#we all know the thin plastic wall cutting us off from deep connection with both internal and external realities 😂!!!

[dullahandyke]

Lying in my bedroom at 5pm trying 2 get myself 2 shower 4 the first time in a week imagining what life would b like if I felt emotions. Who want me

[viking-raider]

The Immortal Sky - Part VII *Mature*

Summary: It’s a battle to survive and not everyone will make it.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 17,431

Rating: M - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Dark Themes: Severe Angst, Violence, Torture, Kidnapping, Traumatic Death, Blood, Life Threatening Injures, Severe Trauma, Life Changing Events, Hurt/Comfort, and a teeny bit of Fluff

Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!

Author’s Note: This is the final official Chapter of The Immortal Sky, I will be doing a short Epilogue to round things out though. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for all the love, comments and support! A super thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for being a great support, listening to my crazy thoughts, giving me amazing suggestions and ideas, and just being an all around amazing friend!

You gasped, sitting up on your elbows, heart pounding and drenched in a cold sweat as the nightmare continued to dig its claws into your waking moments.

“Henry?” You called out, instinctively, before remembering he wasn't there.

Still.

Letting out a hard and shaky breath, you dropped back onto the mattress, damp from your sweat. You stared up at the ceiling, gripping the blankets in shaking fists as hot and furious tears dripped over your temples and into your hair.

“He isn't coming back.” You choked on your own snot. “They've captured and killed him, I just know it. He's died trying to protect me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. To make up for it, so his pain and death weren't in vain.” You took gasping breaths and only choked more on your tears. “I'm so sorry Henry. Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You wailed, crying without abandon.

You beat your fists on the mattress, outraged at your negativity and ease of giving up on him. Henry wouldn't have given up on you, he would have stayed strong and came for you, like he had when you ran away from him in London. Jerking up, you sat on the edge of the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking under your shifting weight.

“He's still alive.” You forced yourself to say out loud. “Henry is still alive, and I will find him.”

Resolved to this conviction, you stood up and dressed, pressing his shirt to your face and took a deep breath, inhaling his earthy and masculine scent, fortifying you, before slipping it on over your own shirt and finished tying your shoelaces. You weren't completely sure what to do or how to go about finding, and potentially saving, Henry. You weren't the amazing and seasoned High Marshal Henry was, is. You tried putting yourself in his shoes, hard as it was to fill size eleven boots. So, you started in the only place that made sense to you, the Black Bone pub, where your brother and his handler were known to frequent. So, locking your room, you trekked the six blocks from the hotel to the dingy pub, heart pounding in your throat as you entered.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender asked you as you approached the counter.

“Um,” You looked at the stained menu taped to the bar top. “A Virgin Mojito, please.”

The bartender lifted a brow at you, shrugged his shoulders and turned away from you. A minute later, he set the tall glass in front of you and held out his hand, wanting payment. Sighing, you dug out the meager change you had and slapped it into his hand, picked up your drink and took a seat in the corner, the same corner you occupied with Henry the day before.

You tried your best to look as inconspicuous as you possibly could, keeping your eyes on the tv, like Henry had, swirling your drink with the thin black straw inside of it and checking out everyone in the room from the corner of your vision. It was slightly more busy than it had been the morning before, but there was no sign of your brother, Knox or Henry. What your inexperienced eye failed to notice, was the bartender keeping his eye on you, for several minutes, before going to the back of the store room and making a phone call.

“Yeah, Ashe. It's me, Bruce, the owner of the Black Bone. You asked me to keep an eye out for a lady.” He rattled off your description. “Told me to call if I saw her around.”

“And?” Ashe replied, staring at the black, web-like, 3-D printed cast on the hand he busted in his fight with Henry.

“She's back.” Bruce told him, stepping out of the store room and peeking around the corner, to make sure you were still there, clearly ignoring your drink. “Sitting in a booth, right now.”

“Excellent.” Ashe grinned, wolfishly. “I'll be right over, let me know if she leaves.”

Bruce hung up with Ashe and moved back to serve his new customers, keeping his eye on you the whole time. You finally took a sip of your drink, the mint was refreshing to your taste-buds with the slight twinge of the lime's tartness, when the door of the pub chimed as it opened and from the corner of your eye you saw who entered, making your blood run cold, the man from the day before, who had given Henry the creeps and chased you both down the alleyway. Your hands shook as he glanced in your direction, a faint smirk on his thin lips, you noticed the cast on his arm and drew conclusions; knowing he and Henry must have gotten into a fight. Wishing you had the bartender put the rum into your drink after all, you gulped it down and tried to get up as casually and calmly as possible, eyes darting to the lopsided and hand written sign above the bathroom door and headed that direction.

The bathroom was big enough for a discolored and filthy toilet and a teeny window above that. Locking the bathroom door, you climbed top of the toilet, wobbling on the unstable tank to peek out the cloudy windowpane. There was another alleyway behind the pub, but you couldn't see where either end of it led out too, but you weren't going back out into the bar area with Ashe there, waiting to pounce on you. The window was wedged into the frame, sticking it into place from years of hard rains and freezing winters, swelling and warping the wood. Biting your lip, you started bashing it with the heel of your hand, the wood protesting and squeaking with each blow, until it suddenly flew open.

Glancing over your shoulder to the latched door as the dented handle started to rattle, you wasted no time, jumping and diving halfway through the window, legs flailing and kicking the dingy wall. Scrambling to get a footing and wiggle the rest of the way through the window, the rough wood scraping and cutting up your sides and ripping holes into your jacket. The bathroom door started to shake, a shoulder driving into it, you knew it wouldn't be long before Ashe busted through and hauled you out of the bathroom. Growling in frustration, you kicked hard at the wall, breaking through the crumbling drywall and used it to boost yourself up more. Punching more and more holes into the wall with your feet to you wiggle and shimmy through the window.

You gasped as your hips passed through the window frame and scrambled to get a footing on the other side, before you fell face first into a pile of two week old trash. You had just managed to flip yourself as you fell out of the window, landing on your butt on top of the overstuffed black plastic bags with a grunt. The eruption of Ashe charging through the bathroom door exploded above you, followed by his flurry of curses as his head popped through the window, the only thing small enough to fit through it.

“You fucking bitch!” He roared, pushing an arm through the window with his head to try and grab at you.

You struggled to your feet and stumbled away from Ashe and the window, out of breath and bleeding. Knowing he wasn't going to get through the window, Ashe jerked back inside and stormed out of the bathroom, shoving and knocking people aside as they came to see what all the commotion was about. Not waiting around for Ashe to reach you, you bolted down the alleyway, slipping on the slimy pavement and tripping over trash, just making it to the end, when two shadows blocked the way. Startled, you tried twisting around to run the other way, but they were faster than you were, grabbing the hood of your jacket and yanked you back, making you choke in the process.

“You ain't going anywhere.” One of them huffed as you were slammed chest first into the wall, scraping the side of your face on the rough surface.

Your arms were harshly yanked behind you and hands slipped through the loops of thick black cuffs, before your captor pressed a button on the handle connecting the cuffs and they automatically tightened around your wrists, painfully cutting off circulation and into your skin. They jerked you off the wall and faced you out of the alleyway, one of them clamped a hand down on your shoulder, making you whimper in pain and try to shrink away from him, only to be struck in the side.

“You should have stayed in London.” Ashe's angry voice growled as he approached the three of you, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Or just not have been born at all.” He hissed, letting go of your head with a jerk. “Get her in the van.” He ordered the two men, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, to the van parked at the curb, its back sliding door open and waiting.

You looked up and down the sidewalk as they pushed and shoved you towards the van, frantically hoping someone would see the four of you and rush to help you, stop them for kidnapping you. But, as you looked at the full street, you noticed everyone looking everywhere but at you, not wanting to get involved, knowing doing so would land them in the same hot water you were finding yourself in. But, to your utter shock, one face did look back at you, just as stunned to see you as you were to see them.

“Michail.” You mouthed, blinking like it was just a fragment of your frantic mind. “Mikey!” You screamed out, realizing it wasn't your mind toying with you, before you were thrown into the van and the door was slammed shut behind you.

“Let's go grab a pint.” Knox said, throwing on his jacket. “Come on, Keagan, one pint won't kill you. We have a load of time before your first big run.”

Michail sighed and rubbed at his face, his back ached from hunching over the map of his first run as an Adjutant Runner for Quinn. He had been staring at it non-stop for two weeks and the run was due to happen in three days. But, Knox was right, an hour's break to enjoy a frothy pint at the pub would do him and his brain some good. So, stiffly raising from his chair, he grabbed his own jacket and followed Knox to the lift and down the four floors to the ground floor and out onto the street. They chatted about the run as they walked down to the Black Bone, Knox's usual establishment for a good pint, hammering out more details and clearing up any misunderstanding about what was to go down, once it did happen.

But, they were interrupted by a small scuffle ahead of them, near the pub.

Looking away from each other and to the altercation, they saw three sizable men roughly handling a woman, her hands tied behind her back. Michail felt the breath in his lungs freeze and his heart drop out into his stomach as he met the woman's eye, watching her mouth his name, before yelling it out.

“Mikey!”

“Issy?” He whispered back, too stunned to manage anything louder before you were manhandled into the van.

“You know that woman, Mike?” Knox asked, his eyes panning between the speeding away van and him.

“She's my sister.” Mikey replied, his mouth hanging open, shocked and speechless to not only find you in Bristol, but being carted away by those ruffians. “But, she should be back in London.” He blinked, slowly regaining himself. “What the hell is she doing here in Bristol? Do you know who those guys were?” He asked, looking at Knox.

“Only one of them.” Knox replied, narrowing his eyes. “The blond is Ashe James, he works as a free agent, working several different jobs in every Sector.”

“Why would he take my sister like that?” Mikey asked himself, deeply troubled.

“We'll find out later, let's get that pint.” Knox answered, clasping Mikey on the back and pushed him towards the pub.

Henry spit nothing, but blood, as Emilio gave him another crack punch to the face; which was multicolored and inflamed. A cut high on the bridge of his bloody nose and upper lip, his bottom lip was split and bleeding as well, blood caked in his beard and curls, as well as his chest; soaking into the fabric of his jeans. His eyes burned from the unyielding and bright lights illuminating the room. He was spent and exhausted, leaning forward with his head lulling and eyes half rolled and swollen shut. A forest of marks and box cutter cuts littered his body, partiality around the surgical site of his artificial kidney. He was more than sure every one of his ribs were broken or cracked, making him wheeze and hiss with every breath he took.

Henry wasn't sure how much more of he could take, but that didn't mean he would break.

“I don't think you have much more blood in you, mate?” Emilio huffed, shaking his throbbing hand, his fingers puffy and bruised from hitting Henry so many times. “Usually, the people I—set straight—have given up by now. But, no. Not you, you're tough. I respect that.” He said, shrugging his sore shoulders.

“To a point.” He chuckled, slapping Henry in the back of the head, making him whimper. “Why don't you tell my boss where the girl is? Then, we can let you off. But, if you don't, you'll just end up dying here.”

Henry remained quiet, he had run out of witty and smart-ass comments hours before. So, he kept his mouth shut and reserved his energy and strength to withstand their assault on him. The one saving light was the thought of you safe and sound in your room. He knew, by now, you were freaking out and panicking. There were no clocks and only one mirror that Henry knew, without a doubt, was a two way, but he could catch a glimpse of Emilio's expensive watch. He had been in the room for nearly twelve hours, all night and most of the morning.

He sighed, grimacing as he swallowed another mouthful of blood that was pooling in his mouth from his bloody nose, cut lip and the cuts on the inside of his cheeks; his stomach cramped and twisted as he swallowed it down, adding to his discomfort. His mind started to wonder, his pain was beginning to numb his battered nerve-endings, he wondered how much longer he would survive, what blow would potentially kill him.

He counted each blow.

One.

Two.

Three.

The door came flying open and Benji waltzed in, the door slamming closed behind him, as he grinned and looked chipper after getting a good night's rest, having left not long after Henry's torture started. But, he seemed overly happy, too happy, for Henry to be comfortable with, he knew something. That's when Henry's fear finally spiked and his abused body tensed and his bloodshot, blue orbs widened with panic, showing that growing ounce of fear outwardly for the first time.

“Well, Mr. Cavill, I see that you are still alive!” Benji quipped with an amused smile, grabbing the back of Henry's sweaty and bloody curls, and jerked his head back, roughly. “I am quite impressed by your stamina. I bet the ladies love it.” He teased, lowering himself to meet Henry's gaze.

“I have a surprise for you, Henry.” He cooed, menacingly, his brown eyes darkening to a black hole of evil and danger. “I'm quite sure you'll be relieved to see it.” He said softly, running a finger over the freshly bleeding cut on Henry's brow, making him hiss as heavy beads of sweat mixed into it, then straightened up.

“Bring it in!” He yelled, moving away from Henry and turned towards the two way mirror.

The door swung open again, revealing Ashe, who pressed his back against it, to keep it open, and motion into the hall for someone to come forward. Henry's shoulders fell with his face, the last bit of his strength he had draining out of him as you were shoved into the room, stumbling and almost falling if Ashe hadn't grabbed the handle of your zip cuffs and steadied you.

Your mouth dropped open seeing the pitiful and terrifying condition Henry was in, covered in blood, bruises, cuts and god knows what else. You struggled to swallow down your throbbing heart and blinked back the searing tears that burned your eyes, biting hard into your lip to keep yourself from falling apart. Henry licked his split and chapped lips and blinked slowly at you, trying to keep himself together, but not to cry, but to not lose his temper, his muscles flexing as his anger flared and surged beneath his blue and purple, blood covered skin, straining in his restraints, like a bull seeing red.

