care of Jamie. She filled the void by raising the household while her daddy wasted away doing whatever he wanted, not caring about anyone but himself. She didn’t have that many years to have that motherly figure for herself. When Jamie was little, she more or less had to figure it out on her own.

“I’m fine,” she told him. “Thank you, Arthur. You know, you’re going to be the best father to our child. From what I heard from Abigail about how you took care of Jack, I already know how you’ll treat our baby.”

Her line of sight fell to their hands, and she couldn’t help but have her thumb rub small circles upon the surface of his skin. “After all, we have been quite… busy at night lately… I didn’t think… that is… I wasn’t thinking this… would happen…”

Her face grew warm as she vividly recalled how wild their bedroom activities had become. The things Arthur did to her - she was surprised the whole countryside hadn’t heard her scream!

John chuckled over Abigail’s statement. He knew she’d go through with it, too. There was no stopping her once she set her mind to something. His arms now wrapped around her slender frame, and he held her against him in a warm embrace.

“Sorry for makin’ you mad,” he murmured into her ear. “An’ I’m sorry for not bein’ there for you when you needed me the most.”

He thought back to those years when he ran away from his responsibilities of being a father to Jack. He’d been in deep denial, and he didn’t care what anybody said about him. The look of sheer anger and disappointment in Arthur’s eyes haunted him, yet he didn’t stop. He simply took off and didn’t look back. For an entire year, he went no contact and abandoned the gang. It was a miracle he was accepted back when he returned, and even then, he didn’t exactly accept his role as a father with open arms. No matter what he’d been doing for Dutch, Abigail remained with Jack: caring for him, raising him, as any loving parent should. There was a lot of growing up on his part, and a lot of questions when it came to Dutch. Thanks to Arthur, John’s eyes were opened, and he was able to become more of a more decent man.

John pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against Abigail’s, where he peered into her eyes. “Thanks for givin’ this stupid cowpoke another chance for bein’ decent. I promise you, that you can go wild on anyone who tries to make passes at me in front of you, deal?”

Arthur leaned forward in his chair and held to her hand. He knew his wife well enough to know when something was TROUBLING her and this was one of those moments. He didn’t always have the right answers but he always tried his DAMNEDEST to ease any troubles she had in whatever way he could.

It wasn’t until she mentioned her mother that Arthur stopped to think of his mother and father along with Dutch. He could understand that kind of emotion even though he didn’t quite have the same relationship with his mother and father as Mary had with hers. “ I know you do. ”

At a very early age, he watched his mother die of sickness. It’s a memory that would FOREVER be branded into the back of his mind. Child or not, something like that NEVER goes away. Then at the age of eleven, he witnessed the hanging of his father who had been arrested for larceny. For three long years, he roamed the streets alone until Dutch and Hosea found him. Both men were father figures to him. He watched one gunned down in Valentine in cold blood and the other… he couldn’t even bring himself to think about how Dutch had betrayed him.

“ I know things haven’t always worked out the best for us, but I promise that baby, boy or girl is gonna have both a mother and father. I can also promise that I’m not goin’ to make the same mistakes they did. We’ve faced the odds and beat them. ” Arthur was sure Mary knew that if it was within his power to have her mother here she would be.

But the SERIOUS moment seemed to break when she brought up their late-night activities in the bedroom. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. Being back with the woman that stole his heart after so long, well he just couldn’t help but get a little wild with her. “ Got to admit at the time of those activities a baby was the last thing on my mind. ” His eyes couldn’t help but dart over her form remembering how downright SEXY she looked each time she come undone for him. A cough would escape him as he tried to clear his mind of those thoughts for now.

“ How about we get you inside so you can rest a bit? I’m sure I could handle dinner tonight. ”

If there was one thing everyone knew about Abigail it was that once her mind was made up about something there was no telling her no. Through hell or high water, she would do WHATEVER she put her mind to. That was even more so the case when it came to John and Jack. She was FIERCELY PROTECTIVE of them both. Through blood sweat and tears she made her family work and she would be damned if some little daydreamer thought she was going to take that away from her.

“ John, it wasn’t you who made me mad. Okay, maybe a little because you should have said something to her but it was mostly her. ” Abigail admitted. Yeah, she started taking that anger out on him but that’s only because she LOVED the fool. Then she shook her head in a fashion as if she didn’t want him speaking of those times. “ That’s in the past. We promised to leave it there. ”

John didn’t have to say a word for her to know how much he beat himself up over his past actions. They were both younger back then and either one of them was planning on Jack but it had happened. Much like the news had just come for Mary and Arthur. John had to fight through his DEMONS and as painful as it had been at the time for Abigail she understood he needed that time. Things weren’t great when he finally came but the thing was he did come back and that meant something. Everything that happened was just another stepping stone that got them to the place they were standing now. It’s not something she would trade for anything. As silly and foolish as he could be at times he was her silly fool and she loved him with all her heart.

As their heads rested together she reached up and placed her palm against the side of his face. “ Thank you for comin’ back to us. But just so you know, I don’t need your permission for that. That Bonnie MacFarlane would have felt my full wrath had I not wanted to ruin Arthur and Mary’s moment. ” Her eyes caught with his almost DARINGLY before she leaned forward and kissed his lips. The kiss was soft and gentle. She could taste the mixture of whiskey and coffee on his lips and it made her long for more but she had to be mindful of Jack and remember that he could come barging through the doors at any time.

#t: unexpected news #feat: arthur mary abigail john #v: build a little home together #red dead redemption #c: arthur #c: john #c: abigail #c: mary #c: uncle #c: jack #c: bonnie macfarlane

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mindajane-blog · 10 months ago

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Grace upon grace

Trigger warning-- suicidal

"Indeed, we have all received grace upon grace from His fullness." John 1:16

I copied that verse down into my journal on January 1, 2024.

When I reflect back on 2023 until now, I am overwhelmed. I'm so incredibly grateful for Jesus' presence with me and for my family and friends. I don't know that I would be alive without Jesus and these dear people.

Last winter something bad happened to me and then in the spring, my Grandma died. My Grandma- the last grandparent I had, only one to live through my 20s. I said so many times that she "wasn't allowed to die... at least until after I got married and had one child." I'd say it jokingly, and yet, that was one of my deepest desires, her being witness and part of those life experiences.

The intrusive thoughts bombarged me daily.

From in my journal on May 31, 2023:

"Sometimes like lately I've been imagining slicing my arm open up-down. I can see it in my head. Dying. The more I see others' love. The more alone I feel. I'm not alone, though.

Right hand,

leading me to

a glorious destiny."

Even on my dark days, amidst some of my darkest thoughts. God reminded me through His word in my memory, that He was still with me. That verse is Psalms 73:23.

"Yet I still belong to You; You hold my right hand. You guide me with Your counsel, leading me to a glorious destiny."

Last year, from July until October I was off on sick leave because of my depression. My doctor upped my dosage of anti-depressants. I'm very grateful that God created humans smart enough to be scientists and figure out medicines! I was VERY depressed and amid the depression, I was helping a lot with my sister and brother-in-law's wedding.

I had worked from home, which was detrimental to my mental health. No human (in person) contact on the day to day and my brain was very much rebelling. I always strive to see goodness, because there is goodness. Intrusive thoughts still plagued me.

In the time that I was off on sick leave, I spent many many days with my family and friends. I enjoyed being alive. I saw sunsets over the water, sat around bonfires, and I visitted with friends/family and their children. Children are so full of life and joy! I hiked a lot, I played with my puppy, and I laughed a lot.

I made it through 2023 by God's grace. 2024, I see His grace and I live in it and I will share it!

"For you are saved by grace through faith, and this is not from yourselves; it is God's gift-- not from works, so that no one can boast." Ephesians 2:8,9

What I know is, it's because of Jesus that I'm alive. It's because of Jesus that I have peace. It's because of Jesus that I have joy.

"He answered, 'Whether or not he's a sinner, I don't know. One thing I do know: I was blind, and now I can see!" John 10:25

One thing I do know: I wanted to die, and now I want to live fully!

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mcdceamy · 3 years ago

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Do you ever roll your eyes when you hear someone claim something happened ‘so fast’ or ‘my life flashed before my eyes’. It’s not a cliche. It’s the truth. One minute you’re sat behind the wheel of your car, the next you’re remembering every aspect of your life before you black out. I saw my father’s death, my first marriage, meeting Meredith, the post-it and our children. This wasn’t the first time that had happened. When Mr Clark pointed his gun at my heart, the plane crash. It all happened quickly and the recovery was so long. This is how I hoped this would be though. That their would be a recovery to experience and not just an end. I longed to see Meredith, Zola, Bailey. I wanted them all. Amelia, my Mom - even Kathleen, Nancy and Liz. I wanted them all because I was scared. Fear will make you long for the things you once had.

“John Doe broadsided by a semitruck. Blunt force trauma to the head, chest and abdomen. Persistent hypotension after two litres of saline. Pulse is thready at 130.” All Derek could do was talk to himself. His voice wasn’t working and even if it was, he wouldn’t be loud enough. The doctor who had accepted him from the paramedics had been fighting over whether he should have been accepted at all. He remembered him saying they had ‘that lady with her kid, the girl with the guts and then the dude with the head injury’. What kind of place are they running here? His voice echoed inside his head. “I need four units of blood.” Scalp lac. Probably multiple fractures. Try to hold still. “John Doe. Bad MVA. Had to be extricated. Positive loss of consciousness at the scene. He’s poorly responsive. GCS of 10. What’s your name sir, can you hear me?” The voices were blurring into one. Were there two people? He looked at the voice, a red head, her hand on his shoulder. Yes. Yes. I can hear you. Loss of verbal skills. Possible bleeding in the brain. “His pupils are equal and reactive.” Good sign. Still should get a CT. “He’s got a flail chest in the right. I need a 36 French tube, now. Sir, can you tell me your name?” He was trying. Trying so hard. Noises came out of his mouth but no coherent words. “He’s still hypotensive and tachycardic after two fluid boluses.” The snap of gloves. “He could be bleeding in his chest. Hang two units of blood on the infuser. I need a trauma panel and X-Ray and cross him for four. And someone page surgery again. She’s smart I like her. She gave him a warning before she inserted the chest tube, but it didn’t make it any easier. The pain woke him up, a sharp intake of breath, his eyes wide open. His lip trembled as he looked around, he could hear her talking to him. She seemed kind, like she would stick by him. He tried to talk. The words died on his lips, his mouth opening and closing but nothing. A new face. A man. Bearded. He could still hear the woman’s voice. “I’m ordering a head CT. We don’t know the extent of his head injury.” She’s right. You don’t. “Look at the ultrasound. He’s bleeding into his belly. We don’t have time for a CT.” Arrogant. Because she’s younger than you. And probably because she’s a woman. “I just think that -” “We don’t have time for a CT. He needs to go straight to the OR.” You have this. Come on. Don’t back down. “But I don’t think we have a handle on-” “His GCS hasn’t changed since he got here. The CT can wait.” “C-Spine, chest and pelvis films are up.”

A new voice. A sadder voice. A smaller voice. Winnie. You shouldn’t be in here. It threw him back to his family. To Zola and Bailey. They were so young. Like he and Amelia were. Like Meredith was. They can’t loose their father. Her hand against his wrist. “You’re not dead. I know you’re not dead. You know how I know? Cause I can feel your pulse. Which means your heart is beating. Your heart is beating. Which means you’re not dead, okay? Hey. Eyes on me. You stay not dead okay? It’s a beautiful day to save lives, right? So you stay not dead.” Commotion, raised voices. Then she was gone. I’m not dead. I’m not dead.

The collar was gone. He could breath a bit better now. My head. Look at my head. Pain radiated through him, his body curling away from the bed, pain registering on his face. “Sedation please.” He felt a strong hand on his arm, holding him down. “You need to calm down, buddy.” The curtain ripping back. “He’s a surgeon.” “Lets get a...” The machines continued to beep. “He’s a surgeon and he just saved everyone from the car accident that just came through.” He felt a hand on his arm again. “Doctor, we’re going to sedate you now so we can secure your airway. You’re gunna be fine.” No I’m not. You need to wait.

The past few weeks had been hard. Meredith had committed fraud. Again. The tension in the house was impenetrable and Derek couldn’t hide his anger. When the kids were around, he hid it. He played with them, pretended to be a happy couple whilst they got the kids ready for bed but as soon as their bedroom doors closed, the silence was deafening. They hadn’t hashed it out yet. He had so much to say but whenever he wanted to, the children were around. It was giving him headaches, making him feel so sick. His only break was when he was at work. Despite his accident, he was still able to work. Sure, his case load was a little less and that was thanks to Amelia, but other than that. He just took it a day at a time.

He was in a consult when his pager went off. 911, Meredith. He frowned and excused himself, heading down to the lobby. There stood Meredith and Zola. He looked around and headed quickly towards them. “Meredith, you know you shouldn’t be here.” He mumbled, noticing the look on Zola’s face. He lowered himself to his knee and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “Hey lovebug.” He greeted, forcing a smile onto his face before he looked up at Meredith. “She’s running a fever. What happened?” Was Zola too old to be carried? Probably but that wouldn’t stop him. He lifted his daughter into his arms, resting her on one, his face softening as she rested her head against his. She hadn’t said a word. “What’s going on, Meredith?”

closed / plotted starter ━━ @mctwcsty

#mctwcsty #mctwcsty and mcdceamy ftw #( Today Is Going To Be Okay ) Reply : Mctwcsty

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babybluebex · 4 years ago

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good doctor kreizler ch. 2: book of revelations

summary ↠ sequel to good doctor kreizler // the case of the murdered boys continues, and you're suddenly overcome with terrible emotions for seemingly no reason. but laszlo knows why. pairing ↠ laszlo kreizler x fem!reader (y/n) word count ↠ 3.3k warnings ↠ explicit language, mentions of menstruation, nausea, and pregnancy, descriptions of violence against children (yknow how the alienist works lmao) a/n ↠ enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio!

You sighed heavily and pressed your palm to your diaphragm. Your corset was causing more discomfort than usual, but you could look past it. There were deeds that needed to be done. You stood up from your chair and moved to the telephone on the wall, and you caught the side-long glance that an officer gave you. Perhaps it was some sort of confidence that being with Laszlo gave you, but you found yourself saying, “Can I help you, sir?”

“D’ya need help with that telephone?” the man asked, puffing at a cigarette. The smell of it made you feel ill, especially the way he blew it nearly directly at you. “It can be awfully difficult for a lady.”

You gave him a plantative smile, and you said, “I can manage. Thank you, though.”

“You sure?” he asked. “Because I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

“Really,” you said, taking up the end of the telephone. “I can do it.”

The man took a step closer, and he placed a hand on your waist. “You think, because you work for the police, you can be a bitch?” he hissed. “If a gentleman offers you help, you take it.”

The door to the room swung open, and you turned to see your lover there, wearing your favorite emerald-green suit and black coat. Laszlo was a gift from the gods, for sure. He made sure you knew that you were worthy of what you were given in the world, and he strived to give you more. Every time he presented you with a new dress or necklace, you always kissed him to show your gratitude, but reminded him that such gifts were not necessary. “You’re the only thing I ask for,” you would remind him. You knew that the thought of it troubled the good doctor, that he was worried that he wasn’t enough, but, every night, you kissed his shoulder and arm and assured him that he was more than what you deserved. You trusted Laszlo with your body, soul, mind, and heart, and he did the same of you.

Which is why you were thankful for the little fibs he would tell every so often to save face. “I would greatly appreciate it if you removed your hand from my wife,” Laszlo said firmly, his accent stronger than usual; his German gravel was intimidating to those who only knew him from stories in the newspaper. “New York’s finest and all…”

The officer took a step back from you, and Laszlo moved closer to you. “What do I owe this visit, sweetheart?” you asked, pressing your hands to his chest. Laszlo bent down and swiped his lips along your cheek, and you felt yourself grow warm at his unusual display of public affection.

“You left a file at home,” Laszlo said. “I remember you talking about transcribing it.”

You cooed softly, and Laszlo reached into his coat and extracted the file folder for you. “You’re so good,” you told him. “What can I do to repay you? I’m sure I’m making you late to the Institute.”

Laszlo tilted his head as he thought, and he put his hand on your waist, right where the officer had put his. Laszlo was hardly a jealous man, but the moments where his mood matched his suit made you giggle. He was a world-renowned alienist, but he was truly just a teenage boy in mind and matter. “Let me take you to dinner tonight,” Laszlo said, and you groaned. “And the opera. Please, my beloved, just one night.”

“Las, I told you, I don’t like when you spend your money on me,” you grumbled. “Just, please. I’m perfectly happy taking dinner at home. In fact, I prefer it more!”

“More than Delmonico’s?” Laszlo asked. “What if I invited John and Sara and the Isaacsons?”

“No, Laszlo,” you giggled, and you pressed your thumb into the little dimple in his chin. “The problem certainly will not be solved by adding more people. Can we just stay home tonight and listen to an opera on the gramophone? We’ve both been working very hard lately, I’d just like a simple night with you.”

“A simple night,” Laszlo said softly, pulling the words around in his mouth. “My beloved, I am not a simple man.”

“Boy, that’s the truth,” you chuckled, and you moved from his grip to return to your desk. “Maybe next week, we can go to the opera. Alright?”

Laszlo chuckled lightly, and he tugged you close and laid a kiss on your forehead. “Whatever you’d like, my beloved,” he told you. “When can I expect you at the Institute?”

You pulled Laszlo’s left arm up to your face and looked at his watch, ticking away at half noon, and you said, “Around three or so. Would you mind having some tea ready for when I get there? I’m feeling plain awful today.”