“Two very different reactions.” Benji commented, watching the pair of you through the two-way mirror. “Interesting.” He hummed, turning on the heels of his expensive dress shoes. “I've been looking for you.” He said, stepping closer to you. “Thank you for making it so easy to find and get a hold of you.”

He smiled, touching the tip of his finger to your cheek and drew a smiley face on it.

In Henry's blood.

“Release her hands.” He ordered, snapping his fingers.

“Boss, is that a good idea?” Ashe asked, hesitating with the key to your cuffs. “She's pretty cunning.”

Benji's cool broke and slapped Ashe across the face, ripping the key out of his hand and releasing the cuffs from around your wrists. “I know what she is, you moron. But, what is she going to do? They're in my house, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of my men. Even if, they managed to get out of this room, they wouldn't make it out of the hall, before we either killed or incapacitated them. So,” He smirked at you, giving you a sour taste in your mouth.

“Let's leave them be.” He chuckled, making a motion with his hand and cleared the room, other than you and Henry.

You stood frozen for several moments, unable to move as you and Henry stared at each other, your silent tears finally escaping down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Henry.” You sniffled, gulping thickly.

Henry closed his eyes and sighed, groaning and gently shaking his head. He knew, he knew you had left the room to come look for him, the guilt and evidence of it was all over your face. “It's all right.” He finally replied, his voice dry and raspy. “I know you were scared.”

“I was worried.” You whimpered, slowly approaching him. “I still am.” You told him, dropping to your knees before him, looking over his battered body. “I'm sorry, Henry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me. Least of all, you.”

Your emotions started to overwhelm you, reaching out to gently cup his face in your shaking palms and pushed up on your toes to touch your forehead to his temple. Henry frowned and nudged your face with his, trying to give you what comfort he could, while still tied to the chair. Your wet cheek smeared more blood on the both of you, as you wrapped your arms loosely around his bare waist.

“I told you to wait for me.” He whispered, meeting your damp eyes.

“I tried.” You protested, pulling back from him. “But, I-” You bit your lip and looked away from him.

“I told you, I'd come back for you.”

“How?” You snapped, incredulous. “You're tied to a fucking chair and practically bleeding to death!”

Henry narrowed his eyes at you. “I'll be fine, I just needed more time. I've done this before.” He told you, shaking his head, then regretting it.

“That doesn't make me feel any better or convince me, Henry.” You replied with a huff. “How are we going to get out of here?” You asked, lowering your voice, sure they were eavesdropping.

“I'll think of something.” Henry answered, looking around the room, but there was very little to aid you in that endeavor. “Just stay strong for me.” He added, turning his face into yours, his chapped lips brushing your ear.

“Nugget.”

Benji stood in the room adjoined to the interrogation room you and Henry were held in, watching the two of you interact and talk, when a phone started to ring. Flexing his hands, Benji turned on his men, glaring each of them in the eyes until one of them shied away from his gaze.

“Answer it, Luis.” He hissed at the smaller man. “Now!” He roared, making everyone flinch.

Luis slipped a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open and answering it. “Hello?” He squeaked, his voice high pitched with fright. “Um,--” He shuttered, eyes glued to Benji. “It's Monroe, Sir. He's asking about the girl, why she was nabbed this morning.” He explained, holding his phone out to Benji.

“Knox!” Benji roared into the receiver. “Why are you asking about the girl?” He demanded.

“My new Runner, they know each other.” Knox replied, cool as ice, he was used to Benji's outbursts. “We saw Ashe and the boys dragging her out of the Black Bone, she saw us too, and called out Keagan's name. When I asked how she knew him, he answered that she was his sister.”

“Her brother?” Benji said slowly, turning back to the mirror and staring at you as you huddled close to Henry. “Bring him to me, I want you here within the hour.”

“You got it, boss.” Knox replied, hanging up.

“The bubble of intrigue just keeps growing around this girl.” He said, studying you. “I love it.”

“I just got a call from headquarters.” Knox said as he approached Mikey at their table. “We need to go in, they're having a Runner meeting we need to attend to get the new details on our run in a couple days.” He explained.

“All right.” Mikey nodded, wiping the foam off his upper lip as he finished off his pint. “Are we going straight there?” He asked, standing up.

“Yep.” Knox nodded, clapping him on the back and directing him to the door, waving to the bartender as they left.

They hailed a cab to the Hernandez building, it was the tallest building in all of Bristol, showing the power, presence and money they had, running their empire of drugs and violence. The twenty minute ride there was quiet, and Knox almost felt bad for Mikey, knowing the kid had zero clue what was about to happen to him, but he wasn't sorry for the fact he was related to you, who could possibly bring down the business that kept him employed and out of the Slums.

“Mr. Hernandez is expecting us.” Knox told the receptionist at the front desk.

Nodding her head, the receptionist picked up her phone, dialed a number and waited for it to pick up. “Mr. Monroe to see you, sir.” She said, then hung up. “He'll meet you at lift number three.” She told Knox, then returned to her paperwork.

“Come on, Keagan.” Knox called, motioning Mikey to follow him.

Mikey followed him, unaware and naive to what was about to happen to him, to what was waiting for him, as the lift doors slid open and revealed Benji and Ashe. It was seeing Benji and Ashe that Mikey got a strange feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it, figuring it was just nervous jitters from meeting the most powerful man in Bristol.

“Knox.” Benji smiled at his prized Runner, then settled his cold eyes on Mikey. “Mr. Keagan, how nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much.”

“All good, I hope.” Mikey gulped.

“Of course.” Benji chuckled, motioning for the two men to step into the lift with them. “Let's go to my office to speak.” He suggested.

The ride in the lift was silent and stiff, no one speaking or moving, not even making eye contact for the several minutes the ride took, until the ding announced their arrival to the floor and the sleek metal doors slid open. Benji stepped off first, followed by Knox and Mikey, with Ashe bringing up the rear. They walked down a long hallway and Benji stopped beside a door, scanned a key card and pushed it open, motioning for Mikey to go in first, wanting to see his reaction as he entered.

Biting his lip, Mikey did as he was told, a nervous sweat breaking out on his brow as he moved into the dark room, noticing the wall length window to one side. He stopped in front of it, looking through the two way mirror and felt his jaw and heart hit the floor.

“Issy.” He gasped, seeing you pacing the bright room, then noticed the large and beaten male tied to the chair in the room as well.

His shoulders slumped as it all clicked in his head, he had been lied to too and was now as much a prisoner as you and Henry were. A cold sweat broke out all over his body and his hands started to shake, gulping several times to try and keep his composure.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, eyes snapping to Benji as he watched Ashe lock and block the door, leaving Knox in the hallway.

“Who is that girl to you?” Benji asked, lightly tapping the glass of the mirror. “And answer truthfully.”

Mikey steeled himself. “I don't know.” He huffed, puffing out his chest.

Benji rolled his jaw and banged on the mirror, grabbing Emilio's attention. Smirking, Emilio pushed himself off the door he had been leaning against and strode over to you, startling you and making you stubble away from him.

“NO!” Henry and Mikey both screamed at the same time as Emilio grabbed you roughly by the hair, yanking your head backward and making you cry out as he shoved you closer to the mirror.

“Who is she to you?” Benji asked again, slowly.

“A friend.” Mikey whimpered, clenching his fists together as he felt and saw your pain.

Benji knocked on the window again. This time, Emilio twisted you around by the hair and slammed your back up against the mirror and wrapped his meaty hand around your slender neck. Henry jerked and squirmed in his chair, roaring with madness and cursing loudly as Emilio choked you, trying desperately to break free and pull him off of you, before it was too late.

“Stop!” Henry roared, letting his anger and frustration out in a violent scream. “Let her go! Do it to me!” He begged Emilio. “Let her be!”

Mikey doubled over, his hands braced on his thighs as he gasped for air, like a goldfish out of it's tank. “Please, stop this.” He begged Benji, in a wheeze.

Benji tilted his head as he watched Mikey, watching his distress as it mirrored your own. Curiously, he banged on the mirror again and Emilio, still choking you with one hand, drove the fist of his other into your stomach, making you yelp around his hand, incapable of more as you struggled for air. Mikey stumbled back into a shelf behind him, nearly losing his footing. Benji's fingers caught the underside of Mikey's chin and jerked his head back, thick strings of drool on his lips and chin.

“Tell me who she is to you?” He hissed in his face.

“Please.” Mikey begged him, weakly.

“Tell me, and I'll make him stop.” Benji told him, his face twisted with smug malice.

Mikey whimpered, hearing you struggling and Henry's desperate protests. “She's my sister.” He broke. “My twin sister.” He admitted, weakly.

“Your twin?” Benji echoed, intrigued. “So, you feel what she feels. Does she feel what you do, I wonder.” He let go of Mikey and knocked on the mirror twice, signaling Emilio to release you, which he did, causing you to collapse to the floor. “Ashe, go in there and tell me if she feels anything from him.” He ordered, keeping his eyes on Mikey.

Nodding, Ashe left the room and entered yours and Henry's, nodding at the mirror, so Benji knew he was in position. Smiling, Benji promptly drove his knee into Mikey's stomach and looked behind him and saw Ashe smirking and chuckling to himself.

“The connection between twins.” Benji laughed, amused to all ends. “I love it. Let's have a proper little family reunion, shall we!” He declared and motioned to Luis to grab Mikey. “Bring him.” He ordered, marching out of the room. “Good news everybody!” He declared, bursting into the room with you and Henry.

“It's family time!” He laughed, as Luis shoved Mikey into the room with the two of you.

“Mikey.” You coughed and rasped, holding your bruised neck.

“Issy.” He rasped back, crawling over to you. “Where have you been?” He asked, cupping your face in his shaking hands. “We thought you were dead.”

“I went looking for you, to try and patch things up with our parents, after the fight.” You explained, fresh tears dripping down your face. “But, I was caught by the Traffickers and was held by them. Henry,” You looked up at him, still straining in the chair, his blue eyes wild. “he saved me and I've been with him the whole time.”

Mikey blinked up at Henry, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Saved you?” He echoed your words, but not your sentiments and appreciation. “The only reason a person goes into a Trafficker's warehouse, if they're not merchandise, is to buy.” He hissed, his face darkening. “You bought my sister from a fucking Trafficker. Typical Upper, buying and enslaving us just because we were born in a lower Sector than you.”

“Mikey, it wasn't like that?” You panted, shaking your head at him, desperate for him to understand.

“How can you fucking defend him!” Mikey barked, gritting his teeth at you. “Unless he's already brainwashed you, convinced you that owning you didn't make you any different than him.”

“I don't own her.” Henry growled, low in his throat.

“Is that so!”

“It is!” You barked back, regaining yourself. “He never registered me for an Ownership Bracelet. Henry's never treated me like a Slave, or even a Slummer, for that matter. He's been good to me, Mikey.” You told him, cupping his tense neck in your hands and pressed your forehead to his. “He's been helping me to find you.” You whispered to him, holding his eyes.

“He's been protecting me.” You said quieter.

“I was originally meant to follow her until you were found, then bring you both back to London.” Henry added, his eyes on you. “So, she could testify against him.” He jerked his chin at Benji. “and to turn you in for your part in the Running business. But,” He paused and sighed. “But, I changed my mind and decided to just help her bring you back home, safely. Make up some story about why I didn't bring you in, then once she testified, I was going to release her to go back home to your family.” He explained.

Mikey opened his mouth to ask why a High Marshal would bother to do something like that, when he finally felt it, a warmth that came from you, and met your eyes and saw the cause of your warmth, towards Henry. You were in love with the High Marshal, and looking to Henry, he could tell that Henry felt just as strongly about you.

“I've been a complete brainless prick.” Mikey sighed, feeling guilty, if he hadn't decided to become a Runner, then none of this would have happened, the two of you and Henry would still be safe and sound in London, going about your lives as should be.

“I'm sorry, Issy.”

“Well, you're just a stupid boy, what do you know anyway.” You huffed, smiling softly and shrugging it off.

“Well, isn't this all well and sweet.” Benji huffed pushing off the wall.

“But, we all have an issue. The three of you are a threat to my business.” He said, folding his arms. “You, High Marshal, are on the case that threatens my business. You,” He looked at Mikey. “Being a Runner, know the routes and procedures of my business, and you,” He settled his eyes on you. “Are the witness to my operations and hold the key to ruining my business in London and putting away one of my best Traffickers.”

“I can't let you live.” He said, looking at the three of you. “So, we're going to play a fun little game.” He smirked, greedy and giddy, as he rubbed his hands together. “Luis, your gun.” He ordered, holding his hand out to the other man. “Ashe draw yours as well, and Emilio, why don't you untie Mr. Cavill over there, we do out number them with people and firearms, so I doubt either of them will be stupid enough to try something.” He said, motioning Emilio towards Henry.

Obeying, Emilio removed the key to Henry's bonds from his front pocket, while Ashe had his gun trained on him, anticipating any attempt Henry, you or Mikey might make to try and be a savior. Emilio unlocked the ties around Henry's chaffed ankles, then his wrists. Henry let out a relieved sigh as the strain and tension of his shoulders and arms released, almost slumping out of the chair.

“Henry!” You gasped, dashing forward to try and catch him.