“What’s wrong?” Laszlo asked, and you smiled at the sudden emergence of Dr. Kreizler. While his degree wasn’t exactly in physical medicine, he always liked to be the first to examine you for maladies if they arose.

“Oh, nothing,” you sighed, waving your hand dismissively. “Just a bit of a stomach ache. I assume it’s nearing that time of the month for me, Las, you know how I get.”

“Of course,” Laszlo said softly. “You know, you could have just told me that’s why you didn’t want to eat at Delmonico’s tonight.”

You looked around quickly, finding the small space empty void for you and your lover, and you carefully took the furred lapel of Laszlo’s coat between your fingers and tugged him close, close enough for you to smell the lavender pastile that he liked so much. “Truly, my reason was more than that,” you whispered. “I wanted you to ravage me tonight, for as long as we both can bear.”

You almost missed the way that Laszlo’s breath hitched in his throat, but you were glad you noticed it. “It is getting to be that time, isn’t it?” he said carefully. “Increase in libido is a common side effect of menstruation.”

You hummed softly and pressed your fingers to his cheek. “I love it when you talk like that,” you said. “You’re so wonderfully smart, Las, I wish you wouldn’t be ashamed to show it.”

“I’m not,” Laszlo said. “You just choose to ignore my intelligence.”

“Now, why in the world would I do that?” you laughed. “You ought to be getting to the Institute. I’ll see you shortly.”

Laszlo gave you a warm smile and kissed your cheek, and you felt yourself shiver at his lips. God, you could hardly believe how much you loved him. You felt your stomach flutter, and you heaved a sigh. “I love you,” Laszlo said softly, and he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll see you soon, my beloved.”

You fixed your jaw and swallowed down the ungodly feeling in your throat. Something was wrong, you could tell. The usual air of the parlor was not there, the cheerful if slightly remorseful lightness. Instead, the parlor was overtaken with a heady sadness that completely outweighed the macabre curiosity.

“Laslzo,” you said quickly, dropping your briefcase by the table, and you joined your lover at the window. He was smoking his pipe, something you had only ever seen him do a handful of times before, and you immediately ran your hand soothingly down his back. “What’s happened?”

“Another body,” Laszlo mumbled. “Another child.”

You bristled. “But-But I thought we had figured it out? The murderer followed Catholic holy days?”

“That was a suitable theory at the time,” Laszlo said. His gaze was fixed to the outside world through the murky glass, and you looked around the room. John was sitting at the long table, absently sketching something, and Sara was studying the chalkboard that was covered in Laszlo’s neat script. “But he’s gone off schedule, and we might as well be back where we started.”

“Not really,” you said softly. “I mean, so he jumped ahead a few days. If the body bears the same marks, if the victim is the same as the others, I don’t see why a change in date--”

“Of course you don’t,” Laszlo scoffed, and he stepped away from you.

You were stunned silent, and you watched Laszlo move back to the table with the heaps of paperwork. “What does that mean?” you asked.

“You’re not looking at the entire picture,” Laszlo said sharply. “You’re only focused on the way he changed the date, not the why. Why did he change his schedule, why is there another body weeks ahead of the next holy day? Now we have to be concerned if it’s even the same murderer. Is it a copycat murderer that hasn’t pinned down the schedule as we have? There are many moving parts to this that you don’t seem to comprehend.”

“Las, I do see that,” you countered. The way he doubted you stung your chest, but that was Laszlo. When he was angry, he lashed out. You had come to accept him, even if the words he said truly hurt. You saw Sara turn to look at you, a hint of pity in her blue eyes, and you sighed. “Look, do we have records of the new victim’s body? Perhaps that will give us insight.”

“Yes,” John said quickly, not even giving Laslzo a chance to answer and cut your feelings even deeper. Why had his admonitions hurt so much more than usual? You were afraid that, if he spoke to you like that again, you would start crying. And then they would be right, everybody would be right: a woman was too delicate to handle crimes like this. “I visited the morgue as soon as I heard. I sketched what I could manage, and took notes of everything else.”

You moved around to join John at the other side of the table, choosing to ignore Laszlo. You could feel his eyes follow you as you bent towards John to look at his sketches, and your eyes followed the charcoal lines of a young boy. Like the others, his eyes were plucked out, his throat slit, and his hand cut off, but a few errant marks on the boy’s stomach made you tilt your head. “What’s this?” you asked, gently tracing the lines with your finger. Soot of the charcoal came off on your fingertip, but you paid little attention to it.

“Our murderer made gashes in the boy’s stomach,” John said. “This one--” he pointed to a particular line, “Was deep enough to view the intestines. Four in total, but they don’t seem to follow a pattern.”

“Everything follows a pattern, John,” Laszlo said quickly. “We just haven’t found it yet.”

“Four…” you mumbled. “And this sketch is accurate to scale?” John nodded, and your eyes studied it for a moment longer. Four of them, two of them a bit shorter than the others. Those two were situated at the bottom of the boy’s belly, right where the V of his hip bones would be, and the one of them was at the top, just under his breastbone. The fourth, the biggest, longest, deepest, was straight down the middle, bisecting the boy’s navel.

Your vision became blurred. Your breath came in gasps, and you felt dizzy. A terrible sickness crawled up your throat, and you pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to stop the flow of vomit. Vomit. You never vomited, not even when you had viewed past victims’ bodies in person. The smell of corpses wasn’t even enough to make you ill, but your heart quickened when you cast another glance to the sketch.

You fell into a chair besides John, and you gasped, “I think I’m gonna be sick--”

Sara came to clutch your hand in an instant, and John hurried to hide the sketch. “Las,” you mumbled. “Can you get me some water, sweetheart?”

“I’d rather stay here with you,” Laszlo said quickly. Your other hand was filled by his, and you cast a glance upwards at him. Now, instead of the tepid malice that he had had in his eyes, he had complete worry.

“I’ll get you some water,” John said. “Laszlo, watch over her. I’ll be back.”

“What happened?” Sara asked. “You started to sway and turned a ghostly pale. Did you see something?”

“J-Just those gashes,” you mumbled. “They-They looked like scars my mother had.”

“Scars?” Laszlo asked. “What do you mean?”

You sniffled, and took your hands from both grasps to wring in your lap. “I was born via Cesarean section,” you said. “M-My mother had been sick and fragile since before she was pregnant with me, and her doctor advised against natural childbirth. She had a scar right down the middle of her stomach in the same fashion as the body… A-And, when I was still in school, a doctor found a series of tumors in her ovaries. It had spread through the rest of her, but the doctor tried to combat it by removing the original tumors, and… The scars on his waist match the ones my mother had. I-I just-- Why would the murderer give this poor boy a woman’s scars?”

Laszlo bristled at this. You hardly ever mentioned your family, or him his, and he knelt down in front of you. “There’s something more than that,” he said softly. “My beloved, please speak to me. What’s troubling you?”

You chewed your bottom lip, and you gave a gasp as you tried to steady your breathing. “Sara,” you mumbled. “Can you give us a moment?”

Sara squeezed your hand and nodded, and she quickly excused herself. You waited until the door closed fully before sobbing and leaning forward to rest your head against your knees. “I’m sorry, Las,” you mumbled. “I-I just-- I can’t bear the sight of that today. I’ve felt ill all day, and now all of this, it’s far too much for me right now.”

You had nearly forgotten that you had requested tea earlier in the day, and you watched Laszlo rise from his knee and retrieve the tea cup. He quickly took note of your quivering hands, and he lifted the porcelain tea cup to your mouth. You sipped at it, hoping that it might soothe you, and you wiped your tears from your cheeks. “Laszlo, what’s wrong with me?” you sniffled. “I-I’ve never done this before, why now?”

“You already said that you feel ill,” Laszlo said carefully. “Maybe the sight of the body and the state of it was a shock to your system. Has the nausea passed?”

You shook your head quickly. The ugly feeling of it still sat in the very back of your throat, and you reached out for him. Laszlo set the tea cup aside and came to you, and you buried your face in his stomach from where you sat. Your arms circled his waist and you held him tightly, and you keened up into his hand as he began to stroke your hair.

Suddenly, Laszlo began to move with quickness, pulling you to your feet. You hardly had time to ask what he was doing before his fingers began to undo the back of your blouse. “Laszlo!” you cried. “What in the world are you doing?”

“Trust me, my beloved,” Laszlo said quickly. With his one arm tight to his body, he pulled your blouse off of you, then started at your corset. That sick feeling back came, and you reached forward and braced yourself against the table. Your head hung as you tried to control your nausea, and you whimpered, “Laszlo, what is this?”

Your lover gave a growl, one of deep frustration, and he grabbed your corset by the bottom hem and shoved it down your body, past your waist, to expose your breasts and stomach. You couldn’t help but sigh at the release of pressure on your middle, and Laszlo turned you around to see your bare skin. He knelt down in front of you and pressed his forehead against your stomach, and you watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. You hardly understood what he was doing, but, if the half year courting him was any indication, he knew what was best. “When was the last time you menstruated?” Laszlo asked, next pressing his cheek to your bare stomach.

Your hand instinctively went to cradle his cheek, and you shrugged. “Several months ago,” you said. “I… They come and go, I suppose. Is that normal?”

“And your breasts?” Laszlo asked next, and you grimaced.

“What’re you getting at?” you asked.

“My beloved,” Laszlo said carefully, and he looked up at you from his place on the floor. His dark eyes were glistening with tears, and your heart sank and adrenaline rushed bitterly into your mouth.

“Stop,” you whispered. “Laszlo, no, I-I’m not-- I can’t be--”

“I think you are, beloved,” Laszlo said. He stood up and shucked off his suit jacket, and he laid it across your shoulders to hide your body from the cold room. “I think that you’re pregnant, my beloved. That would explain every malady you have: the aches, the irritability, the nausea, the delicateness, the increase in libido. Pregnancy offers an explanation for all of these.”

Your eyes filled with tears again, but a smile came with them. “You…” you started, and you sent a weak punch to Laszlo’s firm chest. “You absolute bastard!”

Laszlo laughed and tugged you into him, and you hugged him tightly. Laszlo, your wonderful Las, the father of your child. “Oh, my beloved,” he sighed, kissing the side of your head. “How did I not see it before?”

“Men can tend to be blind to such things,” you said. “But I feel as if a special blockade is up for you when it concerns me.”

“I agree,” Laszlo said. His hand came up to rest against your face, and you leaned into his touch. “My dearest girl…” he hummed, and he leaned into you and pressed his lips to yours. You pressed back, letting a smile grace your lips. “Marry me, my beloved.”

It was hardly even a question. “Of course, Las,” you said softly. “How could I say no to you? It would ruin your reputation, having a child out of wedlock.”

“Thta's true,” Laszlo shrugged. “But I think you would want to marry me regardless.”

“How dare you act as if you know what I want,” you said, but you kissed the tip of his nose anyway. “But, yes, Laszlo. I would love to marry you. Mrs. Kreizler… Is that something you ever thought you’d hear?”

“Not from you,” Laszlo chuckled. “I never thought that you would want the burdens of marriage. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that upon our first meeting.”

“How could you manage any thought during that interaction?” you giggled. “If what you told me was true, you were quite distracted that day.”

Laszlo gave a soft little grunt, and he snuffled his face into your neck. “Yes, well, a man has to learn to multitask,” he said. “Oh my God, I cannot begin--”

The door to the parlor banged open, and you hurried to cover yourself. “Marcus,” Laszlo said firmly. “Give us a moment, will you?”

“Doc, this is pretty important--”

“I am having a private conversation with my fiancée, Mr. Isaacson,” Laszlo said, his voice rising just a bit. “You can tell me whatever you wish as soon as I finish this conversation.”

You looked over your shoulder to the younger Isaacson twin, and your face grew hot when your shoulder slipped from the jacket. Marcus’s eyes went wide for a moment, then he put his hands up in a plantation gesture. “Right,” he said quickly. “Um, sorry, Doc. I’ll be--”

“Do hurry it up, Marcus,” you said, pulling your fiancé’s jacket tight around you. “The sooner you leave, the sooner you can return.”

You watched Marcus leave the room and shut the heavy door behind him, and you scoffed and dissolved into giggles. You buried your face into Laslzo’s warm chest and kissed just over his heart, and you sighed. “I’d love to speak more about this at home,” you said. “I love you to absolute death, Laszlo.”

“And I love you more,” Laszlo said softly.

#laszlo kreizler #the alienist #laszlo kreizler fanfiction #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x reader angst #the alienist fanfiction #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #daniel brühl fanfiction #daniel bruhl fanfiction #daniel brühl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl x reader angst #daniel brühl x reader angst #laszlo kreizler angst #daniel brühl angst #tfatws #zemo

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s-brant · 3 years ago

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Pirates and Princesses (8/8)

(gif: @beccs) (PART SEVEN) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: JJ must confront his childhood trauma when returning home for the first time since his dad went to jail and prevent it from sabotaging his new relationship. Meanwhile, something sinister happens at the Chateau that brings Y/N face to face with her grief over John B’s death.

Word Count: 13.4k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, parent/child abuse, mental illness, post-traumatic stress disorder, grief, and fluff.

A/N: Welcome to the final chapter of Tokens! This one has a little bit of everything in it, but it also has detailed scenes about JJ and his dad, so proceed with caution if you’re easily triggered by that topic. The love you guys show this fic warms my heart so much, so thanks to anyone who stuck with this story until this chapter. Hope you enjoy it!

Now that she has been sentenced to both punishments, one as a consequence of the fight with Kacey and the other as a consequence of the stunt she pulled with JJ to break out of ISS, Y/N can confidently say that out of school suspension is superior to in-school suspension by a long shot. Instead of sitting in a humid room with Alec for the duration of multiple school days, she's allowed to stay home, go out surfing, and do whatever she wants in lieu of doing classwork.

She promised herself not to make it a habit, promising the invisible presence of John B that she likes to pretend follows her around that she will never get herself into trouble again, but she sees no problem in enjoying her suspension while it lasts.

For the first few days of her suspension, JJ skipped school to spend it with her. Their memories of the conversation they had at three in the morning on Sunday were fuzzy, but not missing entirely. She noticed a difference in his behavior for the first few hours after they woke up under the tree together for the second time in one week. It wasn't a difference in their relationship or how he treated her, it was a difference in him.

He was quieter than usual as they cleaned up cans of beer and tossed them into the recycling, sending pictures to Kie while she was in class after she made them promise not to throw them in the trash. Rather than cracking jokes or making casual conversation with her, JJ made his way around the yard with the recycling bin in his hands and his head in the clouds. It disappeared as the day progressed, but for a little while, he wasn't completely there.

Today, he went into school instead of ditching to spend extra time with her in between shifts at work and time spent with their friends. Since they can't exceed three consecutive absences without a doctor’s note and he doesn't own a printer or laptop to forage the header from a doctor's office, he had no choice but to part from her this morning.

He bites his lip to contain his smug facial expression at the recollection of her wake up call for him. The hand holding his locker door open for him to lean on in the midst of his not-so-wholesome thoughts of her squeezes the metal hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The curtains weren't shut all the way when they fell asleep before midnight last night, allowing a shaft of sunlight to shine in and land on his face. But that wasn't what woke him up from the dream he was having. In fact, the reality he opened his eyes to was a hell of a lot better than any dream he remembered.

Most of his memory of those moments spent suspended between consciousness and unconsciousness consisted of feeling her pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then her hands rubbing up and down his waist to slip lower and lower until they settled on the waistband of his underwear. It was then that he woke to find her looking up at him for permission from where she peppered kisses along his chest.

Their eyes met right as she kissed the edge of his nipple with this pleading, needy look that he took pride in causing without actively attempting to. She woke up on the brink of coming undone from a pleasant—to put it tamely—dream about him. With a glimpse at the time displayed on the alarm clock, it didn't take much for her to roll over to wake him up.

It ended with her beneath the sheet, finishing what she started Friday afternoon until he was clutching the pillow beneath his head in the midst of his orgasm. It happened so fast, a fault of how hot he found it to wake up to her wanting him so badly, but it felt slower than it truly was in the early morning haze of exhaustion they felt.

The memory as he relives it is as heady as it felt the first time around. He sees it in fractions; her eyes looking up at his, warm palms finding the familiar planes of his muscular body with the exploratory touch of someone who's never traveled it before, and the intense sensations he felt at the end...It's easy for him to stand here and lose himself in it. Despite the class he has to go to, he bargains with himself for one more second spent in the paradise of his memories before he has to come back to reality.

Reality, as his shitty luck would have it, comes in the form of a familiar feminine voice chirping from behind his back as he replays his morning bliss.

"It's good to see you're alive and well, Maybank."

He decides, based on who he knows he'll see when he turns around, that he might invest in a sharpie to write "Bang head here" on the inside of his locker door for instances like these where he'd rather suffer brain damage than speak to someone he can't stomach the presence of.

When he turns to see Kacey with one arm still stretched to hold his locker open, he doesn't bother concealing the genuine reaction from his face for the sake of her feelings. Any care he had for her and her feelings was thrown to the wind as soon as she decided she could steal from and put her hands on his girl last week. However, after a second of thought, a condescending smirk finds its way to his face.

He says, jerking his chin to vaguely gesture at her bruised up face, "Purple really suits your complexion. It makes your eyes pop, don't you think?"

Though the swelling of her black eye has deflated in the days since the fight that’ll soon tally up to a week, the verbal jab hits right where it intended to if the light leaving her eyes tells him anything. She bounces back after a second, though, ever the relentless pest they've come to see her as.

She offers a sickeningly sweet, yet fake smile to mirror the one gracing his striking features and spins so her back meets the locker beside his, allowing herself to invade his space further.