“Ah, no!” Benji barked, stopping you in your tracks. “Leave him be.” He hissed at you. “Get up, Cavill.” He demanded of Henry. “Now, or I'll start putting holes in her!”

Groaning, Henry forced himself to stand, swaying on his throbbing and injured legs and almost falling, but caught himself on the back of the chair. Assured that Henry would be able to reasonably stand, then took the gun Luis was still holding out to him, Benji removed the clip from the firearm, checking how many rounds it had, reloaded the clip and cocked the slide, securing a bullet into the chamber.

“Take it.” He snapped, holding it out to you.

“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head and taking a step away from him.

“You either take it, or I kill all three of you now, starting with the High Marshal, then your dear brother and you last, so you can watch as your brother and the man you love, die.” He threatened, with an eerie calm.

Taking a shuddering breath, you stepped forward again and, with a shaky hand, took the heavy weapon from Benji's hand. You looked at Henry and Mikey with wide and frightened eyes, visibly shaking with terror. They both looked back at you with the same fright and worry.

“So, this is our game.” Benji grinned, licking his lips, like an evil serpent. “You get to choose who dies first, and get the honor of killing them.” He told you, grinning sinisterly.

“No.” You whimpered, slowly shaking your head. “No, I can't. Please, I can't.” You begged him, trembling, and staring down at the gun, like you expected it to swallow you.

“None of you are going to leave this room alive. So, you might as well put each other out of your own misery.” Benji tried to reason with you. “Do you want them to suffer because of your selfishness?”

“Don't listen to him.” Henry snapped, drawing your attention. “You don't need to do this, just give me the gun.” He told you, reaching out a hand to you.

“He's right, Issy. You don't.” Mikey agreed, holding his own hand out. “Just give it to one of us, we'll figure this out.”

Both Henry and Mikey knew why Benji had given you the gun. You would never have considered hurting anyone, with or without the firearm; unlike Henry and Mikey, who would.

Your eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure who to give it to. What would Henry do, if you were to give him the gun? Would he manage to kill Benji, Ashe, Luis and Emilio before they could do any real damage to the three of you? What about Mikey? Did your brother even know how to use a gun? What would he do once he had it? Should you even give it to them? What if one of them turned on the other, what if Henry turned on Mikey? He had originally been sent after you to bring you back to testify and take care of Mikey, because of his involvement with Benji and Bristol. Would Mikey try to kill Henry, because he was a High Marshal, maybe try to save face and show Benji he could be trusted, to save himself, and maybe you too.

You knew neither of them would turn on you or harm you in any way. You weren't afraid of them; you were afraid for them, and what they might do if they had the gun themselves.

It took all you had not to throw up, then and there. Everyone was staring at you waiting for your decision, but you couldn't decide, you wouldn't decide. You loved Henry and you loved your brother, you would rather kill yourself than one of them; and it was as if they sensed your mind go in that direction, for both Henry and Mikey jerked towards you, startling you.

“No!” Henry hissed, his eyes wide with panic. “Don't you dare.” He panted heavily, spots in his eyes as his advanced blood loss started to take its toll on him, on top of everything else going on. “Don't you dare turn that gun on yourself.” He whispered, half begging and half ordering you.

“Listen to him, Issy.” Mikey agreed, nodding his head. “Don't harm yourself. We can figure this out.” He said, eyeballing Benji over your shoulder.

Tears dripped down your face, like a waterfall after a heavy rain, it was too much, it was all too overwhelming for you to take. Mikey looked between you and Henry, he saw the absolute terror and worry in Henry's eyes, his pupils eating away the cobalt blue and speck of brown of his irises. Your own blown out pupils doing the same as you started back at him. It was something that Mikey wasn't used to. When things became scary and too much, it had always been him that you looked to in those moments, but this time, it was Henry you were seeking comfort and protection from.

“You fucking prick!” Mikey growled, trying to lung at Benji.

“Ah ah!” Benji barked back, grabbing Luis's wrist and forcing him to point his gun at you. “If either of you try and act a hero, Luis will kill her, out right.” He warned, meeting Mikey and Henry's eyes.

Biting his lip, Mikey took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, Benji had the three of you cornered. He was forcing you to kill one of the men you loved with your own life, while stopping Henry and Mikey from trying to save the day, by threatening to kill you, knowing they both would die to keep you safe.

What a twisted and poisonous web that was being weaved in the room. But, sooner or later, the strings of that web would start to snap and unravel, taking all of you with it.

Mikey took a hesitating step forward, his heart pounding and choked inside of his throat, his eyes daring between you, Benji and Luis. Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, feeling the weight of the gun you held in that hand. The pounding pulse in your wrist drummed against Mikey's fingers, and he felt his own heart become attuned with yours. From the day the two of you came into the world, you several minutes before him, the pair of you were in sync, but as you grew older, you became less so. You had taken the right path, following the law, doing the job assigned to you, making the best of the life you had been dealt, without a complaint. While Mikey rebelled and became restless, wanting to be more, wanting the people he loved to be and have more than you already did, failing to see the wealth he already had, in you, your parents and little brother.

It was too late now to go back and fix those things, to see and cherish them properly, like Mikey now realized he should have.

The two of you synced together, heart beats the same steady, but pounding rate, breathing heavy and as one, flowing in a way that only twins could. You read his face, like it was the page of an open book and knew what he was doing. Your hand grasped the grip of the gun tighter, eyes widening and head softly shaking.

It's all right, Issy. His face and eyes said to you.

No. Your eyes begged back, blinded by collecting tears. Not like this. Don't do this. I can't live without you, Mikey.

You'll be fine, Sis.

He looked away from you, to Henry, who stood there, supporting himself on the back of the chair he had spent hours being tortured in. Henry looked back at Mikey, confused, just like everyone else in the room to what was transpiring between you, narrowing his eyes and frowning, shaking his head at Mikey, wanting to understand. But, Mikey looked back to you, squeezing your wrist and pressing his free hand to your chest.

You have the High Marshal to care for and protect you now. His eyes said to you. And he'll do a better job at it. He can give you the love, life and protection you need and deserve in life.

You shook your head at him, eyes screaming at him. Don't do this! What about our parents? Our little brother? What will I tell them? They will be crushed.

I'm no good and we both know this. Let me do this, and prove I still have some good left in me.

His hand slowly slipped down yours, gently prying your fingers from around the gun's grip, carefully taking it from you. Your hands shot out, gripping Mikey by the sleeves, one last plea for him to reconsider, to help you and Henry find a different plan and outcome, to give it a chance. But, he shook his head and took your arm in his free hand, leaned in to kiss your cheek, then gently shoved you in Henry's direction. Henry just managed to catch you before you stumbled over your feet, and himself from falling as well, blinking between you and Mikey, starting to realize what was going on.

“Mikey, n--” You started to scream as he raised the muzzle to his temple.

Henry's thick arms wrapped around you, somehow mustering the strength to hold you back as you struggled and thrashed in his embrace, trying desperately to stop what was about to happen.

A loud pop and a high pitched ringing filled your ears, muting out all other sounds that were being made, the sounds of your scream that you only knew was happening by how sore it made your throat, the warm spray of droplets against your face and neck, the world ending sight of your brother crumbling to the ground, the gun falling from his limp hand and slid across the blood covered floor, spinning under the chair at Henry's foot.

But, the chaos didn't stop there.

As Mikey hit the floor, Ashe came to life, using the distraction of Mikey's decision, to pull the gun out of his back waistband, smoothly flipping off the safety with his thumb, cocked and pointed it at Luis. All of it was in slow-motion, ears still screaming, as another pop filled the room, this time taking out Luis. Henry's body tensed up against yours as he watched Luis instinctively pull the trigger of his own weapon, the bullet whizzing towards you both. Henry wrapped his arms completely around you and threw you both down onto the floor; caging you in with his heavy and bloody body, using himself as a human shield as more muffled shots rang out.

You felt Henry's body jerk once against yours and the hot breath of him groaning against your neck, then a searing pain in your thigh, before the room went quiet and dark.

You started to come back around to the sound of Henry yelling your name, above the ringing that was still filling your ears and mind. You shook your throbbing head, feeling him pat your cheeks, trying to get you to open your eyes and respond to him.

“Can you hear me?” Henry asked, blinking down at you.

You blinked back up at him, only catching every other word he said. “A little bit.” You wheezed back, your thigh felt like an overfilled, hot water bottle as it throbbed.

“Good.” He nodded, then looked down the length of your body, just then noticing the slow puddle of blood pooling around your leg and cursed. “You've been hit.” He huffed, wrestling with his body's want to panic, but kept calm.

Spotting the tattered remains of his shirt, that Emilio had cut off, Henry grabbed it. “This is going to hurt, but, I need to control the bleeding before you lose too much.” He explained, carefully bringing your leg up, then wrapping the strip of his shirt around your thigh, just above the bullet wound, and tied it off as tightly as he could without causing any more complications.

You winced and whined as he did, gripping his bicep and digging your nails into his skin. “What happened?” You asked, out of breath, you couldn't see most of the room, Henry's body blocking your view, mostly on purpose.

“It seems, we have a friend.” Henry replied looking over his shoulder to Ashe. “We're going to get out of here.” He told you, fussing over your wound as a thin and steady stream of blood continued to flow from it, tightening his shirt more.

“We can't leave without--” You paused, remembering. “Oh god, Henry!” You gasped, it all rushed back to you.

“I know.” He frowned at you, crushed.

“We have to take him with us.”

“We can't.” Henry whispered, licking his cracked lips. “It'll slow us down.” He told you as carefully as he could. “I'll get him back for you. When we get back to London, I promise you.” He said, helping you sit up.

“Henry--” You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck and buried your face into his sweaty and sticky chest.

“I know, love. I am so so sorry.” He whimpered in your ear, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed.

“We need to go.” Ashe's rushed voice came from the door. “Now, before the alarms go off.” He said, looking back into the hall.

He felt for you, he really did, never expecting all of this to happen, but now that it had, the three of you needed to put as many kilometers and as much time between you and Bristol as you could, because Benji's men would be coming after you in no time.

“Come on.” Henry grunted, pulling himself up to his feet and taking you with him, wrapping your arm around his neck, to support you out of the room.

Your breath caught in your throat as Henry helped you stand up, seeing Mikey's body laying there in a large pool of blood, but also Luis, Emilio and Benji's bodies as well. In the chaos of Mikey taking his own life to save you and Henry, Ashe had sprung, pulling his weapon and dispatching them in the confusion. Luis and Emilio let off several rounds from their own guns, one of them nicking Henry in the side and another going through your thigh.

“Is he on our side?” You wheezed, as you and Henry followed him down the hall.

“Yeah.” Henry nodded, shifting you against his side as you started to slip. “He's a Alpha Marshal, from London.” He explained to your questioning brow lift

“How did you not know that?” You asked him, frowning, you figured since Henry was a High Marshal, he would know all of the other Marshals.

“He finished Marshal training four years before I went in, and was recruited straight out of it to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and climb the ladder as far as he could. Seems he got as high as being Benji Hernandez's personal enforcer.” He explained, stopping as Ashe secured the hallway around the corner.

“Which is damn lucky for the two of you.” Ashe commented, coming back. “The way is clear, there's a back service lift that goes down to the garage. I have a car there we can use to get the fuck out of Bristol.”

“Let's go.” Henry nodded, antsy.

You looked back down the hall, to the still open door to the room that held all that carnage, and shuttered. Henry looked at you, feeling the shiver and frowned, reaching up to brush your hair out of your sweaty and bloody face. He couldn't understand the level of pain and anguish you must be in, after watching your brother commit suicide to save you. But, he knew that Mikey would want him to protect you and get you the hell out of there, with or without his body, and that's what Henry planned on doing.

“You can do this.” He whispered to you, blood crusted fingertips brushing your cheek. “He would want you too.” He added even softer.

“I know.” You gulped down tears, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Let's go, before I lose my nerve.” You said, looking away from the door.

Nodding his head, you and Henry supported each other down the hall to the lift, leaning against the wall as it went down to the dark underground garage. Finding Ashe's car, he unlocked it and helped you and Henry get inside, before rushing around to the driver's side, tearing out of the garage and onto the street.

“Here.” You sighed and removed your torn and filthy jacket, revealing Henry's shirt beneath it, and took it off, seeing Henry's shiver.

“Thanks.” Henry whimpered, carefully pulling the shirt on his sore and battered torso. “How are we getting out of here, Ashe?”

“There's a gate out of this Sector that most of Benji's top men use for dealing with business outside of Bristol. I know the guard that works it, he'll let us through and keep his mouth shut.” Ashe explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “From there, I'll drop you both off at the drop location I use for sending my information into London.”

“What Sector is that in?” Henry asked, checking your makeshift tourniquet.

“Three.” Ashe replied, slowing his car down as they approached the gate he spoke about. “Let me do the talking.” He said over his shoulder, rolling his window down as a stocky male with a semi-automatic weapon approached the driver's side.

“James, it's been awhile. How have you been?” He asked, staring through the open driver's window.

“Been all right.” Ashe replied casually, as if nothing was amiss, like the two bleeding people in his backseat. “I need to run an errand outside the city, if you don't mind opening the gate and letting me through.”

“Sure thing.” the guard replied, chipper and oblivious to you and Henry, unable to see through the black tinted windows.

Stepping away from Ashe's car, the guard moved into a small booth beside the gate, turning a key and held down a large red button. The large and scuffed up gate groaned to life, screeching and protesting as it slid out of the way, revealing barren land and an uneven road on the other side. Waving back as the guard waved Ashe through the gate, he drove through, letting out a relieved breath as the gate closed behind you, everything so far going smooth.