A collection of Y/N's stickers decorates the inside of his locker door that he briefly entertained the idea of designating as a place to bang his head against. They range from girly, glittery ones to those he willingly picked when she gave him the choice. Whenever they're at his locker together, she sticks one on the inside, and the evidence of the habit catches Kacey's wandering eyes.

Her fingertips brush against the surface of the sticker-covered metal while she ignores his protest of, "Can you not touch my stuff?" to inspect them. Since one of the Pogues in particular is famous for her endless supply of stickers, her expression sours at the thought of the girl responsible for them.

She spares him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye as she continues to analyze the sticker collection against his instructions not to, asking, "Why weren't you at the bonfire?" A failed attempt at a seductive look in his direction makes him fight not to roll his eyes. "After how last year's ended, I thought you wouldn't miss it for the world."

JJ doesn't bother to take a second to think things through before he reaches to slam the door closed with her hand still outstretched inside of it. Watching her pull it away just in time to avoid jamming it in the locker probably pleases him more than it should, but he can't help it. His hand catches on the edge of the door, halting it in place right before it closes where her hand previously rested.

She doesn't look too happy with him when he opens the door with no harm done except for the drop of her stomach when he initially pretended to swing it shut on her bruised knuckles. She didn't get many shots in on Y/N when they fought, but apparently it was enough.

He doesn't bother with the fake niceties she's giving him after the disrespect she showed him, his friends, and, most importantly, his girlfriend. The fact that she thinks she has any right to breathe in his direction, let alone flirt with him, after she stole JB's bandana is criminal. 'Cause not only did she mess with Y/N, she messed with John B on multiple levels, and his loyalty to his best friend hasn't disappeared with death. Kie and Y/N told him everything she said about their departed friend in the locker room last Thursday.

But he's smart enough to know what'll hurt her more, so he doesn't go for the general scolding he imagined giving her in his head. Since he was told everything about the encounter in the locker room, he knows she's still holding their history together near and dear to her heart.

"We stayed home," he says, casual and cool as always, with added emphasis on the first word, "You know how it is, my girl doesn't like parties. Especially not ones with kooks."

Hook, line, and sinker.

She scoffs, "Your girl?"

Looking at her now, he wonders if she was always this stupid, or if this is a new development she's had in the year since he last spent more than a minute or two at a time with her. It’s easier to trick her than it was with Kie and Y/N a few days ago, and those poor girls flew into that trap like moths to a flame.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

The ire is visible in the way her face tenses up in places, her lips pressing together a little more firmly and her forehead creasing between the brows.

"Doesn't your, um, history bother her?" she asks, and he's gotta give her credit for being a sneaky little shit when given the chance. The girl takes every possible opening she can to strike for a potential weakness. "No offense, but you kinda get around."

He shrugs this time, deciding to drop his casual act and aim straight for the jugular.

"She likes having someone who knows how to fuck her right, actually, but I really appreciate the concern."

Much like Kie's reaction to their matching tattoos in the hot tub the other night, her jaw is unhinged to meet the unswept hallway floor they stand on. It makes him wish Y/N weren't suspended in order for her to see the gobsmacked reaction Kacey has to the harsh dismissal. Though he wouldn't want to incite an extra round of the Kacey vs Y/N WWE showdown by having her watch another girl flirt with him and essentially call him a slut upon rejection, he knows she'd get a kick out of it.

This one's for you, baby, he thinks with a quiet laugh to himself and turns his focus to the sticker collection she so lovingly crafted.

There are plenty of summer themed ones left over from the same pack he gifted her for her birthday with the surfboard sticker she used to tease him, as well as a newer genre of Valentine's Day stickers she started using the closer they grew since first getting together. They're mostly different colored candy hearts with corny phrases ranging from "U SXY THING" to the classic "BE MINE" and one printed with "ANGEL" on it—his favorite by far.

However, others are random ones from her endless stash built up over the years from birthdays and holidays deemed worthy enough by her dad to stop by Dollar Tree for a new pack, so the one he sets his attention on is likely meant for teachers or coaches to give to their students. The opportunity appears too good to be true to him when it clicks, but it isn't.

He peels the sticker off of the locker door, careful not to disturb the ones around it, and leans in closer to her to place it on the front of her tank top.

"Leave us alone or I won't stop her next time," JJ says lowly, past the point of civility, then backs away to slam his locker shut for real this time as his voice raises back to a normal volume, "And keep John B's name out of your mouth, got it?"

All she can do is look down at the sticker placed on her shirt with squinted eyes to try and read it while he walks off in the direction of his next class. It tears away from the fabric with a soft noise, and when she finally reads it, she rolls her eyes.

“Good Try!”

Walking out of school to see the Twinkie parked in the usual spot Y/N takes when she isn't suspended is a delightful treat he didn't know to expect after a rough day in class and his run in with Kacey. His head was hung low on his way to Kie's car to hitch a ride to his house before going home to the Chateau, since he had some things to pick up with his dad out of the picture for the near future, but then he heard her greet them.

JJ's body melts into hers upon contact, and he nearly pushes her up against the closed passenger side door of the van with how hard he hugs her. Though he doesn't want to acknowledge it, his dad has been living in his thoughts more than usual today. Ever since he texted him goodbye, he's been withdrawn inside of his head more and more, and after today's inconveniences, the rising anxiety of his plan to visit home has him two seconds from losing his mind.

Her eyes widen at his zeal, meeting Kie's concerned gaze from over the shoulder she rests her chin on. She stands with her keys swinging around her finger as she watches the couple embrace one another. In an answer to the silent question Y/N asks her in their stare, her lips mouth the words, "His dad," to her.

Deep down, Y/N had a feeling.

It began with his impromptu request to run away with her a few days ago and extended into his uncharacteristically reserved attitude the next morning that receded somewhat, but has yet to fully disappear. There is a part of her that's upset that he hasn't come to her to talk about it, to communicate the way they swore they would, yet she also knows it isn't that simple.

She has to remind herself that she knew what she was getting herself into with him. That's not to say that dating her must be a walk in the park for him, it isn't.

She knows based on the amount of times he had to hold her as she cried, or the time he curtailed her panic attack in this very parking lot, that she hasn't made it easy for him in the aftermath of John B's death. But it's because she knows how it feels that she has such patience with his communication issues.

It's not a conscious choice most times, it's an involuntary blockage preventing the words from being spoken no matter how desperately they long to be. They may have made a promise, but she won't chastise him for succumbing to the same pitfalls as her. It’d be hypocritical.

"Bad day?" she asks.

Her voice is tender with him, prodding gently for a clue as to why he pounced on her on sight. He sinks further into her arms at the sound and lets the sanctity of her touch sway him into submission. Everything about her sets him at ease, if only for a second. Her hand lifts the beat-up red hat from his head to allow the other to brush through his hair.

There's a hum of agreement that she feels vibrating through the center of his chest into hers, and her arms pull tighter around his shoulders in response. This time, when she looks up to see Kie there, she's waving a quick goodbye and setting off toward her car, clearly giving JJ the space he needs.

"We can go to the beach," she says softly, "I have a towel in the back of the van, we can just lay there and talk about it if you want."

The idea of her kind offer to him should add to the comfort he finds in her embrace. It should make him nod and whisper his gratitude to her for being the one person that knows him better than anyone, but it brings him back to the gloomy headspace he was in before seeing her.

It started as a minor distraction when he first arrived at school after carpooling with Kie. It followed him in the quieter moments, only making appearances when he wasn't distracted with more pressing matters. It began as that and built the closer the day came to ending. The sooner his inevitable visit back to his childhood home came, the more he lost himself in his fear, reverting back to a state of helplessness he now occupies with no small amount of shame.

His bottom lip trembles with the urge to cry.

"Can we stop somewhere on the way home first?"

The last place she expected him to drive the Twinkie is here.

As they made their way down each street, taking each turn necessary to bring them closer to the house he seldom let her go to over the course of their lifelong friendship, she felt her heart begin to race. And now, as the van rolls to a stop in the yard in front of his house, she has swallow back the lump in her throat at the sight of it.

She has only been here a few times.

The first time, she was seven years old.

It was a sweltering summer morning in the Outer Banks for her and John B as they set off to retrieve their friend after he missed their plans to meet up at the Chateau for a day of having fun, riding bikes, and playing on the boat. Pirates and Princesses was her favorite game to play with them because JJ would switch roles with her halfway through when she grew tired of being the damsel John B had to rescue from the most cruel and vicious Captain Jesse James Maybank.

The HMS Pogue would rock beneath his feet as he marched across the deck of the boat and took her place as the kidnapped Princess Routledge. He handed off his "sword" to her, a stick he found in the yard, and stood at the edge of the boat with his hands behind his back as though he were a tied up damsel in distress for her to hold captive. The sun setting behind them laid a picturesque backdrop that made the scene all the more vivid to their imaginative young minds.

The boat floated in the afternoon current as John B approached the pair with his best pretend face of worry for the fair Princess Maybank, who had the sharp sword of the pirate queen pressing into his throat with the threat of death should he have tried to escape.

Sometimes, she'd let John B advance on them and tie make believe rope around her wrists and ankles while he and Princess Maybank claimed their victory. Other times, they'd get backed up until the heels of her sneakers hung off the edge of the slippery deck. One move from her brother would have her yell something along the lines of not taking either of them alive, then she'd let her and JJ fall back into the marsh together with gleeful laughs infiltrating the humid air upon their return to the surface.

On the day he didn't show up, none of that happened. She and John B rode their bikes together along sidewalks until they pulled into a driveway marked with the address number he remembered from the other time he sought him out to play before.

Y/N didn't understand what they were hearing when they pushed their kickstands down and called out for their friend, but John B's little face blanched at the sound flooding out of the opened windows of the dilapidated yellow house. It was a combination of banging against the walls, glass shattering, and childlike shouts of frustration and pain. Her big brother placed himself in front of her protectively when the front door opened and smacked against the side of the house, but it wasn't his dad storming out of the house, it was JJ.

His eyes widened at the sight of the siblings standing there, and his heart dropped to his stomach at the realization that they heard it. Maybe not all of it, but based on how the girl peeking out around John B's shoulder looked at him, they heard some.

The van is parked in the exact same place their bikes once were, the exact place she and John B stood years ago when they were first confronted with the harsh reality about their best friend's home life, and he looks like he has fully backpedaled into the state of mind his childhood self inhabited. Even when he turns the key in the ignition and lets the rumbling engine sputter down in silence, he sits in the driver's seat with his lip drawn between his teeth in thought.

Yet as soon as she summons the courage to say something, he takes a deep breath and opens the door without a warning or the typical instruction for her to stay in the car. He doesn't tell her to follow him in, nor does he order her to stay out as he used to when his dad still lived inside. He gives her the choice to make on her own, and, when faced with the opportunity to support him or stay outside like the confused little girl she once was, she chooses the first option.

Her swift steps kick dirt up from the earth onto her ankles as she follows him out of the van to the front steps of the house. She tries not to make her concern for him as evident as it'd be without her intervention on her way up the porch, but it's impossible to erase every sign of it from her face.

It isn't a particularly special or scary house. It's a normal home that'd likely look more inviting if JJ were still living here to mow the lawn and tend to the household upkeep his father saddled him with since he was old enough to be put to work. But she knows better than to trust the street appeal. As he takes her hand to lead them through the threshold of the haunted structure, she is overcome with a sense of creeping trepidation that she can't shake.

"You're sure he isn't here?" she asks.

The entryway is crowded with stacks of mail his father wasn’t bothered to open, as well as empty cardboard boxes that once held cans of beer that are scattered, empty, in various places around the house. Her question is answered by the state of the rooms they breeze past in the direction of his bedroom, but she needed something to say to fill the silence. With them, they usually don’t feel uncomfortable not speaking to each other, but this feels different.

The way he stares out in front of him with his hand squeezing hers hard enough to cut off circulation unnerves her more than the tainted energy of the house itself. He isn't himself. He's a shell of the JJ they know and love, the JJ who is most comfortable tucked away in the safe walls of the Chateau with their friends, not here. If anything, how he is while he's here is the antithesis of his behavior while living with her.

Ever since John B died, he's practically moved in with her. When they're hidden away in her house without the reminders of his home life in sight, he's usually the caretaker of the relationship. It comes naturally to their dynamic, both with him being slightly older and his promise to take care of her, but everything is flipped here. It's an alternate reality for him, or, perhaps, actual reality smacking him in the face after a carefully constructed two months in utopia with her.

They come to a stop in front of his closed bedroom door.

"He's gone," he says, not even sparing a glance at her for reasons she can't decipher, "He texted me a few days ago to say goodbye."

With that, he turns the doorknob and lets the door swing open to reveal the bedroom she only saw one other time.

The second time, she was thirteen years old.

It was a Friday.

Since his dad was supposed to be at work, they stopped at his house on their way home from school exactly like they did today so he could share with their friends what he got from his cousin the night before. Being the good girl she was, she didn't even know what he was showing her when he dug it out of the backpack in the bottom of his closet.

Her brows furrowed at the ziploc bag, more specifically the contents inside of it. She was knelt down on the floor in front of the opened closet door with her shoulder pressed up against his to inspect it. The dried green cluster of a plant didn't look like anything she'd seen before, and she couldn't help but ask him what the hell it was rather than react the way he knew the others would.

"What is it? It looks like dried up moss."

JJ laughed and pulled another bag with rolling papers and a grinder stowed inside.

"It's weed. My cousin Ricky gave me a discount since—"

He halted mid-sentence abruptly enough to startle her, his head turning in the direction of where he heard a trunk pulling up to the front of the house. Her stare was still set on where he was holding the plastic bags in his hands, and she noticed, after he stopped speaking in reaction to his dad coming home, that his hands began trembling. It was so minimal, she almost didn't catch it until she saw the bag wavering under the light coming in from his window.

Before she could open her mouth to say anything more, she felt his hands on her shoulders shoving her into the closet. He followed in closely behind her and crawled in until they were both crammed into the confined space together. With the closet doors shut in front of them, he clamped a hand over her mouth, whispering in her ear for her to be quiet.

She stands with her arms crossed over herself in the center of his room, and though nothing has yet to be said or done to convince her anything is wrong, that's the exact reason why she feels so unnerved by the entire experience of coming here.

He's silent.

The closet doors are wide open as he stuffs the rest of the clothes he had yet to bring to the Chateau into the biggest bag he could find. He rips through his belongings in a fit of melancholy driven anger. His thoughts are swirling with similar memories to the ones she conjures from being here again, but his are tinged with a darkness hers don't have, even with hearing him crying in pain as a child and hiding in the closet with his hand smothering her mouth to evade his dad.

JJ visibly grimaces at the memories he's forced to relive in flashes with every glimpse he gets of the room he spent so much time hiding in. It used to be more tolerable to be here, or at least easier to suffer through. At least he was used to it before, but he got so accustomed to life somewhere else that the second he was confronted with coming back, he started to fall apart.

Whatever he can't live without, he finds space for it in the bag and prepares to leave the rest behind. But every object he touches and step he takes around the room brings him back to the person who he spent his adolescence simultaneously fleeing and wanting more from. More notably, it brings him back to the train of thought that has been nagging him ever since he texted him over the weekend.

The third and final time she came here was over the summer.

It happened right before Hurricane Agatha waged war on the island, when none of the Pogues heard from JJ for two days after he said he had to go home to help his dad with something. She didn't want to track him down to his house after they went over twenty-four hours without a single message. She didn't want to have to go back to the house that gave her chills to think about, let alone go to again after they hid in his closet when they were younger, but he gave her no other choice.

What was she supposed to do except go check on him where he last said he'd be? After all, if she lived in the hazardous environment he did, he'd do the exact same for her. If their friends were involved in her thoughts at the time, they would've gone out on a limb to say he would've gone beyond what she did to protect her if the situation were flipped. If he knew someone was hurting her, he would've come in swinging first and asked questions later, but, in her defense, he strictly told her to never come back to his house. By walking over in the first place, she was breaking one of the fundamental rules of their friendship.

Nevertheless, she found herself crouching around the side of his house to find his bedroom window and check if he was in there. Kie and Pope weren't aware of what was happening with his dad yet, but she and John B accidentally found out years ago, so she wasn't wondering why he wasn't answering them, she was wondering if he was alive.

Part of her truly thought underneath it all that Luke might've killed him. He might've been too drunk or high and went too far when beating him, too far to the point where he didn't want to risk going to jail to take him to the hospital for help. She couldn't live with herself if she didn't check, and if he got pissed at her for showing up against his wishes and didn't want to speak to her ever again, she could live with that.

She knocked on his window in a cadenced beat loud enough for it to heard through the room but not any further. After the first series of knocks, no one came to the window. It ripped her heart to pieces to wonder if she'd see him again as she continued to knock and allowed the sound to increase in volume in hopes that maybe he was asleep, but it didn't bring anyone to the window.

It wasn't until she turned back around to go to the front of the house again that she bumped right into the solid wall of his chest and was pushed back up against the house. The question of what she was doing there was on the tip of his tongue, but she said something that stopped him from asking it.

Her arms were thrown around his shoulders in a desperate bear hug.

"Oh God, JJ, you scared me half to death!" she cried into the front of his shirt, "I thought he killed you!"

He can't help but think of it as he packs his belongings away for a final time to bid his hellish childhood home goodbye: What kind of life are they going to have together if they can't get off this island? Running away may have been an idealistic drunken fantasy for him to entertain after his conversation with Pope got him to admit his true feelings for her, but they both know his consistency can't be trusted.

One moment, he's planning to tell her. The next, a day like today comes along, sweeps his legs out from beneath his body, and he's questioning whether it's worth it to force her to put up with his fickle commitment to her. It isn't fair to her, is it?