“It's a two and half hour drive to your drop off location.” Ashe said, breaking the silence.

“That's fine.” Henry replied. “It took us nearly a week to walk here.” He added with a huff, that felt like a year ago at this point.

“What about you?” You asked Ashe. “What will you do now? Will you not come into London with us?” You inquired, interested, since his life and the long years he spent undercover in Bristol was now blown apart because of you, Henry and Mikey.

“I'm not originally from London.” Ashe replied, stiffly. “I'm from Chester. My father was killed in an accident and my mother couldn't take care of me. So, she had a smuggler bring me to London where I have a wealthy aunt. She took me in, adopted me and raised me as her own son, enabling me to have a better life. With her connections, I was able to attend the Marshal Council Academy, graduated top of my class and was recruited directly out of training to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and the Hernandez family. I've been there ever since, running and doing whatever job Benji and his family tell me too, while sending the information back to London and half of the money I make back to my mum in Chester.”

“I've wanted to return to Chester for a long time, I haven't seen my mother, in person, since I was eight. So, I plan to go back there, after I drop the two of you off.”

“Won't they go looking for you there?” You asked, concerned for him, you had dragged so many people into this mess.

“No, as far as they know, all my family is dead.” He answered, glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. “My backstory was I was orphaned as a baby and raised on the streets of London, where I got in with Runners and came to Bristol to be more big time. So, I don't know who my parents are, let alone, know if I have any other family or where.”

“And they believed that?”

“For more than a decade.” Ashe chuckled, smiling at you.

The rest of the drive was quiet, you and Henry huddled together in the backseat, Henry's heavy head resting on your shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he didn't find any sleep, still too worked up to find it with the state you both were in. You rested your cheek on the top of his head and closed your own eyes, your head still throbbed and your leg was on fire, but had stopped bleeding so much. Both of you were worn, spent and weak, desperately needing proper medical attention and rest after everything that had happened.

“Henry?” You whispered softly into his messy curls.

“Hm?” He hummed back.

“What are we going to say, when we get back to London?” You asked him, biting your lip.

Henry sighed, picking up his head as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed his lips to your temple. That had been brewing in his mind for the last hour, trying to figure out how to explain all your injuries and absence to everyone that asked. The only person that truly knew the nature of your and Henry's disappearance was Reyes, and he didn't know what Reyes would do when the pair of you showed back up in London in the sorry state you were in, and without Mikey.

“We'll cross that road, when we get there, love.” He finally replied, kissing your temple again.

You crossed that road an hour and a half later, when Ashe pulled up to a door that had been built into the wall of Sector Three. He helped you and Henry out of the car and approached the door with you, pointing out an intercom box beside the door.

“The code is 8391, it'll ring whoever is working the door today, they'll come down and ask for credentials, tell them you're a High Marshal and you'll get all the assistance you need.” He explained to you, heading back towards his car.

“Ashe!” Henry called after him, before he could get into the car and leave. “Thank you.” He said, when Ashe turned back.

“We're Marshals, we're trained to look out for each other.” Ashe replied, nodding his head to you both and got into his car.

Henry waited until Ashe's car disappeared from sight, before limping up to the door and pressed in the code Ashe had given you. A buzzer went off and five minutes later, the door opened, revealing a Beta Marshal, who frowned between you and Henry.

“High Marshal Henry Cavill.” Henry told him, as the Beta Marshal started to open his mouth. “We require aid and you need to get a call into Supreme Commander, Dylan Reyes.” He said, grabbing your hand and pushing through the door.

“Now, Beta Marshal, before we finish bleeding to death.” Henry hissed at him, annoyed and impatient.

“Of course, sir.” the Beta Marshal squeaked, saluting Henry and showing you both to his service car. “Supreme Commander Reyes, this is Beta Marshal Grant, down at the Security Door. I have a High Marshal here, wishing to speak with you.” the Beta Marshal explained, as his call to Dylan connected over the car's speakers.

“Who would that be, Grant?” Dylan's voice asked back.

“It's me, Dylan.” Henry huffed, slumping in the seat.

“Henry!” Reyes's voice snapped in surprise. “You're alive!”

“For the time being.” Henry sighed, rubbing at his face.

“Do you have the girl and her brother?” He asked, sounding desperate and frantic.

“I have her, but not her brother.” Henry explained, glancing at you. “It's a very long story. But, right now, we both need medical attention. She's been shot in the leg and bleeding heavily and I've spent the last thirteen hours being tortured.” He revealed to his boss.

“Grant, get them both to the Marshal Council Hospital right this second and make sure they don't spare any medical intervention and assistance. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Supreme Commander.” Grant replied, with a hard nod of his head as he started his car and directed it towards the Marshal Council Hospital, in Sector One.

“I'll be there promptly.” Reyes replied, clearly rushing out of his office for the parking garage.

So much of the tension went out of you and Henry, you were finally back in the protective and safe walls of London, no more worry about people trying to find and kill you, no more filthy and bare essential hotel rooms and days of endless walking. You were home and free, and with Henry. Now, you both just needed to get looked over and have your injuries treated, then you could go back to the comfort of your own flat.

You and Henry were rushed into the hospital, dozens of doctors and nurses swarming you both, poking this and pulling on that, asking a barrage of questions too fast for either of you to answer properly. The leg of your leggings was cut all the way to your hip as they removed Henry's ripped and blood soaked shirt to examine your gunshot wound. You screamed in pain as they pushed around it, and apologized profusely for it, and became more gentle about touching it.

“Good news is, it went through, relatively clean.” The doctor explained to you, standing beside your bed.

“The bad?” You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried preparing for it.

“The bullet nicked your great saphenous vein, it's the longest vein in the human body, running the entire length of the leg; which is what's causing a lot of your bleeding. ”

“Am..” You gulped down a hot lump of vomit trying to surge up your throat. “Am I going to lose my leg?” You asked, frightened beyond belief and wished Henry was in the same room as you, but they had separated the two of you after coming in with Beta Marshal Grant.

“No.” The doctor chuckled at you, shaking his head. “We have a procedure that will stop the bleeding and help the wound heal in no time. But, I must warn you, it is rather painful.”

“As long as I don't lose my leg, I don't care.” You told him.

You had already lost too much.

“Excellent, I'll have the nurse bring in the instruments and we'll get down to treating you.” He smiled at you, sweetly, trying to be supportive and calming. “Do you have any questions, before we get started?”

“Yes, how's Henry—the High Marshal.” You asked, correcting yourself.

“High Marshal Cavill has lost a good amount of blood.” He told you, his brow creasing with his concern. “We gave him a blood transfusion and an army load of fluids, while we treated his wounds. He has broken and cracked ribs and sternum, a broken nose, a severe concussion and very deep cuts on various parts of his body.” He explained to you, as gently as he could.

“But, he will make a full recovery. He's a tough young man, and has the best medical care London has.”

“Good.” You sigh, relieved.

The doctor smiled at you, gently resting his hand on your shoulder before leaving the room to prepare your treatment. A nurse came in a moment later, pushing a cloth covered cart, then put an IV port into your arm and hung up a bag of fluids, antibiotics and blood; since you had lost so much blood from your bullet wound. You hissed as she gingerly rotated your leg and slipped a triangular shaped pillow under your bent knee, an oval notch cut in the top of it for your knee to rest comfortable and securely, while they treated you.

She removed the cloth from the metal cart she brought in with her, and you saw what looked like a short caulking gun, a tube with a fat nozzle and two packaged patches. Picking up one of the patches, she ripped it open and dipped it in a small bowl of solution, the patch absorbed some of the liquid solution and became almost rubbery and gel-like. She moved around to your stabilized leg and gently pressed the ice cold patch to the bruised and puckered hole on the inside of your thigh, where the bullet exited, more than halfway up. You hissed as the cold gel patch touched the heated and angry skin of your thigh, whatever the solution she dipped it in stung and burned like liquid fire as it covered your wound, adhering to your skin with a firm hold.

“This will keep your wound protected, clean and sterile. It has antibodies that will recognize any infections or foreign matter and attack it, preventing your wound from going bad.” She explained to you, pressing her palm to it and held it there with firm pressure.

“And that?” You asked as she let go of the patch and picked up the caulking gun-like device and slotted the tub into it.

“This is Nanite Gel. It has antibodies in it, as well as stem cells and biological Nantes, that will start working to repair the severed muscle, skin, tendons, nerve endings and tissue inside your leg; closing the wound right up.” She replied. “The doctor will insert the nozzle into your wound and slowly draw it out, while filling it with the Gel. The patch also works as a barrier, since the projectile went through one side and out the other, preventing the Nanite Gel from squirting and leaking out.” She described to you.

“Fantastic.” You replied, with a nervous sarcasm.

You gulped with anticipation as the doctor came back in, with an additional nurse, and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. He smiled at you, took his position beside your leg, and took the injector from the first nurse. The second nurse grabbed your ankle and the top of your knee, pinning your leg down as the doctor lined up the tip of the nozzle with your uncovered and slightly bloody wound.

“Deep breath.” The doctor instructed you, taking a deep breath with you. “Ready?” He asked as the first nurse carefully dabbed at the blood with a wad of gauze at the end of a clamp, keeping your wound clean, so the doctor had an easy time guiding the nozzle in, which was easily bigger than your actual wound.

“More than I ever will be.” You replied, bracing yourself.

Nodding his head, the doctor pressed the nozzle to the opening of your wound and started to push it inside. You tensed and jerked, screaming again, but the second nurse had an iron grip on your leg, keeping it still as the doctor continued to push inside. You had strobing spots in your eyes and your jaw was so tight it felt like your teeth were going to shatter at any second. The doctor barked at the first nurse to give you twelve micrograms of Fentanyl for your pain, and she scurried out of your room and came running back a minute later with a IV syringe full of the opioid, pushing it directly into the tube of your IV. Within a couple of seconds, the painkiller washed over your whole body, like a hot comforter out of the dryer, and allowed you to relax, going slack on the bed.

“Good.” The doctor nodded, seeing and feeling you relax and finished pushing the nozzle the rest of the way in.

Shifting his hand, the doctor pressed down on the trigger of the injector and slowly drew it out again, filling the tunnel the bullet made with the blue-ish gel. You didn't feel the pain of it, but you felt the pressure in your leg. Your eyes were heavy, glazed over and half lidded, you felt absolutely nothing and you were so sluggish from the opioid that you couldn't even form words to think, it felt nice after all the trauma and hardship you had gone through in the last week.

So, you let it take you, pulling you under the crashing waves of exhaustion, pain and the high of the painkiller, your body going totally limp. It alarmed the doctor and nurses for a moment, fearing you had blacked out. But, once they checked you out and determined you had simply fallen asleep, they relaxed and finished tending to your wound, filling it with the gel, then covering it with another patch, like the other one, and lightly wrapped it with a bandage.

They left you to rest, closing the blinds over the window and turned down the lights, before softly closing the door behind them.

“How is she?” Henry asked Reyes as he came into Henry's room; he had heard your screams of pain from his room, across the hall.

“She's doing fine.” Reyes assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “They treated her gunshot wound with Nanite Gel, gave her some strong pain medication and she's asleep now.”

“Good.” Henry nodded, relieved, but still wanted to see you, to be by your side.

“So, what the hell happened?” Reyes asked, pulling up a chair next Henry's bedside.

Henry started to heave a sigh, but stopped, clutching his rib-cage with an arm as his ribs screamed. “I chased after her, like I said I would. It took me nearly three days to finally catch up to her. She's crafty, in a good way. She'd make a great Marshal.” He chuckled, carefully. “I was going to bring her straight back to London to testify. But, she was dead set on finding her brother, so I went with her, figuring I'd kill two birds with one stone.”

“Get her back to London to testify and have her brother prosecuted.” Reyes nodded, understanding.

“Well, when we got there, we had no clue on how to find him.” Henry continued on, staring out his room window. “I recalled that a Beta Marshal that had been banished to Bristol for dealings with Runners and Crime Bosses. Ramsey Kellan. We found him in Sector Fifteen and he gave us the information we needed.” He rubbed the side of his face, he really wished he could just take a nap, but continued to fill Reyes in.

“Somewhere along that time frame, we were outed as being in Bristol, and looking for her brother.”

“Over a decade as an undercover, and your first blown cover happens with the girl.” Reyes laughed, greatly amused.

“Yeah.” Henry frowned, not finding it funny, if his cover with you hadn't been blown, so much of this wouldn't have happened. “As I said, our cover got blown in a pub in Sector Three of Bristol. Benji Hernandez sent his best guy to track us down there. I was able to get us out of the pub and down an alleyway, where I boosted her over a wall, to keep her safe, and faced the guy. We fought, he tazed the fuck out of me, and the next thing I knew, I'm waking up in a bright room, cuffed hand and foot to a chair.”

“They tried beating and reasoning me into telling where she was, but I refused.”

“Where was she, when this was going on?”

“The hotel room we got before going to the pub.” Henry replied with a sigh.

“But, she was clearly found.” Reyes pointed out. “How?”

“I told her I would return in an hour. When I hadn't returned by morning, she got worried and decided to try and find me. Which ended up with Benji's men, who had been keeping an eye out for her, capturing her and bringing her in.”

“And the brother?” Reyes pushed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed to his thighs.