Right now is just about when he'd normally start to hyperventilate with an oncoming wave of panic, and he does, but he can't let it fully sweep into him with her here. He fights the urge to smack his head with the heel of his palm, as if that'd forcibly remove the poisonous thoughts infiltrating his mind and ruining the careful work they've done together to remedy their issues with communicating their feelings.

Just like you ruin everything, a thought whispers in the corner of his mind. What made you think this would be any different?

His actions around the room have turned somewhat aimless and distracted, which she notices as soon as he starts to disintegrate into a mess of heavy breaths and self-sabotaging thoughts. She picks up on the shift in his energy as soon as the anxiety starts to wash over him, and she'll be damned if she continues to stand here quietly to let it happen.

It's one thing if he's being silent because being here upsets him, or if he simply doesn't know what to say, but she refuses to let him tailspin into a mental breakdown without doing something to stop it. Whether he knows it or not, after what they went through with him trying to push her away last week, she knows what's occurring within his mind right now.

He flinches at the feeling of her hand grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her at first, and when she reaches again with her other hand to try to hold his hand as he cries, he shrugs off her touch.

"JJ..." she lets the solemn sound of her own voice murmuring his name trail off, "it's just me."

His head shakes at her consoling words. Everything else inside of his mind is so earth-shatteringly loud, he can't drown it out with logic or reason to bring himself away from the memories of his dad. Those intrusive thoughts keep attacking him with doubled, then tripled force the harder he tries to resist them, and he's so exhausted from it. All of it—the memories, his dad going to jail, and his inability to accept her love to its fullest extent without convincing himself she'll abandon him—is exhausting.

This time, when she rests her hand on his shoulder, he swats it away as the frustration of today crushing him with the force of an avalanche. Not to hurt or scare her, but to get her hands off of him before he bursts out of his skin with the sickness it stirs in his stomach. So detached from himself, he anticipates pain from every touch she gives him, and he knows it hurts her.

JJ hardly recognizes his own voice as he backs away from her a step and says, "Don't."

He can tell it hurts her based on how she looks at him immediately after, but he can't handle being touched right now. How did this happen so quickly? It was overwhelming when they first parked outside, but as soon as he stepped foot inside, it was as if a switch was flipped inside of him and all of the buried feelings he kept hidden over the past two weeks exploded into this.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You need to leave. I just-I can't breathe and"—He still refuses to look up from the ground or see her face as he paces around the room with no real intent in mind—"You can't see me like this."

That is what breaks her out of her soft spoken, timid attitude to handle the situation the way it needs to be handled. Their natural dynamic worked best for him to take charge when she had her panic attack because JJ acts first and thinks later. He saw that she was in distress and jumped in to help her before things got worse rather than allowing her to keep him at an arms length where he couldn't do anything about it.

Taking a page from his rule book, she takes action.

The room surrounding them is in a state of disarray from him searching through it for the items of clothing and objects now stashed in his duffel bag. There are multiple obstacles in her way as she steps between them like navigating a minefield to reach him after he backed away in instinctual fear, but they don't stop her from reaching him. Nothing could.

Y/N walks right up to him and reaches to grasp his face between her hands, forcing him to stop pacing around and actually look at her for the first time since they arrived her so he hears what she says. To say the least, the way he looks right now is enough to make her cry. There are tears welled up to the brims of his blue eyes, his lips are downturned with his sobs, and he's staring at her like she's about to strike him.

She says it as slowly and clearly as she needs to get it through his head, "He's not here," and before he manages to squeeze out another word of doubt between his rapid inhalations, she cuts in, "Take deep breaths."

He isn't listening to her.

The movement of his chest that hits hers from how close they stand to each other has yet to settle into the familiar pace she remembers from nights of falling asleep with the rhythm of his breaths beneath her head.

Her eyes search his face frantically, from left to right and top to bottom, for any sign of the person she's known for years, but she doesn't see him. Instead, she sees the same panicked child her and John B saw the first time they visited this house. It's uncanny how similar the expression in his face is. It feels to her as if she's been hurled back in time to the moment itself, and when she tries to think about what would've worked with him back then, she doesn't know what else to do except help him escape.

So, with the helplessness of having to watch him turn into a sobbing, incoherent mess, she decides to step into the darkness with him and do what seven year old Y/N would've done. Just like their games of make believe, of pirates and princesses, she assumes the role John B would have and rescues him from what holds him captive. It’s his own mind in this case, but, in the physical sense, it's the house.

She drops her hands from his face and takes his hand in hers to drag him out of the room. The packed bag sits on the floor in their wake as she pulls him back through the bedroom door and into the living room, not caring about what they came here to do.

It doesn't matter anymore.

The various rooms of his dad's house pass by them in a blur as she leads him down the hallway to the front door with one sole objective in mind: get him out of here. If he wants his stuff to bring back to the Chateau, she'll go back inside and get whatever he needs her to, but she isn't letting him inside of this house again. Not under her watch.

Thankfully, since he is undeniably stronger than her and she wouldn't have stood a chance, he doesn't fight it. He stumbles after her guiding hand the same way he always has, just like how he followed her back to the Chateau after she and John B saw him that day when they were kids. She led the way as he sat on the handlebars of her brother's bike, and he watched her hair flutter in the wind with the momentum of their bicycle spokes until the tears dried up.

He watches her drag him out of the home until they've reached the safety of the yard at the bottom of the porch steps, and as soon as the soles of her shoes meet the dirt, she feels his hand slipping out of hers.

"JJ?"

She turns around to see him clutching his chest, rubbing his hand along the front of his shirt over his heart as though it'll loosen up the tightened muscles preventing him from catching his breath. His body weight is leaned onto the railing of the porch steps for support. He's partially slumped on it, looking at her desperately, like she somehow knows the answer to every question screamed inside of his head, and she has never felt as useless.

"You're gonna leave," JJ says through the gasps and cries that leave his cheeks stained with tears.

When she reaches out again to help him remain upright without leaning over the railing, he doesn't shove her hands away as he did inside of his bedroom. It's a small battle won, but she takes it as a win nonetheless.

"What are you saying? I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere—"

"You're gonna leave! Everybody does! My mom, John B, my dad, and you"—his head falls to look at the ground instead of her, and she watches him work through it in his head—"I mean, look at me. You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I want," she says.

Her voice remains as steady and calm as she can force it to be amidst the turbulent situation, but the way he said it...It takes her right back to sitting in the back of the Twinkie with him at the Cherry Bowl, except it's ten times worse. That felt like a break up, but based on what he's saying, this is one. She hasn't prepared herself for the heartache she feels in response to it.

"You don't want me, you just think you do 'cause I was there after John B died, but you don't. You're gonna go off, find some perfect guy that isn't as fucked up as me, and have a great life somewhere else, but it ain't here," JJ says, his breathing evening out with the distraction of the argument to keep him tethered tor reality, "And it won't be with me."

He can see it every time he's looked at her and debated saying those three titular words that have been floating around in his head since he first met her.

How could she want someone who can't walk into his childhood bedroom without breaking down, or someone who still has years-old scars from cigarette burns on his skin when she touches him? Her bright future contrasted with his pre-designated fate on the Cut, her personality better matched with someone more similar to her, her life continuing on whether he's there or not—it's his worst nightmare, but he's prepared to see it through.

What he doesn't expect is for her to hold her ground.

"You honestly think I'm buying into that bullshit?" she asks.

"What?"

She doesn't put it softly, she states facts with as much harshness as his cruel fantasy had, "You're trying to push me away and I won't let you."

Her typically sweet, soft features have hardened into a bitter expression he's sure he mirrors. The arms holding his waist to keep him upright move to climb up his chest and cup his face between her hands with all of the gentleness her face and voice don't have right now.

She sees right through him.

When he tries to look away again, to avert his eyes to make what he's trying to do easier on himself by not having to look at her when he does it, her grasp on his face holds firm. Her hands guide his chin back up so they're face to face, and he realizes what a mistake everyone makes in assuming her this dainty, broken girl whose only source of strength came from the brother she lost. She's a forest fire.

"You're not hearing what I'm saying—"

Y/N interjects, "I am hearing what you're saying, I'm just saying it's bullshit."

She refuses to let him off the hook, and though it frustrates him on the surface, deep down, it makes him fall in love with her all over again. Her insistence against his speech about her leaving him proves him wrong more than anything else could, 'cause he gave her the perfect chance to dip and she shot it down instantly.

The house looms behind them as a menacing presence that threatens to take control of him again, but she doesn't let it. She keeps his eyes on her no matter how many times he tries to look away and doesn't let anything get in the way of what she says next.

"You think that if you push me away and get me to leave you right now, it'll hurt less than it would if I did it later, and I don't accept that. I won't take the bait and let you torture yourself anymore, okay? I can't speak for anyone else, but I know I'll never leave you. Not willingly, anyway."

She looks into his eyes, and this time its softer, more loving, and he's never felt as understood as he does when she continues to speak.

"I'm in love with you. Whether it scares you or not, it's the truth, and I'll never stop saying it. If you think that your issues with your dad are gonna change that for me, you've officially lost your mind." Their noses brush as she leans in to ghost a kiss over his mouth and pulls away a second later to whisper, her forehead pressed to his, "I love you, JJ. Stop being so stubborn and just let me."

His next breath in trembles as he lets her words sink in, and he's stuck at a crossroads inside of himself without a clue of what to do.

The breeze blows her hair away from her face, the afternoon sunshine painting her golden, and when he sees her hair flutter in the air like it did so many years ago, he can't help but feel as calm as he did during their bike ride home. The further away he got from his dad and the house where it all happened, the calmer he grew, and it hits him at this moment that he's so taken aback by her confession to him, he forgot why he was so upset.

It's sobering. The intoxication of his panic hurtled him back in time to the frightened, childlike state of mind his dad's violent abuse often sent him to, but it was hearing her say those words he's feared for weeks that brought him back. Like the jolt of a defibrillator, he's roused back to life with more clarity than before.

She loves him, but, perhaps more importantly, she said she'd never leave him, and that is what he needed to hear more than anything. That is the statement worth more to him than the four letter word he has agonized over endlessly. No one else every attached the promise of "I love you" with the stipulation of it lasting forever. They said the empty words and contradicted it with their actions, but she hasn't done that. Her actions spoke the words long before her mouth did.

He sighs.

It's a deep, yearning sigh that sends him melting into her with the acceptance of what he's denied for too long. He savors the hands cradling his head, as well as the body pressed up against his that he has memorized down to every beauty mark and imperfection, and makes the right choice.

It isn't like it was the night at the Cherry Bowl, or the night he spoke to Pope about it. It still takes more bravery than he possesses to form the words, but there isn't a physical incapability stopping him anymore. It's just him against the trauma beckoning him into its trap again, and he won't let it lure him back into that house.

"Alright," JJ says to her through a sniffle in acceptance to her command, as if he were agreeing on afternoon surfing plans rather than something as monumental as allowing someone to love him, then continues onto with a timid tone, "I love you too."

Before he can watch for her reaction, she's surging forward through the few inches of space left between them to connect their lips in a kiss.

It's vastly different to the kiss they shared in the hallway at school last Friday. In contrast to that one, the reigning emotion within him that drives the kiss after the hesitant beginning doesn't lead them into increased intensity, it gets gentler. It doesn't explode into chaos and passion, it's a tired kiss that he never wants to retreat from. It's the physical manifestation of his feelings for her underneath the guarded exterior he uses to protect himself: gentle and yielding, yet undeniably powerful.

He feels her smiling through her tears against his mouth. In the face of everything that happened this afternoon, he doesn't feel like he should be smiling back at her, but he does. He smiles while kissing her with tears streaming down his face, still reeling from his traumatic response to coming home for the final time, and wonders how a person can feel such contradicting emotions all at once.

Y/N is the one who starts to pull away first, though it's only to check in on him. If she had it her way, she could stay here with him until the sun sets, but he did just come back from the brink of a full-blown panic attack, so she can't in good conscience ignore his well-being for the momentary bliss of their love confessions.

Her thumb brushes over his bottom lip, her smile drooping with worry as she asks, "Wanna spend the rest of the day on the boat? You always say being on the water makes you feel better. Maybe it'll make it easier to talk about it."

His Adam's apple bobs with how he swallows the lump in his throat.

"Can we maybe take baby steps for now? I don't think I can handle telling you all that shit yet."

It was already enough to allow her to follow him into the house, watch him break down into a fit of panic no one else has seen him in, and tell her he loved her, but it'd cross the line into uncharted territory to talk about everything between him and his dad so openly. Between the minor annoyance of dealing with Kacey to this hellish visit home, he thinks he's reached his quota on feeling uncomfortable today.

She nods in agreement.

"Baby steps."

Drawn back to each other by a force stronger than gravity, they collide again, but it isn't a kiss this time. It's a hug charged with all of the previously unspoken emotions they've buried inside of themselves for years, the same hug she gave him the last time she came to this house with the fear of his potential death lingering in her thoughts.

She throws herself at him with the same desperation she did that day and relishes the feeling of his muscular arms returning the embrace until their bodies are tangled together. She'd usually never refer to something as inherently affectionate as an embrace as violent, but it's the closest she can come to capturing how it feels as their bodies meet. It makes her lose her footing on the bottom step they stand on together, teetering on the edge she'd surely slip off of with the force if not for him keeping her steady.

He's about to say something, a thank you to her for calling him out on his bullshit and not letting him go that easily, when the grating sound of her ringtone blares from the back pocket of her denim shorts.

The contact popping up on the screen along with a series of frantic messages when she pulls away from him to answer shows Pope's name.

Pope You and JJ need to get back to the Chateau ASAP!!

The van doors slam shut behind Y/N and JJ as soon as it rolls to a stop in front of the Chateau.

Under the assumption that something dire happened, as in injury or death or catastrophic damage to the house itself, they bolted off of that porch faster than they knew they could move. She only turned back when she remembered the packed back of JJ's things they abandoned on his bedroom floor and, not wanting him to reenter the house, she brought it back to the Twinkie in record time.

They're preparing to trample up the porch into the house like a stampede of animals when they hear Kie calling them over to the backyard and change direction.

"No one's hurt!" she shouts, knowing that was likely where their minds went after everything they went through during the summer, "You have to see this though, I don't know who did it!"

Sticks and fallen leaves crunch beneath her feet on her way around the side of the house. Her mind races with the possibility of what could've happened that didn't hurt their friends but necessitated a series of texts and calls as frantic as the ones she received at JJ's house. She drove over here in defiance of the speed limit, something she rarely does, and prayed nothing terrible was happening.

It gave her flashbacks to when she found out John B and Sarah died in the storm. The pedal beneath her foot brought the van to an uncomfortably swift speed, then she remembered the sound of Shoupe's voice when he gave them the news. JJ warned her to slow down, then she remembered how it took multiple people to help her restrain him from attacking the new sheriff for letting his men drive their friends into their deaths.

At first, she doesn't realize what's wrong.

Kiara and Pope are standing and waiting for them across the grass near the large tree that sits as a centerpiece to their yard. Based on the body language screaming their frustration and the tears in their eyes, she can tell something bad did happen, but it's not clear what it is until she looks past them to the tree. More specifically, until she looks at what's on the tree.

"Oh my god," she whispers to herself.

Her hand is already up to cover her mouth and conceal the instantaneous frown besmirching her previously relaxed face. They both are stopped in their tracks halfway to where their friends are standing, and she can’t hear JJ's reaction over the rising volume of her hysterical thoughts.

Spray painted in red on top of their memorial for John B are the words "COP KILLER" in bold letters that conceal what they burned into the tree trunk for his gravestone. It sticks out from the beauty of the greens, browns, blues, and swathes of other earthy tones composing the scenery around the Chateau like a thorn amongst flowers, so much so that she wonders how she didn't instantly see it when they rounded the corner to come back here.

Yet that isn't the only thing amiss in the peaceful sanctuary they call home, there are random things strewn around the ground around the tree. An old t-shirt spray painted with the word "murderer" on the front, four ripped up envelopes, and a gorgeous mahogany jewelry box...broken on the grass.

The freshly turned dirt they had the contents of the box buried beneath is scattered around the trashed area as well. It clicks with her a few seconds late that whoever came here to do this must have seen the pinwheel she put in the ground to mark the "grave" and dug it up to add insult to injury.

She moves forward without consciously realizing it and stumbles until she reaches the first object of the debris field. Before this, she was doing a masterful job of holding in her cries, but as soon as she crouches down to pick up the pieces of the jewelry box, the lid snapped clean off the hinges to separate it from the bottom section, it comes rushing out of her against her will. The first unrestrained keen is the first thing to snap JJ out of his shell shocked trance.

He walks after her as fast as his legs will take him without breaking into a run, but she isn't letting him get close before she puts the box back down and shuffles forward to collect the torn letter remains. She doesn't want them to get blown away by the wind anymore than they already might have been, so she scrambles to gather the pieces until they're cupped in her hands to protect them.

"Why?" she asks and looks up at Kie and Pope with tears dripping down her face, "Why would anyone do this? Who would do this?"

Pope says, "My guess is as good as yours. We didn't see anyone leaving when we got here, so it must've happened before school ended. This is all we saw before we called you guys."

For a second or two, JJ is grasping at straws for why this happened and who did it like the rest of them are, but then something Pope said makes it click into place. It sets off a domino effect in his mind as he brings back the memory of a certain offspring of satan being absent from gym this afternoon despite being at school earlier, since his encounter with her before Physics made him, unfortunately, aware of her existence again.

His face is set in anger, jaw clenching with the tension of him grinding his teeth together, and he takes his hat off to fidget with it between his hands for a second. Their friends are too focused on her crying to see him contemplating it, but as soon as he speaks, they look up to see him setting his hat back onto his head in preparation to leave and track Kacey down.

Y/N's head snaps up from the torn letters in her hands to the sight of him storming off across the yard with his only goodbye being the words, "I'm gonna kill that bitch."

Her and Pope stare after him in shock, unable to put the pieces together about who that "bitch" is, but Kie doesn't miss a single beat. While Y/N is crumpled over on the ground in tears, she's rushing after JJ before he can approach the bike parked in front of the house. He doesn't even make it five steps before he feels her hands latching onto his wrist to stop him.

She asks, "Who the hell are you talking about? And why would they do this?"

His eyes narrow at her. His unreleased frustration for the situation in general and having to watch Y/N cry after an emotional afternoon together comes rushing out when he snaps at her.

"Kacey. She talked shit at school and I put her in her place. Now, if you don't mind, I'm gonna pay her a little visit."

He yanks his arm sharply towards himself to free it from her grip, but she's a step ahead of him. Quicker than he can think to stop her, Kie swipes the keys hanging out of his back pocket away and throws them to Pope, who, bless his heart, can't catch to save his life. The key ring jingles with its contact at the dead center of his chest, and she mouths an apology to him before turning back to face JJ.

"What the fuck, Kie?"

He makes to stomp past her and retrieve the keys from Pope only to be stopped by her hands reaching out to grab his shoulders.

"Listen to me, you can't go anywhere. Look at her," she whispers lowly enough to keep Y/N from hearing, pointing behind her to where she sits on the ground with Pope knelt beside her, "I wouldn't put it past Kacey to pull a stunt like this. I'm just as mad as you, but revenge can wait and you know it. She needs you."

The fury visible in his expression is subdued by looking past Kie's shoulder to see Y/N crying softly to Pope about the vandalized memorial.

The last time he saw her so distraught over something, it was the day they made the memorial and buried the box in the first place. She sits on her knees with her mom's broken jewelry box between them, shuddering with the sobs she has no control over, and pours the torn paper into the empty bottom half of the box. Exhausted to the core, she looks more like a sullen, kicked puppy than she does herself.

It makes his anger-fueled instincts that urge him to hunt Kacey down and do something, anything he can to make her feel the pain they do right now bubble down into sorrow. It's visible in his eyes when he looks at her.

Kie knows she's gotten under his skin when he sighs, sparing a parting glance to the bike in the driveway, and nods once at her before setting off back to where they're sitting in the grass.

Meanwhile, Y/N is stuck staring down at the disarray of her backyard with nothing but pain aching through her to the bone.

Her brother did wrong things sometimes as a consequence of being human, but never this, never something worthy of having his name dragged through the mud and being branded a murderer after his death. He stole scuba gear from Ward and broke dozens of laws in their hunt for the gold, but he never crossed that line into moral bankruptcy. Rafe did, and it kills JJ to see someone like Kacey do this to his best friend while hanging off of Rafe and his friends like a leech.

The fabric of his worn t-shirt is tarnished by the dried paint clinging to the front of it to the spell the lie written there, and her vision blurs with tears for what feels like the millionth time in the span of an hour. First, it was JJ. Now, it's John B, and she can't help but wonder if the heartache will ever end. It began to feel better over the course of the week, her grief for him slowly beginning to slip from her mind until now. Until the storm clouds converged again to batter her with another wave of it.

Through the deafening volume of her mind racing with thoughts and feelings to process what's happened, she hears Pope shuffling around to stand on his feet. Then, another person sits down in his place and scoots closer until their bodies are touching, and she knows it's him. She doesn't have to wait to hear his voice or look to see his face, she can tell based on the feeling of his touch and the smell of him she's so intimately familiar with, yet couldn't describe it aloud if she tried.

He doesn't smother her. He sits close enough to touch her and doesn't push it any further.

The background of the pale, cloudless sky frames him in the foreground like the subject of a painting—a living, breathing painting that she could study endlessly. The other trees planted in the yard's leaves flutter distantly behind him and try to draw her gaze away, but she keeps her eyes on him.

Maybe that's how it is, she thinks.

Maybe it'll get better and worse in a dance that'll only stop when they're no longer here to agonize over it. Maybe this is what moving on from John B will always be like. It'll feel like they've made strides in the right direction, then something will come along to shatter it to sharp pieces that'll reopen their stitched up wounds. If that's the case, at least the four of them have each other to lean on when it gets worse again.

JJ sits with her and lets her crawl onto his lap, resting her head on his shoulder, until the sun sinks below the horizon.

The gentle bobbing of the HMS Pogue at the surface of the water steadies her amidst her eddying thoughts. It keeps her present to the moment the way the ropes tying the boat to the dock keeps it from floating adrift into the marsh. It's a motion engrained in her from the start of her life until now from countless days spent on the water. Whether it be for fishing, swimming, or playing make believe with her boys all those years ago, it's as much a part of her as her personality or body itself.

JJ was right about one thing: being out on the water makes it easier to think.

He hasn't followed her out since she woke up before sunrise and snuck out of bed to come here. Despite her efforts not to wake him, he woke up when she disentangled her body from his, silently cursing the fact that they always cuddle so closely, and he tried to pull her back to him with a whine of displeasure in his groggy, half-asleep state. Sleep finally found them after hours of staying up together to talk about what Kacey did, unable to relax from the chaos of yesterday, so he wasn't prepared to wake up that soon.

"Go back to sleep, angel," she whispered as she hovered over him, brushing a chaste kiss to his lips that he was too tired to return.

That was the last time she saw him since this morning, and now that the sun has risen to its peak in the sky without her moving an inch from her perch atop the bow of the boat, she's begun to wonder if he's awake yet. It isn't uncommon for them to sleep in for half of the day when there isn't school or work, so it isn't surprising to her that he's just now waking up when she hears the back door to the Chateau opening and closing.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ has been awake the entire morning since she left bed.

They were so attached to each other yesterday night, he didn't have the time to put it together without her seeing and ruining the surprise, but once he heard the door to the porch close to signify her leaving, he kicked the blankets off of himself and got to work. He wasn't originally planning on starting so early, since they stayed up late into the night together, but once he woke up to the feeling of her sneaking out of his arms, he was too awake to fall back asleep.

The sound of his footsteps on the dock warns her of his approach, but she doesn't raise her head from where she rests it in her palms to stare out at the water.

"I was wondering when you'd finally wake up," she says.

There's another few steps, then the boat jostles with his weight stepping onto it.

He doesn't say anything to her in response. The only clue she gets as to what he's doing are the footsteps on the deck that lead closer to her until she feels him sitting down on the bow next to where she is. And she's about to open her mouth to ask if he's okay when he sets something down in front of her.

It's a shoe box.

Y/N turns to see him, eyes flickering over his tired face, and looks back at the box with furrowed brows.

"What is this?"

His hair is messy, exactly how it was when she left him in bed this morning, and if she weren't more focused on the mysterious box he plopped down in front of her, she'd be combing through it with her fingers. He's gotten used to those casual displays of affection from her; how she runs her hands through his hair on mornings before school when he forgets to brush it, or when she fixes a button on his flannel that he missed.

JJ's lips are tipped in a smile, and she can't help but blush with how he looks at her. She never used to see it, but he has always looked at her like this. Like he's hopelessly, utterly in love with her. Even before they lost John B, back when he'd expend all of his romantic and sexual attention on girls he hardly knew, he still looked at her this way.

He gestures at it and says, "Open it."

The lid of the box is coated in a freshly dried layer of blue paint to match the shade of the sky overhead. She knows instantly that he must have dug through the arts and crafts box she specifically labeled with a warning for him and John B to stay out. It's painted with aimlessly sloppy brushstrokes and stickers placed at every corner of the cardboard box, all of which she recognizes from the stash she kept under her bed alongside the India ink he borrowed last Friday.

As she gives him a skeptical look and reaches to lift the lid off of the shoe box, she makes a mental note to rewrite the label on the arts and crafts box without the warning for him to keep out. Since John B isn't here to steal anything from it and JJ never follows that rule anyway, it's redundant at this point.

Any skepticism is washed away from her face as soon as she flips the lid open to reveal what's inside. It leaves her speechless as she looks down at it all.

"JJ..." she murmurs in awe.

Sitting at the bottom of it is a folded up t-shirt she saw JJ wear multiple times, but never again since John B died. He refused to glance at the shirt his best friend gave him the year before they never saw him again, let alone dig it out of the corner of her closet where he keeps his things...until now.

But that's a scratch on the surface of all of the things about his gift that stuns her to silence. The next thing to catch her immediate attention is a picture she hasn't seen in years.

It's one that Big John took of the three of them together right where she and JJ are sitting. She was much younger in it, flashing a toothy grin with her arms thrown over both boys' shoulders. To her left, John B was leaning his head on her shoulder. To her right, JJ was wearing an eyepatch they crafted out of an old black shirt he stole from his dad. It was cut with the kitchen scissors and tied around the back of his head in a knot.

She brushes her thumb over John B's face, then sets the crinkled photograph back down atop the folded shirt and moves her attention to the last surprise.

Letters.

Torn up pieces of paper painstakingly taped back together sit one on top of the other, some missing pieces here or there, and it makes her mouth part in shock. Her hands shuffle the letters apart to see each one and recognize the handwriting: Kie's bubbly, swirling letters, Pope's neat cursive, hers, and JJ's chicken scratch writing that she's able to decipher from years of proofreading his essays.

She pictures him at her desk all morning while she was sitting out here, ripping tape off of the roll and arranging the puzzle pieces of the ripped letters until he was sure he got it right. It made him want to rip the hair from his scalp, but he sat there and pushed through the frustration to make it as perfect as he could for her. The missing pieces were primarily from Kie's letter, which fluttered away on a balmy breeze when Kacey tore it up and threw it to the ground, but the one he wanted her to have the most wasn't missing more than a single piece.

Y/N looks up from the letters held like a precious treasure in her hands to see him watching her with that same classic JJ smile on his face, but he doesn't let her get a word in yet.

"Go on," he says, leaning closer to pull his letter to John B out and place it on top of the pile for her to read, "I want you to read it."

"You didn't let me read it when I asked before though, are you sure you—"

He interrupts her before she can worry herself over it, "Dude, just read it. I promise I'm fine with it. I want you to."

The letters crinkle under her touch as she looks back down and smooths them out on the deck enough to read through the clear tape. With one last confirming glance to him for permission, she takes a deep breath and reads the first line.

Dear John B,

You really know how to keep a guy on his toes, don't you? You really outdid yourself on this one. I was so sure we were gonna make it, but I guess you had to go all Romeo and Juliet on us, huh? As long as you and Sarah are happy macking on each other in heaven, it's okay.

In all seriousness, I fucking miss you, bro. I miss you more than I realized a person could miss another person. Whenever I need to talk to you again, I don't know what to do. I guess that's why it's good that Y/N made me write this.

Also, I'm really sorry for—

"What does it say there? There's a whole chunk missing," she murmurs.

He scoots close enough to her that she can feel his body warmth radiating onto her through the shoulder of his flannel. Sunlight reflects on the silver rings decorating his fingers as he holds one side of the paper to tilt it enough for him to squint at.

"Macking, I think. It's supposed to say "I'm sorry for macking on your sister."

—macking on your sister. You can totally kick my ass for it, but before you come back from the grave to murder me, let me defend myself, okay? She isn't just another girl for me, John B.

I think you knew it before I did.

Last summer, you asked me straight up if we were hooking up behind your back after I kissed her in front of you on the porch. I laughed in your face, but you were right.

You saw everything before me, man. You knew I loved her since we were kids and waited for us to come to you about it, so that's gotta mean something, right? I hope it means you wouldn't be mad at me for this.

I swear I won't fuck it up with her, but you already know that. That's why you asked me to take care of her,. I didn't know why at the time but I do now. I won't let you down.

I'm keeping my promise.

- JJ

P.S. Don't miss me too much. We'll be shotgunning beers together up there before you know it.

There are tears blooming in her eyes when she lifts her gaze from the tattered paper to look at him again, but they aren't sad. For once, the tears slipping down her cheeks are happy tears, not born from grief, sadness, and pain, but bittersweet happiness.

They're caught staring at each other for a second before he asks her shyly, "It isn't too sappy or anything, is it? 'Cause I thought it—"

"C'mere," is the only thing she can get out before she's tugging him forward by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

JJ stumbles a little with the unexpected force of her pulling him to her, but he takes it in stride. He steadies himself and lets his hands shoot out to grapple for purchase on her waist, keeping her pressed up against him tightly as he kisses her back.

And it doesn't get much better than this, does it? This is it for him. He meant what he wrote to John B, he won't fuck it up with her, especially not because of his trauma with his dad getting inside his head and sabotaging his relationship with her. This is what makes everything worth it.

It brings happy tears to his eyes too.

She can taste the salt of them where their lips meet in the middle. It makes her smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and clenching the letters he mended for her in her fist to keep them from blowing away in the wind, and they both start to laugh into each other's mouths at the poignant feeling they both share but can't quite place.

They pull away from each other to catch their breath after another moment of it, and she can't help but stare. How could she not when she feels like this? It’s less like he’s her boyfriend and more like a piece of her soul has attached itself to his with no hope of letting go in the near future.

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me," she whispers to him.

Plain and simple. No room for disagreement or a bashful rejection of the compliment. She's pulled back from him enough to hold his gaze and make sure he sees her seriousness, and there isn't anything he can do to refute her statement.

He brushes his nose against hers affectionately, dipping down to kiss her again, but when he leans back to see her face, he can't help himself.

"Ditto."

The rest of the day after their moment on the boat, locked away in their own little world where none of the monsters chasing them could sneak through and ruin it, melts away peacefully. After another half hour spent looking through the box together, of her thanking him over and over again, he hops off of the HMS Pogue onto the dock and extends his hand to her in the most gentlemanly manner possible.

His lips are curved into a smirk as he kneels down on one knee as though she's a revered royal and bows his head in subservience, "Princess Routledge."

Her hand fits in his warm, calloused palm as a perfect match, and she steps off of the boat onto the dock beside him with an expression to match his.

"Captain Maybank," she says in her most regal royalty voice.

Her stellar performance breaks into a laugh they share as he stands and throws his arm around over her shoulder to walk back to the yard. The cardboard box is tucked beneath one of her arms while the other slips around his side to hold him back, and her heart feels full with both the presence of JJ and John B alongside her.

They bury it together.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, and @krisphann

Also, now that it’s over, let me know what your favorite part was in the comments or tags if you’d like to :) I’m curious.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #i'm gonna miss these dorks #🥺#I love how he tries to break up with her and she’s like ‘no❤️’#also totally do not put on ‘seven’ by Taylor Swift during the childhood flashbacks unless u wanna cry #cause I did and my sensitive ass was crying #that song is about John B and JJ okay #it just is

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 3 years ago

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Five)

Word Count- 3921

Morning had come around a lot quicker than you had hoped it would, the sunlight peeking through the curtains and birds singing outside making drifting back off an impossible task. Though you felt well rested, you simply just didn't want to move anywhere any time soon. Last night had begun with Mycroft shyly placing his hand on your hip as your back pressed close to his chest, but this morning had ended with Mycroft on his back and you with your head resting between his chest and shoulder, hand crossing over with fingers hooked over the pyjama's pocket. You'd never expected to be the type to wake up earlier than Mycroft Holmes, particularly not two days on the bounce, but you wouldn't complain. He looked so peaceful as he slept, the sunlight turning his auburn hair far more ginger, his freckles on his nose matching. You slowly reached one arm backwards, blindly feeling around for your phone on the bedside table and reading through your messages. You grinned seeing a text from Greg and had to fight the small laugh that threatened to escape you.

'Hey, just thought I'd check in on you both and see how you're getting on. I hate to feel pushy but we do really need to start that paperwork, today ideally. Figured I'd pop round later if it's alright- I need a sodding nap first though. Spent the majority of last night receiving phone calls about mysterious activity around St James', load of dodgy cars sending people away, loads of papers.. don't suppose you saw any of that down your way did you, makes life easier?"

Your fingers typed a response- 'Uhh..guilty as charged.. Myc was in jeans and a Who top, daren't be seen by the public..I'll get him to fix it when he's up x'- a grin playing on your face. Yeah okay you felt a little bad, but Greg had dealt with worse. After pressing send, you scrolled further through your notifications, spotting one from John. Nothing major, just checking in and inviting you both over for late lunch, mentioning briefly how it'll do Sherlock some good seeing his brother, even if he doesn't believe it himself- evidently also receiving a message from Greg as he also explained how it would make Lestrade have to do one less visit for paperwork if you popped over a little earlier. Before you could type an answer, you felt Mycroft shift beneath you, stretching out the arm that wasn't trapped beneath your body.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty." You teased, turning your head and placing a small kiss on the Holmes' chin. Mycroft blinked, rubbing his eyes and offering you a 'good morning' in response as he eyed up you typing on your phone.

"Needed to be whisked away to catch a criminal mastermind already?" He asked, sitting up a little as you moved to give him a little more space, his arm still loosely tucked behind your back, though his torso now free.

"Your deductions in the morning are lacking.. though close. Mastermind, but not criminal. John and Sherlock have invited us to late lunch, Greg's popping over to start the first part of paperwork handling, only the basic stuff this time round, so figured it would make it easier on him only having to go to one home before we left." Mycroft breathed deeply, fingers raising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think I'd have rathered the criminal." He spoke, already mentally planning the afternoon, the conversations he would likely have, the way Sherlock would behave. What if he still hadn't forgiven him? It was surprising enough that you had let him off so easily, but Sherlock was different. Sherlock was a Holmes, and someone of whom already had feudal tendencies with Mycroft, it was bound to end terribly. As though you had read his mind, you moved your hand to take his from his face as you noticed his fingertips whitening as he pinched harder.