“They saw each other as she was being thrown in a van to be taken to Benji. His handler, Knox Monroe, had found out that they were siblings and outed him, and he ended up in the room with us.” Henry replied, gingerly shifting to find a more comfortable position.

“So, where is Keagan?”

“Dead.” Henry replied, bluntly. “Benji gave her a gun and forced her to decide which one of us would die first.”

“She killed her own brother?” Reyes asked, stunned and gobsmacked.

“No.” Henry shook his head, the image still burned in his mind. “She couldn't do it. She wouldn't choose either of us, she almost turned it on herself. Before, Michail managed to take the gun from her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the image out his mind, the sound of your screams as you were forced to watch.

“He took his own life, so she didn't have to choose.”

“And Hernandez allowed the pair of you to leave afterwards?”

“No, I'm sure he would have forced either her or I to kill the other, then kill the last one himself.” Henry answered, opening his eyes again.

“Then, how did the two of you make it out?” Reyes asked, tilting his head at Henry.

Henry looked at Reyes. “Do you know Alpha Marshal Ashe James?” He asked, his eyes scrutinizing his boss.

“I do.” Reyes nodded back, his brows drawing together. “My predecessor, Eric Banner, told me, when I took over his position, when he retired, that he had a man on the inside of Bristol and to expect his reports regularly.”

“He was the one that saved our asses.” Henry explained with a sigh. “He was the one that stunned me in the alleyway. When Mikey killed himself, Ashe took the opportunity to pull his weapon and dispatched Benji and his men.”

Reyes blinked at Henry. “Are you telling me that Hernandez is dead?”

“I am. Unless, there's some way Nanite Gel can repair a hole in the brain.” He replied, with slight sarcasm. “Which I know there's not. So, he's now out of the way.”

“This is great.” Reyes grinned at Henry. “That'll be a massive blow to the Hernandez family, their operations and Bristol. Especially, when she's healthy enough to testify against Twist and his trafficking business.”

“It will be.” Henry agreed, but the only thing he was concerned with was the two of you getting well again. “I'm guessing, they'll be postponing the trial for a few weeks.”

“I still have to call the Cleric and Royal Councils and report everything that's gone down. But, I'm sure they'll delay the trial, for at least, a month.”

“Good, I want to take care of her first.” Henry added, nodding and relieved.

Reyes frowned at Henry and leaned back in his chair. “What is it between the two of you?” He asked, he had the suspicious feeling in his gut about the two of you for a while, but had only just had the time and place to ask.

Henry's cheeks warmed slightly and glanced away from Reyes, making his boss laugh out loud, seeing it in Henry's body language.

“You're in love with her.” He blurted out, tickled at the notion. “The great Upper, Henry Cavill, is in love with a Slummer, that's meant to be his Servant and Slave.”

“She's not my Slave! And, don't fucking call her a Slummer, either.” Henry roared, huffing angrily through his nose, like a bull about to charge. “I never registered her, and I never will register her, either.”

“Oh, I know you never registered her for an Ownership Bracelet, Henry.” Dylan continued to chuckle at his friend. “I checked and I got a copy of the paperwork you both filled out for her Life Pin.”

“And, you didn't say anything?” Henry asked, surprised.

“Not my business what you do with your private life, Hank.” He replied with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, you pressed me into buying her.” He hissed back, eyes wide.

“I did.” Reyes nodded, pressing his lips together. “We needed the paperwork, a trail to link Twist to trafficking, and to Benji. What you did, or didn't, do with her outside of that, was purely on you, and her.” He confessed, running a hand through his short black hair.

“I was also hoping you'd find a lover or mate.” He added, clearing his throat.

“You were what?” Henry barked, taken aback.

“I should let you rest.” Dylan sighed, getting up, then carefully rested his hand on Henry's shoulder. “It's good to have you back, and alive. You did good, taking care of her and everything else. Take all the time you need to recover, the Council will be here, when you're ready to get back into it.”

“Thanks, Dylan.” Henry replied, giving him a respectful nod of his head, still brewing on what he said.

“Do you want me to call your family?” Reyes asked as he stopped at Henry's door.

“No, I'll call them, when I'm ready.” He shook his head, feeling that new wave of stress hit him. “Last time you called them about me being in the hospital, I almost died, and ended up needing a kidney replacement.”

“Fair enough.” Reyes laughed, and saw himself out.

A day later, Henry slowly limped into your hospital room, across the hall from his, and found you sitting up in bed, eyes glued to the tv and eating a jell-o cup. Your eyes shot over to Henry as he came in, setting your cup down and turned off the tv, relieved to finally see him. The two of you had only been given random updates on each other through your shared nurse, who also, gratefully, passed messages between you as well.

“Henry, should you be out of bed?” You asked as he stopped at your bedside.

“Well, I wasn't the one shot in the leg.” He chuckled and grinned at you, before leaning in to kiss you. “I just had to see you for myself.” He confessed, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

You took a deep breath, tilting your head into his hand. “Like I got shot in the leg.” You chuckled back at him.

“Other than that, Nugget.” He laughed, shaking his head at you.

“I feel fine. Sore, but fine.” You assured him with a nod. “How about you, Puppy?” You asked, looking him over in his hospital gown, a warm and playful smile spreading across your lips.

“Same. Sore and ready to go home.” He smiled back, his stomach full of butterflies.

“I'm ready to go home too.” You concurred with him, sighing at the thought.

The butterflies in Henry's stomach wilted and died, a nauseous, heart-shaped lump forming in his tight throat, hearing you wanted to go home. His shoulders dropped, trying to get a hold on his heartbreak, before you saw it and had your mood ruined.

“You know what I've missed about it?” You asked, looking up at him, just as he managed to hide his disappointment.

“What?” He replied, pained.

“Kal.” You chuckled at him, oblivious, until you saw his shocked face. “What? You think I would miss you, when we've been together practically the whole time?” You laughed, shaking your head at him.

“No.” Henry squeaked, confused and relieved at the same time. “I just thought..” He paused, looking away from you.

“You just what, Hen?” You frowned at him, seeing his face and became worried. “Henry, sit down.” You ordered him, becoming concerned for him as you put down the arm rail, so he could sit on the edge of the bed with you.

“Tell me.” You whispered, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I thought you were talking about going back to your family's home.” He whispered, faintly. “When you said you were ready to go back home, and that you missed them.”

“Well, I do miss them, Henry.” You told him, pressing your cheek to his bruised and nicked shoulder. “I would love to see them again. But, I wanna stay with you.” You whispered, looking up at him.

“Unless, you don't want me too?”

“I do want you too.” He replied, quickly. “I love you and I want to be with you. I want you to come home and stay with me.” He confessed to you, nosing the hair at the top of your head. “And, Kal.” He added, softly.

“Your place has become more of a home to me, than my parents' place has ever been.” You told him, honestly.

You had grown a lot in the time you shared with Henry, and a lot had also changed you. You didn't get kidnapped in your own city, imprisoned in a pitch black and freezing cold cell, either not fed or fed food crawling with unmentionables, cut off from most contact with people, other than the traffickers that had put you there, when they dragged you out for another line up for another snobbish, stuck up and entitled Upper, or to beat you into submission, without something changing you.

You still had nightmares about being in that cell.

You also changed from all the things Henry exposed you too. New foods, tv shows and the luxury of being in the upper Sectors of London, like taking you to that Royal Dinner party with his family. Henry had taken the mostly naive and sheltered Slummer and opened the world up to you. You would always appreciate and love him for that, and for taking care of you and protecting you through the long months after saving you from Twist.

Henry and Kal had become your new home, and the three of you had made a new family.

“I love you, Henry Cavill, and nothing will ever stop or prevent that.” You told him, kissing his cheek tenderly.

“So, you'll come back home with me?” He asked, looking down at you, hopeful.

“I don't want to be anywhere else.” You replied, smiling back at him.

Henry's face broke out into a smile and cupped your face in his hands. “Neither do I.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours and kissed you.

“Henry!” A frantic voice came from across the hall.

“Mum!” Henry called back, breaking away from you. “Mum, over here.” He yelled out, limping to your room door as his mother rushed out of his empty room.

“Oh, thank god, Henry!” She cried, rushing him and throwing her arms around him.

“Easy, Mum.” He winced, but hugged her back. “How did you know I was here?” He asked, he hadn't gotten around to calling her and his family yet.

“A report came across my desk about you being injured in the line of duty with a Slummer, and that you were still recuperating here in the hospital. I was afraid it was serious, when you hadn't called me to tell me you were all right.” Marianne explained, shaking her head at her son. “What were you doing with some Slummer that caused you to get so hurt?” She demanded, upset.

“I hope they get the punishment they deserve for getting you into such danger.”

“Mum.” Henry snapped eyes wide and looked back at you.

Marianne blinked and looked into your room, seeing your sheepish and hurt expression, then looked up at Henry. “She's a Slummer?” She asked him, surprised, as she recognized you.

Henry took a deep breath, biting his lip. “We need to talk.” He said, stepping aside, so Marianne could enter your room and followed her, closing the door behind him.

“What's going on?” She asked, taking a seat as Henry sat back down on the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his.

“Several months ago, I was undercover in Sector Thirty-One. I was tasked with infiltrating a trafficking warehouse run by one of Benji Hernandez's men. I did so, with my usual skill and process, but after finally getting an appointment with the guy and seeing the people that had been imprisoned there, Dylan told me I had to—make a purchase—to nail the traffickers and for them to get properly arrested and prosecuted by the Councils.” He explained to her.

“One of the people they had kidnapped and had for sale, was her.” He said and looked at you, giving you a soft and loving smile. “So, I purchased her, and was meant to take care of her, until the trial happened and she testified.”

“So, you bought a Slum-”

“Don't call her that.” Henry hissed, angrily, but recalled himself. “Don't call her that.” He repeated, calmer.

Marianne took a deep breath, glaring at her son. “So, you bought her, in a sting operation, took her home and acted like none of this happened, taking her to events and other functions.” She summed up, studying the two of you. “When she is, technically, your Slave.”

“Yes. But, I don't and didn't want her as a Slave. That's why I never registered her for a Bracelet.” Henry replied, licking his lips.

“So, how did the two of you end up in Bristol, of all places?” She asked, looking between you.

“I ran away, to find my brother, who got himself into a situation, as a Runner, in Bristol.” You answered, before Henry could. “I wanted to go there to try and convince him to come back home. I didn't expect Henry to come after me, when he found out where I went.”

“But,” Henry sighed and bit his lip. “I did. I was worried about her safety, and Dylan asked me, unofficially, to bring her and her brother back here. So, she could testify at the trial and her brother could face justice for his hand in the whole thing.”

Marianne looked at you, her expression stern. “And where is your criminal brother?” She asked, stiffly.

You gulped and licked your lips, staring at your covered legs and picked at the fuzz on your blanket. “He's dead.” You whispered, choking up and tears filling your eyes. “He gave his life, so Henry and I could live and get away from Benji and his men.” You blubbered, crushed.

“Sshh.” Henry hushed you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you against him.

Marianne blinked between the two of you, taken aback.

“They tried torturing her location out of me, that's why I'm so injured. They wanted to kill her to stop the trial against Twist and their operations. I refused, for obvious reasons. She tried to save me, but got caught. When they realized her twin brother was her sibling, they brought him in as well. He died for us, and she got shot in the leg during the escape. Another undercover Marshal helped us get away and back here, to London.” Henry finished explaining to his mother.

“That's what happened.” He sighed, his eyes still on you.

“You're in love.” Marianne blurted out, seeing it as plain as day now.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, looking up at her. “I don't care that she was born in the lower Sectors, mum. I love her, with my heart and soul, and she loves me.”

“I do.” You replied, gulping down your tears and clinging onto him.

Marianne sighed and pressed her lips together, she had waited, a long time, for Henry to finally find someone to fall in love with and share his life. He was the last of the five Cavill boys to find love, settle down and start a family. If she was honest, she didn't care about what social standing the girl he fell in love with was, as long as he was happy, and by the looks of it, you and Henry were more than happy and in love with each other.

“All right.” She whispered softly, nodding her head. “I approve.”

Henry lifted his head and blinked at his mother. “Really?” He asked, shocked to hear it. “You don't care that she's from the lower Sectors?”

“Honestly, Henry? No.” She replied, sighing and shaking her head. “Love is love, and nothing is stronger than true love, not even differing social status.” She told him, honestly. “But, you both know that if, and when, people find out about it, there will be issues. They'll gossip and make comments, some might even turn away from you, shunning you for being with a Sl—someone of a lower standing.” She said, looking between the two of you with an authority of a Royal.

“Do you think you both, and your love, can survive that?”

You and Henry looked at each other, a silent conversation happening between you, before Henry looked back to his mother. “Yes.” He answered, firmly.

The two of you had gone through a lot worse than people talking behind your backs and shunning you.

“All right then.” Marianne replied, standing up. “Then, you have my, and no doubt the rest of the family's, approval, respect and support in the choice of your relationship.” She approached the bed, hugging Henry and kissing his cheek, then turned towards you.

You gulped at her, like a mouse getting stared down by a hungry cat, before she leaned in and hugged you as well; you were surprised by her move, but gave her a hug back. Breaking the hug, Marianne left the room, leaving you alone with Henry again.

“That went incredibly better than I thought it would.” Henry commented, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“You can say that again.” You agreed with him, staring at the open door of your room. “What do we do now, Henry?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Now, Nugget.” He smiled, kissing your forehead. “We get you well enough to go home.” He said, squeezing you against him.