"Hey, it'll be fine. He doesn't blame you, he's been far too silent for that to be the case. From the way John sounded, it actually seemed more like he was worried about you, though you know he'd never admit that." Mycroft hummed in response, not being able to find the right words to say before reaching over and grabbing his own mobile. "World ending yet?"

"Not yet. Though with any luck, quarrels could happen before lunch." He mused, one side of his mouth raising slightly in a playful smirk.

"Mycroft you can't wish for conflicts amongst empires to get out of a meal with your brother."

"Can't I?" He raised a brow.

"Anthea wouldn't allow it anyway. We're on strict instruction to not go into work for the next couple of weeks, nations be damned. Lunch sounds far more appealing too." You slid yourself out of bed and grabbed one of the bags from Anthea that you brought upstairs last night, taking a handful of clothing items and tucking them under your arm.

"But it isn't lunch, is it? It's LATE Lunch, settled approximately around 3pm, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. It's impractical by any means; you starve yourself at real lunch so you do not ruin your appetite, and then by dinner time you're hungry once again. And if you eat at both of those times as well as the late lunch, your feeding schedules become on par with a bloody Hobbit." You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom. "Though you may be more accustomed to such choices given the height similarity between yourself and Mr Brandybuck."

"Cheeky sod, not all of us have glorious Holmesian legs. I'm sure you'll survive a few hours.. Oh, you also owe Greg an apology." You chuckled, opening the message back up and tossing your phone in the general direction of Mycroft's lap before going to get dressed. After reading the message, you heard Mycroft let out a laugh from the other room, the rare kind that you knew made the sides of his eyes crease and his head tip back slightly in amusement; you were sorry you missed it.

Leaving the bathroom, you couldn't help but notice the silk pyjama clad man standing mindlessly in front of his open wardrobe, glancing over each individual item of clothing. Wandering behind him, you moved up on your tiptoes and peered over his shoulder at the rows of suits. You were still dressed relatively comfortably in a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt, which you felt was appropriate for the later meal that would likely be somewhere like Angelo's- but you equally knew that Mycroft's idea of 'comfort' lay within his three pieces, pocket squares and oxfords.

"Don't panic, I'm not going to begrudge you of your precious suits today. You deserve it after actually going through with my wardrobe choice for you.. I didn't actually expect you to do it." You laughed, squeezing his shoulder fondly. "We slept in late again, there's barely any morning left." You commented, glancing over at the clock that read 10:53am. "Can I tempt you in Elevenses, Mr Baggins?" You grinned, your Lord of the Rings reference not being missed by Mycroft. He cast you a playful glare, fighting the urge to childishly poke his two fingers up at you. "What? Not judging my bedside manner this time?"

"It is useless to meet revenge with revenge; it solves nothing." He quoted Frodo without hesitation, bastard probably already planned that you'd quip back with something smart and already armed himself with Shire related comebacks. You, in contrast to Mycroft, did have the tendencies to become childish and did opt for the two fingered response, an adoring smile unnaturally paired.

Not many people got to know of Mycroft's little nerdy side, and you took pride in being one of the few that did, though you took more pride in him for being able to easily reel off the quotes. Though he had told you before that The Lord of the Rings trilogy had been his favourite of everything you made him watch, then when he read the books? You wouldn't hear from him for hours at a time while he binge read through them for the tenth time round, and of course you had noticed the varying editions of the three books on his bookshelf in his personal office, rather than lining the shelves in his small library room. If anything, it just made him more endearing.

Though it was nothing compared with his love of Doctor Who. Bless his heart, you had taken him to watch David Tennant's Richard II a few years ago for his birthday and he was insistent on waiting behind after the performance to catch David leaving and got him to sign his special edition box set of his DW seasons. He even had a photo taken with him, his expression being easily comparable to the likes of a child who just got a puppy for Christmas- and, much to his dismay, the photograph had had a prime place on your desk at NSY since the event.

You made your way downstairs, calling out something about making omelettes and leaving Mycroft alone to get ready. His fingers skimmed across the expensive fabrics, tugging out an olive green suit and red tie and pocket square to match. The smell of the food you were preparing began to fill his nose, making his stomach growl as he rushed to the bathroom to get dressed. After removing his pyjama top, Mycroft caught a glance of himself in the mirror, prodding at the pudge of his stomach that settled just over his pyjama bottoms, before sucking in flat and looking again. Maybe he should forego the omelette and just wait until later.. another growl.. okay maybe just a little, just so he didn't raise suspicion. He sighed, stomach relaxing back to its natural state before finishing his morning routine, tugging his trousers up a little higher than usual to tuck away the offending belly fat.

Mycroft had always suffered with his weight, he knew that. He also knew of his past, how he would skip meals, or spend hours upon hours on his treadmill, or the time he was under Doctor Chinnery for just shy of three years following his habits of completing his meals with his fingers down the back of his throat over the toilet just after his job promotions exceeded and he found himself in much higher rankings- public appearance being far more important than any personal preference. Though his eating disorder had improved, the years of therapy didn't miraculously improve his self-confidence. It was one of the many reasons he preferred inviting others for dinners, or at the very least having his days to himself when he knew he would be going out later in the evening. Spontaneous meals out like the one he would be attending in a few hours, or having somebody at home with him while he waited for said meals threw him off balance completely- his usual routine of fasting beforehand as to not appear rude or raise suspicions when he ate in public being disturbed significantly. You knew of his past, deduced it, actually, and had been nothing but supportive, trying your best to convince him for years that he was perfectly healthy and encouraging him to eat better, to actually consume meals. He was thankful, of course he was, but it didn't help his insecurities around you, no matter how welcoming you had been or however many compliments you gave him. His body was covered in stretch marks and areas of loose skin from his weight loss over the years, his chest hair, though scarce, was a coppery ginger and his body was covered in so many freckles he looked like an explosion at a dot to dot factory. It led him to remember the other reason why he had never previously attempted to pursue a relationship with you; if he was disgusted and horrified at the appearance of his nude body then what on earth would you think when that time eventually came around? He daren't even try to imagine your face. You'd worked with Sherlock long enough to have seen him wander around naked and Mycroft had to admit that his brother at least had a body worth parading about in the nude, then there was Gregory who, despite not having an exactly chiseled body, still had the rugged good looks and toned chest- a physique that clearly represented the physical aspects of his occupation- there was no doubt you'd compare him to them and he would come up short every time.

"Myc? You gonna be long? Yours is going to be freezing!" Your voice had knocked him out of his thoughts and he quickly shrugged on the rest of his clothes, straightening his tie in the mirror and plastering on a small smile as he headed downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Apologies.. the cufflinks failed in succession to cooperate at first." You had eyed him suspiciously, knowing that Mycroft had worn enough suits in his lifetime that he could probably find a way to put one on to completion in 5 minutes in the dark with oven mitts on.

"I know I've been so against the suits, but I have to admit that you look incredible.. I think that one's my new favourite." You commented casually, placing a quick kiss to his temple as he sat at the table. "That colour is lovely." He quirked a brow.

"New favourite? You've had old ones?"

"Obviously." Imitating Sherlock. "Charcoal pinstripe with that light blue shirt- brings your eyes out wonderfully... and your bum." You winked, positively enjoying the pink that dusted the man's cheeks, and the way he would open his mouth to speak and then close it before any words came out. In his defence, he was really not used to receiving such compliments. And in your defence, you weren't particularly used to giving them, not like that anyway. You'd blame Greg, he was a terrible influence and an incredible flirt- using his charm to at the very least try and make you laugh when you had shitty days.

You lay his plate in front of him, a coffee to its side, before beginning to tuck into your own meal. You had learned early on that if you didn't wait until Mycroft was able to eat then he likely wouldn't eat at all. While drinking his coffee fairly happily, you hadn't missed that the vast majority of Mycroft's breakfast was still on the plate, cut in smaller pieces and rearranged to appear as though he had eaten more than he truly had. Frowning, you didn't press- knowing better than to point out his behaviour and just being thankful he had eaten anything at all (about a third of the omelette and half a slice of toast if your judgements were correct) but had elected to keep an eye on him. You finished your own food in silence before crossing the cutlery over on your plate and beginning to speak.

"I figured if we left now we could have a bit of time for you to go through the first set of paperwork, Greg should be getting there in the next 10 minutes or so, and then by the time we finish and have a cup of tea it'll be time to go out." You suggested, taking Mycroft's plate to clear away after he had sent a nod to show he was finished. He made a small groan at the need to go at all, but soon acquiesced, sent a text for a car and stood to go to the front door. Tugging on a hoodie, you opened the door and took a step back, the wind shooting in your face and making you scowl. Mycroft made an amused sound and offered you the scarf of his that you had worn last night. Rather than taking the garment, you stood and waited for him to wrap it the same expert way that he had the night before. "I also text Greg to run by my flat and grab my coat so I'll be able to stop stealing your expensive scarves soon.. though this one feels so lovely I may text him again to leave it on the tube." You laughed, stepping back outside once again and walking with Mycroft to the end of the road where a car was waiting. Mycroft had wanted to respond, to make a comment about how he didn't mind letting you wear his things, how he actually quite liked it. But he stayed silent, offering a small smile instead and a soft hand at the small of your back. Mycroft opened the door for you, climbing in after and settling against the plush seats of the lavish car.

As the car began to move you tensed a little, a thought popping into your head.

"Myc.. does Sherlock know yet? About us? I might have hinted at it a little when I spoke to Lestrade earlier but I didn't press.. I just.. I didn't know if you were telling people." You asked awkwardly. Christ it made it sound like you were in some forbidden relationship. Mycroft's jaw clenched a little.

"I wasn't aware it was secret knowledge, if that's what you are asking Y/N. In response to your question, no. I haven't spoken to Sherlock at all since.." He trailed. "And I am not the sort of man to walk into a room and actively announce that kind of thing. But you should know that he will likely deduce it the moment we walk through the door being as you are wearing my clothing, your hair smells like my shampoo and your skin still has traces of the scent of my soap. So if you didn't want anybody to know, then I strongly suggest we rearrange our plans for this afternoon." Who was he kidding? Of course you didn't want people to know that you were actually together now- you would look ridiculous being such a pretty young woman with a man like Mycroft in tow. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "If you are going to say you could argue the soaps then it would simply be futile, he knows I have your regular brand at your disposal; he'd know you used mine in the form of... sentiment." The last word felt wrong on his tongue now, knowing you had hoped to keep your.. relationship.. behind closed doors. Mycroft Holmes was a very private man, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want knowledge of your relationship to be at least semi-public, having felt a little giddy when you'd chosen to cross that line with him.

"What? No, I wasn't going to talk about the sodding shampoo." You grinned, reaching a hand over to place on his knee. "Jesus Myc, I asked because I didn't know if YOU were comfortable with people knowing. I'm pretty sure everyone inside that flat knew I fancied you the last few years, I'd proudly walk in and show that my pining eventually paid off. I just know you have appearances to keep up and I didn't want to ruin that, or embarrass you in front of Sherlock." For what seemed like the millionth time in the last few days, your words surprised Mycroft. He felt his jaw loosen and he took a breath, moving only to briefly place his hand over yours for a small squeeze and moving back again. You didn't expect him to say much, he was Mycroft Holmes, not Romeo Montague, but the small smile you sent back his way let him know that you understood his thoughts. The drive to Baker Street was only 10 or so minutes from Mycroft's home so you soon arrived in no time at all, the slick black car smoothly pulling up outside number 221.

"I can only hope my dear brother deduces our relationship correctly and doesn't make a vast attempt to embarrass me in front of his peers.. again." Mycroft knocked on the door, his words casting you back to a Christmas you had all shared a couple years ago.

It was a small gathering, consisting of the pair of you, the Baker Street boys, Greg and Mrs Hudson, and a few weeks beforehand, after multiple arguments of whether or not presents should be shared, Mrs Hudson had come up with the wonderful (terrible) idea of secret Santa which, incase you wasn't aware, isn't a fun game when played with two Holmes' that knew everybody's present and Secret Santa before the packages were opened. You had pulled Mrs Hudson and couldn't have been more thrilled, neither could she when she opened her new tea set- a simple floral design decorated its sides, but she was thankful no matter the pattern, the last teapot having been found at the hands of Sherlock housing human eyes. Conveniently enough, Mycroft had pulled your name and elected to subtly buy you a personalised travel mug for work. After you had opened it, Sherlock had scoffed, muttering something along the lines of "Mycroft isn't that shit at buying presents. He bought you a necklace at first but felt too embarrassed to give it to you in such a public setting and panic bought that cup." Continuing on about how Mycroft had put a lot of thought into your original gift and how it was unusual and how it "obviously" meant he favoured you and was attracted to you. Mycroft had left shortly after that, not making eye contact with any of the silent people in the room and climbed into the back of his car, but you had followed suit and clambered in after him- easing the tension by ignoring Sherlock's allegations and giving him the envelope that you had in your pocket. You had told him you had bought him something special anyway, even though he wasn't who you were supposed to buy for, because you cared for and appreciated him- he had opened the envelope slowly and his eyes widened, that rare smile appearing on his face when he was presented with the Richard II tickets. After your exchange Mycroft had given you the necklace anyway, spouting derogatives about his brother's deductions as he did so. It was a small silver chain necklace with a sparkling silver pendant that, upon closer inspection, you had noticed was a police badge.

You smiled fondly at the memory and instinctively placed your hand above your sternum, feeling the small piece of metal beneath your clothing that you hadn't taken off in two years. You turned to face the man beside you a little more, placing a hand on his shoulder and reaching up on your tiptoes to place a lingering kiss on his lips, moving back only when you heard the latch unlock in front of you, and noticing the ever so slight pink tinge to Mycroft's bottom lip from the lip balm you had put on earlier. "That should make it easier to get it right." You commented, fighting the small grin from your face as you noticed Mycroft standing in the same way, lips parted slightly from where your own had been moments ago, a matching pink dusting his cheekbones. The door opened revealing a smug looking Sherlock.

"Be careful Mycroft, you'll catch flies like that if you aren't cautious enough."

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hartigays · 3 years ago

Note

rafebarry prompt: not canon compliant but rafe and barry are trying to get away from ward but barry gets hurt so rafe begs sarah + pouges (not on good terms w each other) to help them escape bc he loves barry<33

just a little something i thought about! totally up to you on how this all goes down if you decide to write it, anything you write is amazing !!

this was a stupid fucking idea. stupid, stupid, stupid. rafe knew from the beginning, he should’ve never agreed to this.

there aren’t many things that he and barry don’t agree on, surprisingly. even if they start off disagreeing about something, they generally always end up on the same page. but this plan had been something they’d gone back and forth on, never settling on a definitive decision.

in the end, barry had simply manhandled rafe over to the place he’d formerly called home - before ward booted his ass out - and waltzed them through the front door like they owned the place.

all to steal from ward, to get more money for coke and groceries (re: booze and hot pockets) and whatever other fleeting indulgences they could think of.

rafe had disagreed with this plan throughout its development and execution, not wanting to cross the one and only person in the entire world who scares him: ward cameron. and he’d been right to, because now barry is gasping for air, holding his side while blood spills from between his fingers.

they’re racing through the woods, trying to get as far away from ward’s long-range hunting rifle as they can.

rafe doesn’t know if ward knew he was barry’s companion in this little venture. he’d insisted they wear bandanas over their faces, but rafe is pretty sure ward would know his son in a heartbeat regardless.

he doesn’t even want to think about it. about the fact that ward shot barry, or that he probably would’ve shot rafe too if rafe hadn’t had the presence of mind to shove both barry and himself out of the nearest window, plunging into the bushes below before ward could get off another shot.

another shot on the person he more than likely knew to be his son.

ward had continued taking shots as rafe dragged barry across the yard and into the treeline, disappearing from view.

now, they’re back at the main road, barry collapsing against a tree as he clenches his hand around the wound in his side.

“let me see,” rafe demands, kneeling down and peeling up barry’s shirt despite barry shaking his head.

“ain’t got time, country club,” barry wheezes, trying to push rafe back so he’ll stand up and keep moving.

rafe doesn’t budge, just swipes at the blood with his shirt sleeve to get a better look at the wound. the bullet just grazed him, but it’s enough to warrant stitches at the very least.

“you’re not going to make it to the emergency room like this,” rafe comments absentmindedly, pulling out his phone a firing off a text to topper letting him know he’s going to need to borrow his car.

barry manages to push rafe back an inch this time, shaking his head furiously. “ain’t no way i’m goin’ to no damn hospital. i ain’t got insurance and your daddy done cut you off months ago. how you gonna pay for my little siesta in the ER with them empty pockets?”

and okay, he has a point. rafe will admit that. not to mention, ward has people all over the OBX, and if he sends out word about looking for his son, they’ll surely be caught if they’re trapped in the emergency room.

there’s only one other place rafe can think to go. one place where ward won’t know to look, one place where barry can get some medical help without having to shell out a fortune.

rafe may have to grovel a bit (or a lot), but he’ll do it. damn it, he’ll fucking do it because barry is going to bleed out if he doesn’t and that would really fucking suck because rafe was just starting to sort of like him.

he must’ve said that last part out loud, because barry manages to glare at him and say, “quit that shit. we been dating for a year, dickhead.”

then barry sort of slumps to the side, and rafe has to all but carry him to topper’s place.

rafe has just gotten the keys topper keeps in the cupholder into the ignition when he looks at his phone, seeing a text from top.

can’t let u borrow the car tonight, have a thing in the morning. srry bud.

rafe glances over at barry, who’s blacked out in the passenger’s seat, fresh blood still seeping out of his shirt.