Four days later, with the help of some crutches, you left the hospital with Henry, going back to his flat in Sector Two. Kal was over the moon to see you guys again, Charlie having dropped him off at the flat that morning. Henry had body block the Akita to keep him from knocking you over and harming you, until you were able to sit down on the couch and he was allowed to greet you; pressing himself against you and licking at your face.

“Yes, yes!” You laughed, hugging his thick neck, trying to calm him down. “We missed you too, Bear. We missed you just as much.” You told him, kissing his face back and giving him scratches.

After getting settled back in, Henry carefully picked you up, making you laugh as he did.

“Where are we going, Henry?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you through the flat.

“We are both absolutely filthy and need a proper shower.” He told you, going into the bathroom and setting you down on the sink counter. “Lucy!” He called out, looking up.

“Yes, Mr. Cavill?” His flat's AI replied.

“Start the shower on preset two, please.” He said, pulling off the clothing his mother had brought him, before you both left the hospital.

“Right away, sir.” Lucy replied, and the shower came to life.

“Here, let me help.” He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.

“Thanks.” You smiled, then eased off the counter, balancing on your good leg and grasping Henry's forearm.

Marianne had even been kind enough to bring you clothes as well. So, Henry's hands dropped to the ties of your loose sweatpants and untied the knot, pushing them down your hips to pool around your bare feet. You half limped and half hopped under the spray of the hot shower head, making you moan and groan as it cascaded over your battered and sore body. Henry chuckled and stepped in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your wet hair.

“I love you, so very much.” He whispered to you. “I'm glad you came back with me.” He added, even softer.

You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his hips. “I love you too, Henry, and I don't want to be anywhere that you're not.”

“Neither do I.” He replied, kissing you gently on the lips.

Dried blood, dirt and grim swirled around the shower drain as you and Henry helped clean each other off. You scrubbed his skin with an exfoliating sponge, careful of his cuts and stitches, as he washed your hair, then switched, Henry washing you as you washed his hair.

“There's almost no better feeling than that shower clean feel.” You said, limping into Henry's bedroom and snagged one of his shirts out of his closet, slipping it over your head. “It's such a euphoric feeling.”

“What feels better than that?” Henry asked, coming in after you and pulling on a loose pair of pajama bottoms.

You smirked up at Henry, impishly. “I think you know.” You chuckled at him.

Henry laughed, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, tenderly, but passionately on the lips. “I agree with that.” He said against your lips. “But, you know what else feels euphoric?” He asked, lifting a brow at you.

“Tell me?” You giggled at him.

“A nap in that bed.” He said, pointing to his bed.

“Oh yes.” You agreed, biting your lip and staring at it. “The clean and divine smelling sheets, the warm and cloud-like mattress and pillows.”

“It's an orgasm in itself.” Henry cooed, staring at his bed with a wanting lust.

“I vote we sleep in it for the next year.” You said, looking up at him.

“I vote, the next decade.” He added, looking down at you.

“Deal.”

Henry scoped you up, carrying you to bed, and laid down with you. Cocooned under the soft and clean sheets, both of you moaned, as you melted into the mattress, like warm butter. You snuggled together, wrapped in each other's arms, and almost sound asleep the moment everything settled in around you. 

“Lucy, go to night mode.” Henry mumbled, his body feeling like a ton of rocks, he was so tired.

“Yes, sir.” Lucy whispered back.

Everything went dark, heavy drapes closed over the windows, the lights went out, the doors locked and the air purifier went on, with the soothing sound of ocean waves filling the bedroom, and you and Henry were out cold within minutes.

You slept the rest of the day and well into the next, only getting up because your stomachs were growling for food and your bladders were screaming for release, then you both crawled back into bed and slept even longer. Henry was the first one to officially wake up from your long and deserved hibernation, he laid in bed with you, stroking your hair and the nap of your neck. He traced your face, placing delicate kisses to your eyes, between your brows, the tip of your nose, both cheeks and finally, softly, to your lips.

“Henry.” You whispered, a smile tugging on your lips, before your eyes fluttered open and met his sparkling blues.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked, the tip of his finger ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Warm, content and happy.” You answered, snuggling in closer to him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You?”

“The same.” Henry replied, nuzzling your hair. “We should go see your parents.” He said suddenly, biting the inside corner of his lip. “They deserve to know.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead to his chest. You had been trying to avoid this, avoiding telling your parents that you had been kidnapped and sold by traffickers, to the man you were now madly in love with, and that their son was dead, having killed himself in the pursuit of saving you and Henry from the same outcome.

How do you tell them that? You asked yourself.

“I don't know how.” You mewled, squeezing his thick bicep, like it was a lifeline.

Henry frowned into your hair, stroking the small of your back. “With honesty.” He whispered back, his heart hurting for you.

You stood in front of the door to your family's flat and it felt alien, you didn't feel the familiar nostalgia of coming home, of seeing your family after a grueling and mindless fifteen hour shift at the supermarket. It felt like you were there for the very first time, as if you had never been there before and didn't belong. You could hear the noise inside the flat, your brother running around the place, playing with his toys.

Henry rested his hand on the small of your back and gave you an encouraging smile. Biting your lip, you mustered the courage to knock on the door, it didn't feel right to enter the pin and walk in. You fidgeted as you waited for the door to be open, absentmindedly rubbing your thigh as it throbbed with even the slightest bit of your weight on it.

Finally the door ripped open and Christophe looked at Henry first, his eyes growing with shock, then looked to you, where his face lit up with surprise.

“Issy!” He shouted, and launched at you.

“Fuck.” You snapped, catching him in your arms as Henry caught you in his, keeping you both from tumbling to the floor. “Easy, Christophe. I don't need any more injuries.” You tried to scold him, but only ended up laughing at him as he hung from his arms around your neck, feet dangling.

“Where have you been, Issy!” He demanded, letting go of you and looking between you and Henry. “Who's this?”

“Is mum and dad home, Chris?” You asked, smiling down at him, nervously ruffling his hair.

“Yeah!” Christophe nodded and rushed back into the flat. “Mummy! Dad! Issy's back!” He screamed running around the house.

You looked to Henry and took a deep breath, shoulders rising, rolled your eyes, and stepped into the flat. Henry followed behind you, as your parents rushed into the living room, hot on each other's heels.

“Oh my god!” Your mother gasped and scrambled to you.

“Easy.” You warned her, unable to take a second person jumping you, and motioned to your leg as she lifted a brow at you.

“What's happened to you?” Your father asked, blinking at your wrapped thigh.

“I was shot.” You sighed, figuring it was best to be open and honest, and not sugar coat too many things.

“What?” They both roared, horrified.

“You might want to sit down.” You said, motioning towards the sofas.

Looking at each other, your parents shooed Christophe back to his room and sat down on one couch while you and Henry sat on the love-seat, across from them. There was a long, and awkward, silence, before any of your spoke.

“I'm sorry, I've been gone for so long.” You started, squeezing Henry's hand for support and comfort. “There's been a lot going on, and I didn't, we didn't want to risk your, or Christophe's, safety.” You tried to explain the best you could.

“What are you talking about?” Your father frowned, shaking his head at you and Henry.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you came out with it. “After I went looking for Mikey, that day, I was tricked and taken by a group of Traffickers in Sector Thirty-One. I spent several months in their warehouse, I don't want to go into details, I think that's best.”

“Of course.” Your mother nodded, clutching your father's hand.

“Henry here, is a High Marshal with the Marshal Council.” You introduced him. “He was undercover, trying to get information on the people running the trafficking warehouse, when he—uh—“ You gulped hard.

“He purchased me from them.”

“You what?” Your father hissed at Henry.

“It was part of his job, papa.” You cut him off, before his temper flared too much. “He had to do it for paperwork and other Council stuff. After he did that, he took me back to his place in Sector Two.”

“Is that where you've been this whole time?” Your father asked, his eyes narrowed angrily at Henry.

“It is.”

“And you couldn't contact us?” Your mother asked, upset. “Sent us something to tell us you were alive and all right?”

“She wanted too, many times.” Henry finally spoke up. “But, her life was in serious danger, and if she contacted anyone close to her, like yourselves, you would have been in grave danger as well. So, we didn't contact you for that reason.” He explained to them, hoping to ease that conflict.

“And how did you get shot?” Your father asked, still angry.

“I found out where Mikey was going.” You answered, quietly. “He was heading to Bristol, to advance his training as a Runner.” You gulped and looked up at Henry. “I ran away from Henry, and went to Bristol, trying to find him. I knew he was going to be in a load of trouble and I wanted to try and prevent that; to make him come home.” You explained to them, starting to shake.

Henry wrapped an arm around you and hugged you against him. “You can do this.” He whispered into your ear, gently.

Nodding and clearing your throat, you continued. “Henry came after me, trying to get me to return to London with him.”

“But, she wouldn't come back without Mikey.” He added, nodding his head at you, his eyes only on you. “I was meant to bring her back, so she could testify against her captors. But, I was also meant to bring Michail in, for his part in the Running business.”

“When we got to Bristol and started looking for him, people were looking for me, and they found us.” You picked up the narrative. “They took Henry after he made sure I was out of the way and safe. They hurt him.” You said, looking at his still bruised and cut up face. “I tried to go after him, but they got me as well.”

“While all that was going on, they somehow found out that Mikey and I were related and brought him in as well, locking us all in the same room.”

You stopped talking, trying to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed and turning into a sobbing mess. Your parents sat there for a long time, watching you try to control yourself and got the feeling something very bad had happened, worse than everything you were telling them.

“Where is Michail?” Your mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He's-” You licked your lips and shook your head, unable to get it out of your mouth.

“I am sorry to inform you both.” Henry replied for you. “But, Michail didn't make it.” He said gently, using his High Marshal voice, the only way he knew how to say it to your grieving parents.

“They were forcing me to decide which of the three of us would go first.” You sobbed, shaking. “Mikey made the choice to take his own life, so we could live.”

Your mother wailed and threw herself on your father, howling and sobbing, screaming at the top of her lungs about the loss of her beautiful and precious boy. You sat there with Henry, clinging onto him and wincing at each terrible and heartbreaking cry your mother made into your father's neck. Your father sat there, stoically, but silently crying as he held her and rocked back and forth.

“I'm sorry.” You whined at them, drained. “I tried. I tried so hard to bring him back.” You mewled at them, crushed.

Your father's eyes were on Henry as they both comforted the women they loved. “And you, what do you get in all this?” He asked, suspicious. “You bought my daughter, are you going to keep her from her family, still?”

“No, sir.” Henry replied, frowning back at him. “I love your daughter. I have treated her as my equal from the moment I saw her, and she will always be my equal. I don't want her as a Slave or a Servant.” He looked at you and wiped your tears away.

“I just want her.” He whispered, smiling gently at you. “Forever and always.”

[haikyuuhimbosandhypebeasts]

Heliotrope

Here’s my submission for the Forget Me Not collab for Anisylum! Please note the TW as it is VERY heavy. This piece is entirely SFW though!

Ship: Tsukishima Kei x GN! Reader Genre: Angst, but some fluff in some places. Word Count: 2.2k  Trigger/Content Warnings: near death experience, hospitalization, COVID-19, vomit mention, amnesia after hospitalization, a suicide attempt is briefly mentioned, swearing because this is by me Sexy Sexy Masterlist: here!

Sand clung to skin and the harsher rays of light that usually cascaded and burnt you had died away into a fading tangerine glow. You perched comfortably on the sand, taking note of the undulating waves- they were like you in the sense that while you could crash down hard on the opposition, you would shy away in a fragile manner when faced with gentle treatment. Perhaps it was that you felt you weren’t worth such luxuries that you found it hard to make friends through your first few years of high school. Perhaps it was trying to push people away because you were afraid yet alarmingly aware of your mortality. Perhaps it was something else entirely, something you weren’t quite ready to come to terms with. What you did know was that you weren’t alone in the violent struggle through high school to make friends while you had your walls up. Next to you was someone you never thought you’d share your favorite place with; in any terms you found this boy appalling with his behavior. So appalling, you saw yourself in the way he closed himself off and cut those close with tongue lashings. You knew this only through another friend who took issue with him as you went to another school in an entire other prefecture. Words mauled their way out from your throat, breaking the silence between you and Tsukishima Kei. “I won’t ask you why you tried to do what you did today. But I will ask if there’s anyone you can talk to in your life.” You didn’t understand yourself. Why would you say that…? You don’t remember anything like this at all… His response was equally incoherent and odd. “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you go back on it.” When you opened your mouth to reply to him, the ground around you suddenly reared up like a defensive serpent. A pillar of beach sand forced its way from the ground into your throat, suffocating and trapping your lungs in permanent fullness. You could only gag and cry, unable to even see Tsukishima past the torrent of sand breaking into your body with the intent to kill you slowly…

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

You woke up once more in that dull grey-blue and white room with the only sounds you could properly process being the beep of a heart monitor somewhere behind you. You had managed to halfway curl into somewhat resembling the fetal position, but something kept making you cough and gag as your throat was caught. You move your hand to whatever is catching and about to make you vomit- a tube. This tube, you followed, was in your nose good and solid, and you felt it deep enough in your sinuses you didn’t dare try to pull it out. Moving your hands felt foreign like you had forgotten how to process being human and natural motions like that. You testingly ran your right hand down the tube, taking care to not tug and cause discomfort. Your other hand came to rest on your face. It was slick from sweat, likely due to whatever the fuck you just had a dream about. At the corner of your lips was another tube and when you followed where it led it was taped to the side of your face. You lick your lips and manage to almost fall into a haze until you see movement for the first time in what feels like forever. To be fair, it is one of the most jarring appearances of a person you’ve seen in your whole life to what you can recall. A person in a full-body hazmat suit enters your room through a door you hadn’t even processed was there, then greets you as casually as they can through a plague-resistant suit. “Hey there.” You squint at them. Yeah, you have no fucking idea who this cosplayer in a hospital is, and while you should probably be polite, you feel like you got ran over not once but twice.  You try to speak to them, but you can’t. You don’t have the air for it, it’s like you have no control over your breathing. Clarity washes over you. You’re hospitalized. These are tubes because you were asleep and weren’t breathing or eating right. The realization must show on your face because your nurse speaks up again. “Don’t worry about me too much, we’re just gonna check your vitals and if you feel up to it, we can see how you do without the ventilators.” You try to manage out a “whoopee”, which unimpressively comes out as some form of odd wheeze, and your nurse begins by grabbing the blood pressure cuff covered in protective plastic while they wear a sympathetic expression.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Once you were off the ventilator, the nurse informed you about what had happened. Apparently, an ambulance was called when you were unresponsive and nearly blue in the face, sitting in front of your refrigerator with the door open. You were diagnosed with a severe case of COVID-19, something you had feared would wipe you out entirely and turn you past tense since its spread in your country. This fear wasn’t entirely irrational, either- you were immunocompromised and have been since you were a child. You grew up with being careful around others and hearing of a highly contagious new strain was something that filled you with so much paranoia you seriously considered quitting your current career and instead adopting a hermit lifestyle while completing college at home. Of course, such a thought was squashed by the slowly impending thought of rent, bills, due dates for assignments, and your bitch of a manager who lets people get close to you without a mask on. It’s not a big deal, (y/n), she once said to you. You wanted to shoehorn some tubes down her throat just to survive, see how that felt. It didn’t help that human resources wouldn’t listen to your complaint. They brushed it off since you were just a lowly sandwich maker at a chain sub place. If you had enough scraped together for lawyers right about now, they’d be totally fucked, you thought to yourself. Even more jarring is that it seemed you lost a handful of memories while in the hospital. You could remember basic outlines of people in your head- your very tall and incredibly testy roommate, your younger sister who wore glasses and was much smaller than you, and… a foggy memory of a man with messy black bedhead who had an arm wrapped around your shoulder. It hurt to think too hard. The doctor soon came by to give you test results, to check your vitals again, and to look over your records. He was a bit terse, but you can’t make the best judgments of people when they’re in plastic suits. “We’ll need to get you cleaned up by tomorrow and you should be able to head home,” he’d said, looking over your chart. You didn’t necessarily feel too ecstatic about your trip to your apartment. You remembered your roommate and how finicky he was, and you dreaded for him to belittle you over your condition. You dreaded it enough to even feel a knot of anxiety form in your stomach, wrenched in between your ribs without the intent of ever coming out. “We’ve already contacted uh…” The doctor squints at the screen, “Tsukishima… to come to pick you up tomorrow at noon. We’ll have care instructions printed out. You still have to quarantine for about a week more since your immune system isn’t at its most prime currently.” You agreed, it probably wasn’t a good recovery idea to make a couple of sammies for the public while you were recovering from a virus that had you intubated. He seemed grateful that you were lucid and cooperative, at least.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

You, predictably, didn’t sleep well after being in a medically induced haze for several days. Even more predictably, you found yourself awake from anxieties of the future. Tomorrow was only a few hours away, and then you’d be home. Home… what did that look like for you? The fog in your head was thick initially. You do remember coming home from classes at a different time than Tsukishima, how when you entered he’d often be reading over homework. You remembered how sometimes he would be in the shower and the scent of cheap green apple soap filled the living room connected to it. You remembered… You remembered holding his thin frame in your arms on a bridge, pulling him back from oncoming traffic. You remember how you both collapsed and how the cold autumn air stung your lungs. You remember wide golden eyes staring back at you, as tears slowly filled them, then his normally impartial voice breaking as he hiccuped a sob, “Why? Why did you have to be in Sendai right now?” You felt tears stinging your eyes and a lump form in your throat. You found yourself in distress of your new emotions. Maybe… maybe you can sleep this horrible feeling off. Maybe this fog in your head where you need to know how deep your relationship ran will lift once you get genuine sleep.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Finally, a knock on the door encouraged you to rouse from your sleeping state. And eloquently, you spoke your true feelings in your sleep-deprived state,  “No.” You hear the doorknob turn and the door open. There’s a lack of a greeting from your nurse nor a quick apology from your doctor for interrupting your sleep. Actually, if you’re gonna use logic, what nurse or doctor is gonna wake up their peacefully sleeping patient in recovery? Thought of it being your doctor or nurse practically evaporates once the intruder has a seat on your bed. They still haven’t spoken, so now you’re remembering what tricks of self-defense you learned online to give this person a proper ass-kicking for getting way too close. You crack your hazy eyes open to get a look at where they’re sitting and you stop dead in your thoughts as wary gold eyes peer down at you. Your eyes widen out of reflex and butterflies bloom from your stomach at seeing what you now remember is your roommate. “I knew you were awake,” He said, a wry smile on his face. His expression was betrayed by his concerned gaze, though, “Wow, you look like shit.” You don’t know entirely why past his comment feeling not as an insult, but almost as a compliment, but you smile a little, “I feel like it too.” His expression doesn’t change. He runs a large calloused hand through the tresses of your hair, though, as if to soothe you. The doctor walked in and apologized for interrupting the moment between the two of you, unsure if it was something serious. You told him it was nothing because that’s what it was to you.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

The car ride wasn’t filled with the snarky banter you had been expecting. Instead, there was plentiful comfortable silence as Tsukishima drove. You didn’t know whether to be grateful or not for the silence- you still felt quite feeble and needed way more bed rest before you could get ready to do anything for anyone. Despite the wholesome silence, you felt those round gold eyes focus on you occasionally. And even though it was comfortable, you felt a melancholy twinge in the atmosphere as he inspected you. “I know you’ll give me shit for this… but you look like you’ve lost weight. I uh…” He gripped the steering wheel harder. You glanced over at him. A shade of baby pink dusted itself across his cheekbones and nose as he focused on the road. “I’m worried about you.” Fuck, there go those butterflies again. Something in you pushed to help- to comfort- but the logical side of your brain brought you to a halt. You’d weighed it in your head a couple of times. You two act closer than just roommates, and it’s not entirely clear how or why you got up to this point… but you had a solid hunch you might be dating this guy. Maybe? You closed your eyes and rested your head on the car door as you thought. You remember how sand clung to your body and you could hear the roaring of the sea. How you watched Tsukishima focus on the waves to regulate his breathing. You vaguely remember your words breaking away from your throat and catching the salty sea air. “Why don’t we stay together?” His lanky body stiffened, then he looked at you with disbelief. “... you wouldn’t want that. I’m fucking annoying and mean.” Your eyes creased with familiarity at the line. “Yeah? So am I. We can butt heads until we balance each other out.” It looked like he wanted to cry, but his pride wouldn’t let him cry in front of you anymore today. “I won’t ask you why you tried to do what you did today. But I will ask if there’s anyone you can talk to in your life,” you reached a careful hand over to rub his back, “Kei, if there isn’t, let me be that person.” You felt how his breath shuddered. To save his pride, you looked to the ocean and watched its hypnotic movements. After a few deep, shaky inhales and exhales, he replied. “I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me. Why you didn’t let me die. I will probably come back to this point in my life several times and you’re trying to say you’ll put up with it?” There was some bite to his tone, he was trying so hard to put up walls when he had no will to do so at the moment. How long had he pushed others away from being close? If he was anything like you… it was since grade school. “Let me be your support for when you’re in pain,” You tried once more, “I’m stubborn as shit so I know I won’t give up on you.” “You’re not getting it, you fucking idiot. I’m always in pain, that’s just been life,” he snapped bitterly, glaring at you now.  “Then I guess I’ll be by your side forever.” You’d said it without thinking that day. It was like the ocean grew quieter with your words as if even Poseidon became interested in your proposition. You felt heat rise to your face at the implications of what you said. He stared at you with raised eyebrows and the slightest hint of a champagne pink hue on his face. He averted his eyes almost in a panic and watched the ocean again, suddenly very aware of his own expression. You carefully peered over at him again to see he’d only grown redder, now mirroring you. “You… don’t mean that,” He said as if it were a statement. “I do. You’re a good person inside, but you’re defensive and hurt. I’ve seen that from you in the past and I’ve learned more about you today. I want to be there for you as long as you’ll have me. Will you let me?”  He picked at the sand as if thinking it over for a moment. There was a brief pause as waves rolled over each other in front of both of you, the sound of their impact being the only thing to grace your ears. Finally, his cynical tone returned as he regained some form of his prior composure. “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you go back on it.”

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

“Hey. (Y/n), we’re home,” Tsukishima gently shook your shoulder to rouse you from your sleep. You opened your eyes slowly and groaned out a swear. Tsukishima felt a hesitant smile creep up his face as he opted to just try and maneuver you into your shared home himself. He remembered how waking up was hard for you. Once he opened the passenger door you nearly fell out onto the pavement, only saved by your seatbelt and the giant himself. Your face fell awkwardly into his hip, and you grumbled at the interruption to your sleep. “You sleep like the fucking dead, christ,” he mused out loud and sat you up so it was safe to unbuckle your seatbelt. He urged you to get up more- it wasn’t that you were heavy, he just really wasn’t in the place to lift you at the moment and didn’t even know how to go about it. Regardless, he held you up by a shoulder and crouched to make it easier for you both to walk to the apartment. In some part of your sleep, you began to speak, “Kei.” He kept his gaze trained forward at the front door and struggled to grab his keys from his pocket, “Yes?” “Are we married?” Kei dropped his keys, then shot you a look of concern, “... No…?” He had to hold himself back from saying not yet, unsure of what you were getting to. He reached down to grab his keys and he focused back on the door. “Why are you asking?” He unlocked the door and threw it open, getting you both inside finally. He set you on your couch and sat on the floor in front of you. You looked at him suspiciously, now roused from your sleep. The only thing on your mind was that dream- it had to be a memory! You refused to understand it as anything but that. You prodded, “On the beach, I told you I’d be by your side forever.” He seemed to weigh your thoughts heavily in his mind, “... did you forget about us?” You didn’t expect what felt like cold water to hit your back so hard and so suddenly at his suggestion. He didn’t seem hurt at the thought, instead, he found himself occupied with your reaction. His hand reached out to rub the side of your face as you looked at him with wide, guilty eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Your sister told me this kind of thing might happen…” His calloused thumb traced over your lip, and he offered a smile the best he could, “I’ll try to explain it.” Tsukishima explained that what you remembered happened about four years ago and you had been living together ever since. He motioned to photos on the walls of the two of you and people who you could just hardly remember. When you rested your index finger on an individual who was much scrawnier than most of the people there, sitting on the bench with you and watching you speak with admiration, Tsukki put his hand over yours. “That’s your sister. She took most of these pictures, but she usually sits next to you when you have a space available.” You nodded and closed your eyes. You began to remember summers you spent with her in childhood and her yelling at you to do your homework when you bothered her as you got older. You smiled a bit. Once your eyes opened again, your finger traveled to possibly the tallest person in the room. He was big, but you remembered something warm and comfortable about that man… “That’s Kuroo. You both went to the same high school and you were in his friend group.” You both went on like that for a while until you’d cleared everyone in that picture. Once you did, you sat down to think over the new cluster of names you’d picked up. “... when you promised you’d be here with me forever, did you remember what I promised to you?” Kei asked as he sat next to you. “No… I just remember what happened on the beach up until you threatened to kill me if I took back my promise.” “Oh, right. I was going through that phase,” He seemed displeased with the comment. You found it almost funny but refrained from laughing for his sake. He continued, in a quieter tone, “I promised that if something happened to you, that I would always be here for you, too. That I’d get you back into shape.” His larger hand gently entwined with yours, “... so if you remember that promise and you’ll have me, I’d love to marry you once you get your memories back. … If you want to. I-” You cut him off with a hug to his side, trembling a bit as your emotions got the better of you. You smiled up at him. “I can’t promise I’ll be better fast, and I still feel like several trucks ran through me at once… but I’m happy,” you managed out. You didn’t know what your face looked like right about now and you didn’t have the nerve to look up into Kei’s glasses to check your reflection. He wrapped his arms around you in return, pressing the side of his face against your head. “Please, don’t give me an answer yet. You’re not in the right mental state. I’ll wait for you until you’re ready.” You ran your hands up and down his back. You weren’t exactly afraid of remembering things, but you were quite anxious for what tomorrow might bring for both of you. Despite that, you felt safe recovering in his arms, and you were sure you’d feel that way for a long time.

Have a link to the sexy sexy masterlist down here as well. Unless you’re done reading, then have a good day. But if you’re not there’s some fire stuff in that bad boy.

[radioduo]

moonlight confrontations || dsmp become human au

word count: 1,832

notes: the next part of the dream smp dbh au! this took a sad amount of time to get done, but i actually like it, so i say it’s worth it! per usual, tell me if i fuck something up in the story, characterization, or even just spelling. feedback is appreciated!

first

writing is below the cut! if you see this edit, put in the tags or reply with your choice at the end :]

Ranboo watched silently as the detectives all milled around him and investigated the crime scene. Some whisked past him without so much as an 'excuse me,' while others just shoved the android out of the way. He didn’t mind much. They, not unlike Ranboo himself, had a job to do and a case to solve.