“sorry about this, top,” rafe says to himself, turning the key and hearing the engine roar to life. “i’ll get you back later.”

he peels out of the driveway, speeding down the familiar streets until they become more and more unfamiliar, figure eight bleeding into the cut.

he zooms past more and more unfamiliar houses, searching for the only one he knows, starting to feel hopeless, starting to really worry that barry might actually die in the passenger’s seat of his car.

or topper’s car, rather. it’d be super annoying to have to apologize for that on top of having to apologize for stealing it in the first place, to be honest.

then suddenly, rafe is idling outside a house that is both familiar and unfamiliar. the few times he’s been here before, he’d been fucked up beyond belief and fueled by violent anger. it seems almost foreign to him now, while he’s sober as a judge (only due to his current circumstances, mind you) and fueled by nothing but pure adrenaline.

rafe practically drags barry to the house. there are all sorts of lights on, both inside and out, and rafe can hear the sounds of music and laughter drifting out from an open window nearby.

he only hesitates for a moment before circling around the house and banging on the door.

john b answers the door with a smile, a small wad of cash in his hand, clearly expecting some sort of food delivery. his smile fades instantly when he realizes it’s not his pizza or what the fuck ever, and is in fact rafe cameron and a half-dead barry.

“no,” is all john b says before trying to shut the door. rafe kicks his leg out, foot jamming between the door and the frame, preventing john b from closing it.

“fuck off, rafe,” john b grunts as he tries to shut the door. rafe can hear concerned voices from inside the house. “you’re not dragging us into whatever shit this is! literally fuck. off.”

“sarah!” rafe shouts, ignoring john b’s protests. “sarah!”

footsteps, and then sarah is pushing john b out of the way gently, looking at rafe in confusion, then at barry in horror.

“rafe? oh my god, what happened?”

sarah ushers them into the house, and rafe is literally dragging barry at this point. still, no one helps him get barry onto the couch. he manages regardless, but he’s panting when it’s all said and done, sliding down onto the floor with a grunt.

“i need you to help him,” rafe says, and he’s looking at pope, who’s seated in the corner beside jj, a guitar that he’s no longer strumming still sitting in his lap.

but john b is the one to answer, shaking his head. “no. besides, we can’t even help him. we don’t know how to do shit like that.”

“he does,” rafe says, still looking at pope, who’s now looking at barry thoughtfully.

“what?” kie laughs, looking bewildered. “pope may be smart, yeah, but he doesn’t have a medical degree. this guy needs a doctor.”

“i know how,” pope sighs, and rafe suppresses a smug smile. “i volunteered at the hospital last summer, remember?”

“and you knew this how?” john b asks rafe, accusatory.

“he was on my rounds once,” pope says calmly, leveling rafe with an unreadable look. “alcohol poisoning and a drug overdose all in one night.”

rafe fights the urge to look away, choosing instead to shrug nonchalantly.

“just another night in the cut, right?” rafe asks, arching one brow. “look, we can dredge up my poor life choices later, if it’ll make you all feel better and get your fucking panties out of a wad. but right now he needs help, so are you going to give him that or are you going to let him bleed out on your ugly ass couch?”

“i say let him bleed out,” john b snaps, clearly irked by rafe’s demands and insults.

rafe wants to knock the guy’s teeth down his throat, but he just breathes steadily through his nose. just like barry has been teaching him. “we can’t go to a hospital. no insurance, and ward’s hunting us down as we speak. so do i want to fucking be here? no. but i have to, so name your fucking price and we’ll pay it.”

“besides,” rafe continues, turning his eyes to sarah, challenging her, “you’re not just going to let someone die, are you?”

sarah narrows her eyes, hands perched on her hips. “no, that’s more your style, isn’t it?” then, she looks at pope. “come on, help him. he isn’t dying on john b’s couch. that’s way too creepy for me to deal with right now.”

pope nods and disappears from the room as sarah and john b bicker quietly. kie and jj glare daggers at rafe, while also eyeing barry, lying on the couch looking far more dead than alive.

when pope reappears, he has a first aid kit in one hand and a sewing kit in the other. he shoos rafe out of the way. rafe just scoots a little further to the left to give pope room, but stays close to barry.

“rafe, we need to talk,” sarah says after a moment. “outside?”

rafe shakes his head. “not until i know he’s okay.”

the room falls silent, and rafe looks around, glaring. “what, it’s illegal to care about people now? fuck off.”

“so do you want us to like… give you a room, or something? maybe some champagne and rose petals? we could get some ambient beats going, really set the mood, you know- ”

kie throws a pillow at jj, effectively shutting him up. “gross, jj. don’t put that image into my head.”

“look, whatever,” sarah interrupts, rolling her eyes. “but once he’s patched up, we’re having a conversation.”

rafe puts his hands up in mock surrender. “your house, your rules.”

he’s only trying to irritate john b, and it works. rafe smiles to himself when john b starts grumbling about it being his house actually, storming off to his room, undoubtedly to pout. sarah follows, and kie and jj trail after them a moment later. jj is the only one to look back, throwing a concerned look in pope’s direction before inevitably disappearing into john b’s bedroom.

rafe looks back at barry, all smugness disappearing from his expression when he sees just how bad the wound really is now that pope has cleaned it up a bit.

he really doesn’t care if he has to talk to sarah later - all he knows is that if barry dies, he’s sure as hell not going to be outside listening to sarah bitch at him when it happens.

rafe takes one of barry’s hands, ignoring the way pope’s eyes flicker down to the movement before returning to his work, remaining silent.

“you love him,” pope says suddenly, still not looking at rafe. he’s began sewing up the wound, his hands surprisingly steady.

“what’s it to you?” rafe asks defensively, but he curls his fingers tighter around barry’s, a little possessively.

pope just shrugs, like he doesn’t really care one way or another. “just an observation.”

he ties off the thread and cleans up the remaining dried blood from the wound with a rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton ball before applying a bandage and tugging barry’s shirt back down. it’s a lost cause, the shirt, but rafe appreciates the gesture anyway.

“it’s good to know you care about someone other than yourself,” pope says, finally turning towards rafe and giving him a hard look. “maybe there’s hope for assholes like you after all.”

rafe opens his mouth to say something bitchy back, but pope just claps him on the shoulder, stands and cracks his back, then leaves the room.

it’s just rafe and a passed out barry now. at least this way he can openly worry about his boyfriend, gnawing on his lip as he thinks about what it’ll be like if barry doesn’t make it.

rafe has been living with barry for some time now, ever since ward kicked him out. it’d started with sarah - she’d ran away and no one had known where. rafe ended up finding out through topper, but never seemed to get around to telling ward. don’t ask him why - he really doesn’t fucking know.

after sarah’s disappearance, ward’s temper reached its peak and rafe was kicked out mere weeks after his sister had gone missing. he stayed with topper for a while at first, often making trips to the cut to harass the dirty pogues who’d whisked his sister away from their supposedly happy family and her happy relationship with one of rafe’s closest friends.

when topper’s mother got sick of rafe loitering around her house, the only place left to go was barry’s. it’d helped that they’d already been screwing around for a while, initially so rafe could get discounts on coke, then turning into a full blown something over time.

their relationship has a definition now. barry had manhandled rafe into bed one evening and declared them to be officially official. meaning a relationship, meaning a bunch of figuring shit out as he goes because rafe sure as shit has never done any of this before.

he’s also pretty sure other relationships don’t involve hard drugs and robberies and shootings, so he thinks he’s got a few more obstacles to overcome than most when traveling the rocky road of a first relationship.

“rafe?” sarah calls, suddenly re-entering the room. “think we can talk now?”

rafe looks at her for a long moment. she looks different - happier, maybe? rafe wonders if he looks the same. maybe not right at this moment, with barry’s limp, clammy hand resting between his own, waiting on bated breath for barry’s eyes to blink open.

the need to hear barry’s slow drawl of coUnTrY cLUuUb is almost too much to bear, so rafe cuts his line of thought off, nods at sarah in answer to her question, and follows her outside.

they don’t talk for a long while, just staring out across the yard in silence. it’s not uncomfortable, per se, but rafe still wishes she’d say what she wants to say so he can get back inside. back to barry.

“this is a one time deal, you know,” sarah finally tells him.

when he looks at her from the corner of his eye, she’s staring directly at him, her expression serious. “i know,” is all he can come up with.

“i expect a thank you, just so you know.”

“i’m not thanking you,” rafe says immediately.

sarah actually smiles, just a little bit, then parrots back, “i know.”

“what did you want to talk to me about?” rafe asks eventually, pulling a cigarette from the pack he keeps in his pocket and lighting up.

sarah doesn’t answer for a moment, then shrugs, looking down at her hands. “i hate you, for the way you’ve treated me. and my friends. but sometimes i miss you. i miss my brother. what happened to you?”

it’s almost like she’s just thinking aloud, but rafe knows it’s a genuine question. one he doesn’t have an answer to. because he doesn’t really know where he went wrong - just that he could never seem to get anything right. not as a kid, not as a teenager, and not now as an adult.

“i don’t know,” rafe answers honestly, for the first time in a long time. he doesn’t know what else to say, so he tells her, simply, “but thank you for helping anyway.”

yeah, yeah. he wasn’t going to thank her, blah blah blah. whatever, shit happens.

the back door swings open, and rafe and sarah turn to watch barry stumble out of the house, still clutching his side but finally looking like a living, breathing person instead of a corpse.

“ain’t i tell you them things gonna rot your lungs?” is the first thing he says, plucking the cigarette from rafe’s lips and taking a drag.

rafe rolls his eyes, but lets barry rope him into a hug, careful not to bump into his wound.

“ugh, gross,” sarah huffs, making fake gagging noises before going back inside. rafe doesn’t miss the small smile that’s playing on her lips, though, and he’s suddenly filled with warmth.

it’s disgusting, and he’s surprised that he’s missed it. and that maybe, deep down, he’s missed his sister, too.

she said this is a one time deal, but maybe there’s a possibility of reconciliation. it’s a thought to revisit at a later date, rafe decides, wanting to focus on this moment right here, where barry is blessedly alive and safe.

so rafe just leans down a bit and buries his face in barry’s neck, taking a deep breath, feeling barry inhale and exhale around his cigarette as they stand in each other’s arms, companionable silence falling around them.

“you done saved my life, country club,” barry says, the first to break the silence.

rafe smiles against barry’s neck at the nickname, pressing a kiss to barry’s pulse point before pulling back a bit to look at him.

“yeah, you’re the only one who knows how to empty the septic tank,” rafe replies, deadpan.

barry throws his head back and laughs, one hand coming up to cradle the back of rafe’s head, pulling him down gently so he can press a kiss to his forehead.

“damn good thing you saved my ass, then.”

“sure is.”

when barry kisses rafe, he tastes like tobacco and blood, sour and metallic on his tongue. rafe should think it’s gross, but he just kisses barry harder, trying to scrub all the thoughts he’d had about barry dying from his memory.

it helps to have barry here, real and solid in rafe’s arms, lips soft against his own.

“can we get outta this shithole and back to our shithole?” barry asks when they separate, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “‘m pretty sure them shits would object to us christening their couch.”

rafe, for a moment, is tempted to try just to see what kind of reaction he’d get. but instead of following the urge, he lets barry guide him back to topper’s stolen car.

“who’s ride is this?” barry asks when they’re both buckled in, backing away from the routledge property.

“topper’s,” rafe explains, smirking to himself. “i, uh. borrowed it for the time being.”

“for the time being?” barry questions, and when rafe looks at him, barry is looking right back, brows raised and amusement written all over his face.

“mhm,” rafe confirms, matter-of-factly.

barry just glances around the car, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “sweet ride. think ol’ topper’d object to a little christening, too?”

rafe starts the car, letting his own smirk grow. “as a matter of fact, i think he would.”

barry blinks at him, then stares at his nails casually.

“so where we gonna park her?”

rafe just smiles, peeling away from the routledge house, cruising into the night.

“i know just the place.”

#rafebarry #outer banks #okay so the place they park and (redacted) is literally the figure 8 country club #also this leans more towards fanon!rafe and somehow both follows canon and doesnt #it’s all over the place tbh #lastly hope u all can spot the jjpope crumbs 🥰#my fics #ask #anon

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dickgrcyscns · 4 years ago

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Snowfall

Snowfall, John Carter x Female!Reader.

Summary: In which keeping a marriage secret is really difficult. Especially when the both of you are bad at secrets and it's been months of you working around everyone.

Set During: Season One

Word Count: 2,169 words

Gif used not mine!

Life was full of surprises, you had learned that pretty quickly in the emergency room. And you learned early on to take advantage of the breaks you were given, whether that be due to the weather or because one of the residents (and sometimes an attending) told you to take one. This time around it was for a reason a bit more exciting. You couldn’t help the giddy feeling that the snow elicited in you, after all you had grown up in Chicago and spent hundreds of days playing out in the snow. Staring out the window, listening to the quiet hums of the emergency room with no patients, you thought back to the days you would spend out in the snow. Often you found yourself at the Carter family home, running around in the snow with John as his grandmother stood by the window watching you guys play. It was in the snow that you realized your feelings for him. You were fourteen, rolling around in the snow after he had tackled you down to the ground. Your faces were inches apart and for a split second a part of you wanted to close the distance, press your lips against his own. But some part of you stopped that from happening then.

And looking back at it, that was one of your biggest regrets. You wished you had taken control earlier than when you did. Nothing could change anything, although, and at least you ended up with him in the end. Of course, you still kicked yourself for falling in love with your best friend. Especially since you had promised yourself that you would never do such a thing. (Then again, who didn’t make promises to themselves that would eventually fall through). Now that you two have been together since you were eighteen, and married for just over two years, everything else seemed small. All of the moments of what could have been seem minuscule in comparison to you guys actually being together.

“Y/l/n?” You turned your head away from the window, smiling at Susan who had called out your name. “We just pulled a prank on Carter and we’re about to have him find out, so if you want to come and watch.”

“I would love to do nothing more than watch this.” Standing up, you walked into the admit area and stood next to Lydia. “What did you do to him?”

“Just something fun,” Mark smiled. “You’re lucky you weren’t sleeping.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” you mumbled, waving your hand in the air. “Let’s get on with the show.”

Mark grabbed the intercom from behind him, holding it for a few seconds before he pressed the button. He let out a short laugh before speaking into it, “Doctor Carter stat trauma one, Doctor Carter stat trauma one.”

You leaned onto the counter, arms resting and holding most of your body weight as noises came out from exam room four. A smile formed on your lips when the door opened abruptly, John tumbling out from behind it with a cast on his leg. Laughing, you brought one of your hands up to cover your mouth as John walked closer to everyone standing in the room. He pointed a finger between everyone, a smile playing on his lips as he accused all of you for the cast. The finger landed on you, which made you scoff in response. “Y/n,” John said softly, “did you do this to me?”

You blinked. “No.”

“I have a hard time believing that.”

“I have better things to be doing,” you shrugged. “The cast is cute though, I suggest you keep it.”

“I hate you,” John mumbled, shaking his head. “I’m guessing it was you two then?” He pointed at Susan and Mark who shared a playful look. “Can someone please take it off?”

“I agree with Y/l/n’s statement, it looks cute,” Mark smiled, patting your shoulder. “I’m not taking it off.”

“Neither am I.” Susan grabbed her mug of coffee from the admit desk, walking back to the lounge. “Have fun with that Carter!”

“Thanks!” John screamed out sarcastically, watching as everyone but you walked away from the area as if nothing was wrong. Your care-free persona shifted almost immediately, allowing your soft side to show as you looked over John’s expression. “So now you want to be sweet?”

“I can’t act normal around you,” you felt your cheeks heat up. “They would catch on.”

“And if they did?”

“I’m not sure.” Biting at your tongue, you smiled a little. You reached out to touch his cheek for a fleeting moment, quickly pulling it back before anyone around could see you two. “I would really love to kiss you right now, though.”

“Me too.”

“Snow days just remind me of when we were younger and I would come over to your grandmothers house,” you smiled softly, a chuckle leaving John’s lips. “Do you not remember?”

“Oh no, I do. You would drop by around eight in the morning,” John sat down, angrily tapping on the cast. “That time was when my grandmother was awake and I was still asleep, so you’d spend time with gamma and talk to her. But you were always there when I woke up, effortlessly beautiful. It was unfair, really.”

You leaned down, looking to make sure no one could see you before whispering in his ear, “You know, I always wanted to kiss you in the snow.”

“In the snow?” John mumbled back. “It’s a good things there's a lot of that going around.”

“Do you think they would notice if we just, I don't know, went missing?”

“Probably so,” John pursed his lips, a nod falling from his head. “Seems worth the risk though.”

“It wouldn’t kill us if they found out,” you shrugged innocently. “I mean, I’d just be kissing my husband. It’s not like we have any patients to worry about.”

“Other than myself.”

“Right, sorry. Other than John Carter who is stuck in a cast he doesn't need.”

“No one from the outside knows that,” John stood up. “For all they know, I’m injured.”

You rolled your eyes, walking towards the doors to the ambulance bay. John followed after you, smiling at the sight of the snow falling to the ground. When the cold air enveloped you, you took in a slight breath. Hugging your jacket closer to your body, you looked up at the sky. It was the kind of weather people expected in Chicago, cold and snowy. This time it had the added bonus of being December, which meant there was the possibility for a white Christmas. You loved it when it snowed at Christmas time, it just made the season feel right. John stood beside you, one of his arms resting lightly against your waist. Neither one of you moved to find a remote space, which meant neither one of you were necessarily trying to hide the relationship from the people inside. In fact, if you cared enough you probably would have noticed their faces in the windows of the lobby and the lounge.

“You know,” John mumbled into your ear, “this would be a lot more fun if we kissed right now.”

“I can think of things more fun than kissing,” you smiled, turning so your body faced his. “Too bad we’re at work right now.”

“So that's how this is going to go?”

“How?”

“With you teasing me.”

“Sure seems like it,” you nodded, a playful smirk on your lips. “I love you, did you know that?”

“Surprisingly, I don’t think I did. Did you know that I love you as well?”

“Can’t say I was aware of that fact.”

“Strange how that happens.”

“Quite.”

“Are we just going to do this until I kiss you?” John questioned as your lips came closer to each others.

“I could do this all day,” you whispered against his lips.

“I know you could,” he whispered against yours.

“Just kiss me.”

“Say no more.”

John quickly pressed his lips to yours, hands coming to cup your cheeks. You wrapped your arms around his neck, curving your body into his. When you two broke apart, you took a few seconds to open your eyes. You were content with everything in that moment. The kiss, the smile on your lips, your husband, and especially the snow that continued to fall around you. When you opened your eyes, you were met with John’s brown doe eyes staring at you. He had a boyish grin stuck on his lips as he pulled you in for another kiss and then another and then another.

“They’re bound to know now,” you laughed, pulling your arms away from his neck. “At least, they know something. We could keep the fact that we’re married away from them if you want.”

“If we don’t tell them, it’ll keep them guessing.”

“But if we do tell them, we could probably kiss more often while here.”

“This is why you’re the smarter one of the two of us.”

“I’m not surprised,” You began to pull off your coat as you walked in the doors. “I mean, I’m me and you’re you. Of course I’m the smart one.”

“I know that I said that, but it still hurts.”

“Says the one who didn’t wake up when Doctor Greene and Doctor Lewis were putting a cast on your leg,” You laughed, walking into the lounge and putting your coat in your locker. Mark and Susan shared a look, a smirk on their lips.

“So,” Mark drawled out, a brow raised. “Anything you’d like to tell us?”

“The snow is pretty,” you smiled innocently, putting your stethoscope around your neck. “Don’t you agree John?”

“Definitely, it’s very pretty,” John nodded in response. “I just love when there’s snow outside.”

“Me too.”

“Reminds me of being a kid.”

“And when we would just terrorize your parents until they yelled at us to get out,” you mumbled, pushing at John’s shoulder as the four of you walked out to the admit desk. “God, your dad hated me.”

“Your dad didn’t like me much more,” John retorted. “He really hated me after we started to date.” Your face dropped a little, a smile forming on your lips when everyone in the admit area turned towards you two. His eyes went wide for a moment as he realized what he just said. You let out a slight laugh as Carol walked into the room.

“Did you just say,” Haleh smiled, pointing a finger between you and John. “Date?”

“I,” John stumbled on his words, making you shake your head.

“John and I are married,” you shrugged, trying to divert any attention away from it. “Nothing too abnormal going on here. So, how are you guys doing?”

“Married?” Carol blinked a few times, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked between you two.

“We’ve been together since we were eighteen,” John smiled. “We got married at twenty-one.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone here?” Susan leaned back on the desk, a laugh leaving her lips. “I always thought you two had something going on though. The longing glances were getting old.”

“Personally, I thought it was cute,” Haleh laughed, shaking her head. “Carter’s puppy dog eyes were really the selling point.”

“It was Y/n’s pout that tugged at my heart,” Lydia popped in, making your cheeks flame. “Seriously, all she had to do was jut out her bottom lip and Carter would do anything she wanted.”

“We should have realized this a while ago,” Connie laughed.

"Don’t hold it against yourselves. Honestly, we should have told everyone from the get-go. It’s not like it changes everything for us.”

“You two are cute together,” Carol smiled, placing a hand on your shoulder. She paused, turning back towards you with a wide grin. “Can we see your ring?”

“What?”

“Your ring, can we see it? You don’t wear it on your finger.” Carol grabbed at your hand, holding it in front of your own face.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” You grabbed at the chain around your neck, unclasping it so you could take your rings off of it. Sliding them on, you smiled a little at them. Your engagement ring was his great-grandmothers, you always found yourself staring at it. Each time you found something new about it: a different knick on the metal on the ring. Each time you often wondered about how it got there. Carol took hold of your hand again once the rings were on it, eyes wide and a smile growing.

“How’d you afford this Carter?”

“Family heirloom,” John mumbled, running his hand across the back of his neck. “I definitely wouldn’t be able to afford a diamond that large.”

You bit back a laugh (because the both of you could buy hundreds of diamonds that size if you wanted to), “Not at all.”

At least the snowfall did one good thing (other than stopping the E.R. from constant use), you and John didn’t have to hide anymore.

#john carter #John Carter x reader #John Carter imagine #John Carter er #susan lewis #mark greene #Doug ross #Carol Hathaway #emergency room #e.r.#nbc er

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annecoulmanross · 4 years ago

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Top Ten Historical Figures Done Dirty by The Terror (2018)

So, we all know and love Dave Kajganich and Soo Hugh’s beautiful show, right? Of course. But it’s important to set the historical record straight, especially when there are real people’s life-stories and legacies on the line.

(NOTE: this list is biased heavily toward upper-class individuals because the historical record does a better job preserving those voices for us. Was the real Cornelius Hickey as nasty a person in real life as he was in the show? Almost certainly not – which is why we’re given “E.C.” as a nod to the fact that we shouldn’t assume these characters represent real historical villains, even when the narrative makes them antagonists; HOWEVER, not everyone in the show was given the same courtesy as the OG “Cornelius Hickey.” Which is why this post exists – to show you the best sides of some people you might not otherwise appreciate for their full humanity. That being said, keep in mind the sources used – and, for instance, who has surviving portraits and who doesn’t.)

Thus, below the cut, I give you this list, (mostly) in order from #10 (honorable mention, only somewhat slandered) to #1 (most hideously maligned) – my list of characters from The Terror who deserved better.

(Please don’t take this too seriously – I know there are reasons why choices had to be made in order to make this show work on television, and I do very much love the end product. But I also genuinely think it’s a good idea to remember the real people behind these characters, and think critically about how we depict them ourselves.)

Bottom Tier – The Overlooked Men of the Franklin Expedition

#10. Richard Wall – & – John Diggle

We’re combining these two because they had a lot in common, historically speaking! Both were polar veterans, having served as a Cook (Wall) and an AB-then-Quartermaster (Diggle) on HMS Erebus under the command of Sir James Clark Ross in the Antarctic expedition of 1839-1843. Certainly we do get some good scenes with them in the show, but there was plenty more to explore there – for instance, Captain Ross was apparently so taken with Richard Wall that he hired him on as a private cook after the Antarctic expedition. (One imagines that Sir James may have regretted letting his friends of the Franklin expedition steal Wall out from under him.)

(If you want some more information on Diggle, the brilliant @handfuloftime found this excellent article on him – fun facts include the detail that Diggle’s only daughter bore the name Mary Ann Erebus Diggle.)

#9. John Smart Peddie

Now, I don’t think we should go as far as the Doctor Who Audio Drama adaptation of the Franklin Expedition, which makes Peddie into Francis Crozier’s oldest friend, someone “almost like a brother” to Crozier (no evidence of ANY prior relationship between the two existed, contrary to whatever the Doctor Who Audio Dramas would have you believe!) but Peddie probably earned his place as chief surgeon, however fond we may all be of the beautiful Alex “Macca” MacDonald, who was, in fact, the Assistant Surgeon, historically speaking. It’s hard to find information about Peddie, but someone should go looking! I want to know about this man!

(If you want to know more about the historical Alexander MacDonald, there’s a short biographical article on him from Arctic that you can read here.)

#8 James Walter Fairholme

The only one of the expedition’s lieutenants who doesn’t really get any characterization in the show, which is a travesty! The historical Fairholme (pronounced “Fairem”) was, as they say, a himbo, and the letters that he wrote home to his father are positively precious. He loved the expedition pets (lots of kisses for Neptune!), and he needed two kayaks because he couldn’t fit into just one with his beefy thighs. Fitzjames loaned him a coat when all the Erebus officers had their portraits taken, and then called him a “smart, agreeable companion, and a well informed man,” and Goodsir singled Fairholme out as “very much interested” in the work of naturalist observations. Just a lovely young man who could have gotten some screen time, you know?

(Also, as @transblanky discovered, four separate members of the Fairholme family gave money to Thomas Blanky’s widow when she was struggling financially in the 1850s, making them, combined, the most generous contributor to her subscription.)

Middle Tier – Franklin’s Men Who Didn’t Deserve That

#7. William Gibson

Alright, I want to talk about how uniquely horrible the show’s William Gibson is: this is a character willing to lie and accuse his partner of sexual assault that didn’t happen. I get there were extenuating circumstances, but if I were a historical figure who died in some famous disaster and someone depicted me doing something like that? Let’s just say I’m deeply offended on the real Gibson’s behalf.

What do we know about the historical William Gibson? Not much – but we know a little. Gibson’s younger brother served on an overland exploratory venture across Australia in the 1870s… from which he never returned. (God, the Gibson family had the worst luck?) This description of a conversation that young Alf Gibson had with expedition leader Ernest Giles only days before his death is VERY eerie:

[Gibson] said, “Oh! I had a brother who died with Franklin at the North Pole, and my father had a deal of trouble to get his pay from government.” He seemed in a very jocular vein this morning, which was not often the case, for he was usually rather sulky, sometimes for days together, and he said, “How is it, that in all these exploring expeditions a lot of people go and die?”

I said, “I don't know, Gibson, how it is, but there are many dangers in exploring, besides accidents and attacks from the natives, that may at any time cause the death of some of the people engaged in it; but I believe want of judgment, or knowledge, or courage in individuals, often brought about their deaths. Death, however, is a thing that must occur to every one sooner or later.”

To this he replied, “Well, I shouldn't like to die in this part of the country, anyhow.” In this sentiment I quite agreed with him, and the subject dropped.

(From Giles’s Australia Twice Traversed which you can read here)

Beyond that, one thing we do know is that William Gibson was probably friends with Henry Peglar – they had served on ships together before, and Gibson may possibly have been the poor fellow found cradling the Peglar Papers, according to researcher Glenn Stein. So we might imagine the historical Gibson as a much kinder man than the show’s depiction of him – this was someone who befriended the clever, playful Peglar we all know and love from the transcriptions of his papers, so full of poetry and linguistic jokes. It’s a shame we didn’t get a chance to meet this real Gibson, who actually knew the Henry Peglar whom we love so well.

#6. Stephen Stanley

Look. There’s that one famous line in James Fitzjames’s letters to the Coninghams about how Stanley went about with his “shirt sleeves tucked up, giving one unpleasant ideas that he would not mind cutting one’s leg off immediately – ‘if not sooner.’” And certainly Harry Goodsir had some mixed opinions of the man, saying was “a would be great man who as I first supposed would not make any effort at work after a time,” and that he “knows nothing whatever about subject & is ignorant enough of all other subjects,” whatever…. that means….

But Fitzjames also had some rather nicer things to say about him, that he was “thoroughly good natured and obliging and very attentive to our mess.” Also, the amputation comment? Very likely had a quite positive underlying joke to it – Stanley may not have been much of a naturalist, but he was actually an accomplished anatomist, who won a prize for dissection in 1836, on account of his “bend of the elbow,” which was “a picture of dissection,” according to Henry Lonsdale, who also called Stanley his “facetious friend” and “a fine fellow” (Lonsdale 1870, pg. 159). So, the real Stanley probably was rather droll, but the perpetually cruel Stanley of the show misses some of the real man’s major historical virtues and replaces them with historically unlikely mass-mercy-murder.

#5. John Irving

Now we’re getting into the territory of characters who did get some good development, but are missing a bit of historical nuance. As I’m sure many of you know, the historical Irving was indeed very religious, but the flashes of anger (i.e. against Manson) we see from Irving in the show don’t seem terribly consistent with the Irving depicted in this memorial volume, where John seems more like a quiet, bookish, mathematically inclined young man, with a self-deprecating sense of humor and a gentle sweetness. It’s really not at all far off from the version of Irving we see with Kooveyook in the show – I just wish we could have seen more of that side of Irving.

Top Tier – The Triumvirate of Polar Friends

So, these three DO have many good things to recommend them in the show, but because I’ve done such deep research on them, it can be quite jarring to watch certain scenes in which they behave contrary to their historical personalities, and I find myself pausing when watching the show with friends or family to explain that NO, they wouldn’t do that!

#4. Sir James Clark Ross

First thing – we LOVE Richard Sutton. He did a beautiful job with the material given to him. (This is true of all the actors on the list, frankly, but it’s doubly true here.) But that scene at the Admiralty where Sir James tells Lady Franklin “I have many friends on those ships, as you know,” to shut down her argument for search missions? At that time (aka 1847), historically, Sir James Clark Ross was actively campaigning for search missions, planning routes and volunteering his services in command of any vessel the Admiralty even vaguely contemplated sending out. You could see this real-life desperation in Sir James’s morose attention to his whiskey glass in that scene if you’re really trying, but I think the more historically responsible thing would have been to make vividly clear that James Ross risked life and limb, as soon as he possibly could, to try to rescue Franklin and Crozier and Blanky, men he’d known and cared about and bitterly missed – and, in the case of Crozier, “truly loved.”

#3. Sir John Franklin

The historical Franklin had plenty of flaws – his contributions to British colonial rule certainly harmed no small number of people, and we should question the way that heroic statues of Franklin are some of the only memorials that serve to honor the lives lost on Franklin’s expeditions – especially considering the steep body count of not only Franklin’s final voyage, but his previous missions in Arctic regions as well. (DM me and I’ll scream at you about counter-monuments! Is this a promise or a threat? Who knows!) With that said, most contemporary accounts agree that Sir John Franklin treated his friends, his family, and those within his social orbit with kindness, and his cruelties were systemic, not personal. In this light, the image of Sir John viciously tearing into Francis Crozier’s vulnerabilities in the show feels very off. Though there was certainly some friction over Crozier’s two proposals to Sophia Cracroft, historically speaking, there’s no evidence at all that Sir John discouraged her from marrying Francis – Sophia may have had many reasons of her own (*clears throat meaningfully in a lesbian sort of way*) for not accepting any of the several marriage proposals offered to her (from Crozier as well as from others), and we ought to keep in mind that she remained unmarried all her life. The notion that the real Sir John would have considered Crozier too low-born or too Irish to be part of the Franklin family isn’t grounded in historical fact.

#2. Lady Jane Franklin

Again disclaimer: the real Lady Franklin left behind a legacy with much to critique. Those who rightfully point out the racism of her treatment of the young indigenous Tasmanian girl Mathinna should be fully heard out. Observations of her own contributions to imperialism are important and valid. Though I tend to see her feud with Dr. John Rae as somewhat understandable – given that Lady Franklin didn’t have the benefit of our hindsight knowing Rae was correct – the levels of prejudice that she enabled and even encouraged in the writing of Charles Dickens when he attempted to discredit Inuit accounts of Franklin’s fate are inarguably deplorable. These things being said, everything noted for Sir John re: Sophia Cracroft goes for Lady Franklin as well – there’s no reason to imagine a scene where Jane would bully Francis Crozier within an inch of his life, seconds after a failed second proposal, when, historically, Lady Franklin felt the situation was so delicate that it required the quiet and compassionate intervention of Sir James Clark Ross, a dearly loved mutual friend to all parties. Tension does not imply aggression; conflict is not abuse. We know this can’t have been an easy experience for the historical Francis Crozier, but the picture is a lot more complicated than what can be shown in one small subplot of a ten-episode television show. Because of this complexity, however, Lady Franklin’s social deftness suffers in the show. (I could also write an entire essay about Jane Franklin’s last shot in the show, at the beginning of Episode 9: The C the C the Open C – TL;DR is that framing is very important, and, at the very last moment, the show reframes Lady Franklin as a mutilated corpse, a speaking mouth without a brain, which is….. a choice.)

And, at number 1, the person done most dirty by The Terror (2018) is….

#1. Charles Frederick “Freddy” Des Voeux

Look. I’m biased here because I am fed daily information about the historical Freddy Des Voeux from @frederickdesvoeux so I’ve become, I think understandably, a bit attached.

But this is very plainly the clearest cruelty the show does to a historical figure – the historical Des Voeux was a very young man (only around 20 when the ships set sail) known always as “Frederick or Freddy” to his family, and described by all parties as bright and sweet – Fitzjames said that he was “a most unexceptionable, clever, agreeable, light-hearted, obliging young fellow, and a great favourite of Hodgson’s, which is much in his favour besides,” and described him cheerfully helping to catch specimens for Goodsir. Des Voeux is named “dear” by Captain Osborn in Erasmus Henry Brodie’s 1866 poem on the Franklin Expedition (43) and Leo McClintock reported the young man’s well-known “intelligence, gallantry, and zeal” in his 1869 update to his account of the Franklin Expedition’s fate (xlii). None of this is consistent with Des Voeux’s behaviour in the show, especially in the later episodes.

To reduce Des Voeux to an easily-detested figure, over whose death one might cheer, is not a kindness – the creation of a narrative where his death is satisfying does damage to the memory of a real person, a barely-more-than-teenager who died in the cold of the Arctic and left behind only scraps of a shirt and a spidery signature in the bottom margin of a fragmentary document.

Television shows may need their villains, but it’s important to remember that real life isn’t like that. Surely the historical Frederick Des Voeux was most likely not a perfect person, and, as an upper class officer contributing to a British imperial project, he does bear some responsibility for the harm done by the Franklin expedition, but it’s not accurate to assume he was any less worthy of sympathy than the other officers who considered him a friend – those men whom we now venerate, like James Fitzjames. So as far as I’m concerned, Freddy Des Voeux deserves at least as much consideration, care, and compassion from us.

#franklin expedition #franklin expedition fictions #the terror #the terror amc #terrorposting #long post

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