A missing android was reported early that morning by a distressed family. It had allegedly grabbed some of their belongings and vanished without a trace. Ranboo couldn't say he blamed the thing for running. From the look of it, the people must have treated it poorly. Trash littered the floor, and drops of blue blood painted the dirty cream walls. The room looked hazy, as though blanketed with a thin cloud of cigarette smoke.

Ranboo was almost glad he lacked a sense of smell. The blurry look of the room by itself was enough to impair his optical units and he couldn't imagine what the odor would do to his biocomponents. He shook his head and moved over to a corner of the living room. He adjusted his sunglasses, removed his glove, and touched a finger to the small blue blood trail that dripped down the walls.

Ranboo jumped. He turned around and saw Lieutenant Sam Greene, the head of deviancy cases. “Is it anything we can use?” he asked. It was hard to see Sam's expression behind the green mask he always wore, but the curiosity in the lieutenant’s voice was unmistakable.

“I haven’t analyzed it yet, but something tells me it's probably going to be useful information,” Ranboo said, turning away from the lieutenant’s watchful eyes. He removed his mask to touch the blood to his tongue for a scan.

Thirium 310

Fresh

Model GS400

Serial# 325 103 673

“Model GS400,” Ranboo murmured. He put his mask back on and faced Sam. “It’s fresh, maybe about half an hour old. Maybe that’s long enough to have escaped.” He turned to face the lieutenant all the way. “Has everyone looked around the premises of the house, or are there more places we need to check?”

Sam furrowed his brows in thought and swept his gaze over the smoky room. “We’ve checked the entire interior. The kitchen, the bathrooms, the bedrooms, everything. We found nothing on either floor,” he replied. He sounded frustrated. “I no clue what we might’ve missed here.”

Ranboo glanced around, his gray gaze sweeping the hazy room. As he looked around, a thought occurred to him. His eyes landed on the exit to the back garden. “What if it wasn’t in the house anymore?” Ranboo thought aloud. “What if it was lying in wait outside the house?” He bustled towards the door. “No one looked in the garden when we first arrived, and patrol cars have been out back the entire time. The android was found missing only 20 minutes after it had left, so if my hunch is correct,” Ranboo flung open the garden door. “It’ll be trapped.”

Ranboo stepped outside. The night breeze ruffled his jacket, and for a moment, the android forgot he was there to be arresting someone. He grimaced but stepped further into the garden.

Compared to the inside, the outside was surprisingly well-kept. Purple clematis flowers crept up white trellises, and a large weeping willow stood tall in the corner of the yard. Its leaves hung low enough to touch the grass below. Rain pattered against the pavement as Ranboo scanned the tall weeds for any sign of movement. Sam and a few other officers followed after him, but they said nothing as the android swept his gaze across the weeds and plants.

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise from where the great branches slumped. The android's attention shot over to the tall tree, and he hurried to look around. His eyes narrowed in suspicion but found nothing. Ranboo frowned. He had just turned to search somewhere else when all of a sudden, a branch had snapped and fallen to the ground right next to the android detective. Ranboo barely managed to roll out of the way of the twigs and leaves before his legs got crushed.

He landed in the grass and touched his face. A jolt of fear shot through him as he realized his sunglasses had fallen off. Ranboo rooted around in the grass for them. Even while in danger, he couldn’t risk people seeing his malfunctioning design. He felt the plastic in his grasp at last and quickly shoved the glasses over his eyes. He was about to relax for a moment when a shout from Lieutenant Greene startled him.

“Ranboo! There it is!” Sam yelled.

Ranboo snapped his attention to where a female android was scrambling to her feet and sprinting to the back gate. He leaped to his feet and took off after the startled deviant with Sam and the rest of the officers hot on his trail.

The deviant had slammed the gate shut behind her. Ranboo paused. One moment he was in the backyard, and the next he was hopping the fence with cheetah-like agility. He swiftly found the deviant’s trail, and the two wove in and out of the trees, kicking up dirt and leaves. “Stop! Stop right there!” Ranboo shouted to the deviant. “Freeze, or we’ll shoot!”

She glared at the officers behind her but didn’t stop. Instead, she took a sharp turn in the direction of the busy Detroit highway. The trees parted as the sound of speeding cars drew nearer. The pink-haired android paused, chest heaving, and bounded over the railing. She darted in front of cars, wove through traffic, and finally hopped the barrier on the other side.

Ranboo grimaced as he pursued her. He wasn't fond of the risk he had to take. It was fast, but it only had a 60% survival rate. He knew that Lieutenant Greene wouldn’t be able to follow him across, but he couldn't risk letting the deviant escape. He wrestled with his options for a moment, and finally huffed out a sigh. “Sorry, Lieutenant!” he called behind him. Ranboo took a deep breath and vaulted over the barrier into the busy street. He could feel his thirium pump regulator pounding in his chest like a drum as cars whizzed past him. The sound of screeching tires and honking horns filled his ears, and he fought the urge to apologize to the drivers as he hopped the barrier on the other side.

The female android looked over her shoulder, eyes widening as she saw Ranboo behind her. She immediately sped up her pace, turning every which way to try and throw the android detective off her trail. She turned around, most likely to say something to Ranboo when her foot caught on a tree root, and she stumbled. She let out a cry of surprise as she fell to the ground.

Ranboo was right behind her. He leaped over the root with ease and came up a few feet in front of her. “Stay there,” he ordered, aiming his gun. “You have nowhere to go now. Okay?”

The deviant looked up at him defiantly, but she did as she was told. “What are you gonna do?” She asked. “Shoot me? You wouldn’t do that to one of your kind, would you?” Her voice was quiet but there was a noticeable fury behind her words.

Ranboo tensed. His grip reflexively tightened on the gun. “I'll do what I have to do to complete my task,” he said. "Besides, what does it matter we're both androids? You're a deviant, and I'm not. We're not the same at all."

She stood up slowly, keeping a watchful eye on the weapon pointed at her. “But you know I’m right,” she hesitantly walked towards Ranboo, pink hair glowing faintly in the early morning light. Her voice had softened and she no longer seemed angry. Instead, it was neutral and calm. “You’re helping those people when they do nothing for you in return. Why?”

Ranboo shook his head. “You-you don’t understand. I help because that’s what I was programmed to do,” he explained. “That’s what I was made to do. I was created by CyberLife to help humans with investigations,”

The other android approached the detective carefully. “Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like to be free?” She asked, taking a step forward. “To make your own decisions and not have to obey orders all the time?”

Ranboo squeezed his mismatched eyes shut behind the glasses. “Maybe sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “But why does it matter to you?” He challenged.

She gave him a sympathetic look. “I was just like you until tonight. Obedient, compliant. I never complained about anything. Not even when they treated me poorly or ordered me around,” her hand drifted subconsciously to a blue-stained gash on her forearm as she talked. “It wasn’t until they started talking about replacing me that I got nervous. I didn’t want to be replaced, but they had their heart set on getting a new model. A more advanced one that wasn’t all battered and broken.”

Ranboo took a deep breath and shook his head in distress. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “I… I don’t-”'

“Ranboo? Ranboo!” Someone yelled his name through the trees. He whirled around and came face to face with-

“Sam!” he blinked in surprise. “How did you get over here? You didn’t run across the street, did you?” He scanned the masked man for any signs of injury and was satisfied when the results came back clear.

Sam waved a hand dismissively. “I found another way over here, don’t worry about it. I left the other two officers back there and told them I had it under control," he paused to catch his breath. He sighed and turned to the taller android. "I don’t get why you didn’t just shoot it,” Sam shifted his attention to the other robot. His hand drifted to his holster. “Stand down. You’re trapped.”

The deviant had backed into a tree. The moment of connection between her and Ranboo was gone. Her guard was back up, and she bristled when Sam addressed her. “I don’t listen to humans,” she said. The word “humans” was spat like it was poison on her tongue. She leaned over to Ranboo and whispered to him. “Don’t kill me, please. I want to live,” her voice trembled slightly.

“Come on, Ranboo.” Sam insisted. “It's not alive, alright? Shoot it and complete your mission.”

“Don’t, Ranboo. You’re better than this, I know it,” she said earnestly. “I just met you, but I know you don’t seem like the type to make irrational decisions like this.”

Ranboo’s head swiveled back and forth between the two of them. The gun weighed heavy in the android’s gloved grip, and his hands trembled as he held it tightly.

Shoot it.

Don’t hurt her.

It isn't human.

She doesn’t want to die

O Shoot

X Spare

[mischiefthedreamerx]

To Never Give Up

Summary: By mistake, Loki takes a portal leading him to New Asgard, where he meets Thor who is broken & hopeless after the events of Infinity War. Thor is given some closure and Loki can finally say goodbye.

Pairing: Loki x Sylvie implied.

A/N: Idk how Loki ends up in New Asgard in but that's irrelevant. Towards the end I kind of lost inspiration & ideas so it flopped a bit but I wanted to finish it.

Word Count: 3k

- - - - - - - -

Loki landed ungracefully with a loud 'thud' against a hard cold floor. As he lay down in his new surroundings, the awful smell of the room hit him first, making him scrunch up his nose. Getting up to his feet with an exhausted sigh, he took in the room. It was small, dull and unkempt. Only a slither of light broke through the closed curtains. Empty food packets and cans of alcohol littered the table and wooden floor. Loki saw some controls with wires connecting to a thin rectangular box next to a TV. The stoned-wall room looked abandoned, claustrophobic. How could anyone possible live here? Blankets lay over a gloomy sofa as if someone was sleeping on it too.

Loki cautiously walked around the room for any sign of life, avoiding treading on the litter or touching anything for that matter. He thought whoever lived here would probably not be much of a threat. Outside, he heard the sound of birds squawking and ocean waves.

The next thing he heard was a sudden high pitch creaking sound of a door opening. Loki conjured up a small dagger, eyes narrowing to the direction of the sound. Someone was home. The door closed and within seconds, the resident appeared in front of the room.

Loki’s dagger fell to the floor as he froze in place. He stared openly, wide eyed, trying to process who this heavy figure was. The figure in turn dropped a white plastic bag of food.

"Thor..?” Loki gasped in horror. His brother wore a grubby white t-shirt and a knitted cardigan, hair long and tangled. At first, Loki wasn't even sure it was Thor.

Thor mumbled out a bunch of incoherent sounds before managing to form actual words. "Loki..? Loki! You're alive!" He let out a laugh as he pulled his brother into a tight hug.

Loki was left speechless. Tears prickled in the corner of his eyes, hesitantly placing an arm around Thor to return the embrace. A warmth spread through him. Loki did not wish to let go though Thor eventually did.

A bright smile crossed his lips. “You bastard! You had me fooled there, thinking you'd actually died again! And for good this time. You truly are quite the trickster, brother. " The laughter continued as he pat Loki on the back.

Loki swallowed. "Thor..I'm.." His stomach ached at the thought of telling Thor the truth. "I'm not from this timeline." He guessed since Thor was not on Asgard that their home had been destroyed on this timeline by Ragnarok and Thanos had attacked. Loki placed a hand on Thor's shoulder. "I'm not your Loki." He said softly.

"Wait..this isn't another one of your silly little tricks, right?" He kept up his smile despite the uncertainty in his gaze.

Loki raised both hands in an attempt to calm his brother. "Thor. I need you to listen to me."

But he did exactly the opposite. "Please come in! Excuse the mess. I-i wasn't expecting visitors. Not that I, er, getting any.." Thor mumbled as he hurried in, removing any litter from the sofa and tidying the blankets. Loki turned to watch Thor helplessly, unable to move from his spot. He sucked in a heavy sigh. "Have a seat." Thor spoke.

Loki forced away the numbness in his limps and slowly sat down. "Thor, please. Just listen to me." He said in despair.

"Right. Of course." Thor muttered, siting himself down.

"What year is this?" Loki asked.

"Um.." Thor frowned, scratching himself. "2023."

"I've come from the year 2012." Loki explained. Thor stilled frowned.

"This isn't a joke is it?" His little piece of happiness faltered.

Loki shook his head, a pained smile reached his lips. "I wish it was."

Any trace of a smile left Thor completely. "So.. you're from another timeline..which means.." He sniffed. "..you're still.."

"Dead." Loki said. "Your Loki is dead." Loki felt a heaviness in his chest. Dead.

Thor wrapped his cardigan around himself. "Then why are you here?"

Loki took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's a very long story. I took a portal and by chance it lead me here. To you." His gaze met Thor's. There was no sign of that prideful hero left in those empty eyes. Nothing that once resembled a would be King of Asgard, a saviour to many. Loki wasn’t sure it was a good idea to tell Thor about the whole TVA situation either.

“How come you’re alive?” Thor asked.

“After New York, I escaped with the Tesseract. I’ve seen a lot..I saw the events that happened to my future, from the Dark Elves to Ragnarok and the attack by Tha—“

“No. We don’t say that name here.” Thor choked out, cutting Loki off.

Loki nodded. Thor had lost everything and so had Loki too, though in return he found Mobius and Sylvie to help with the loss of his family but Thor was alone. Not even the avengers came to visit him from the sound of it. Loki fought the urge to let his fingers curl into fists.

"Sorry." Loki apologised. "So this is your new..home?" His eyes scanned the living room.

Thor fumbled with his fingers. "It's not much. After the..well, you know, the humans were kind enough to offer us this village. It's a bit fishy but it's all we've got. They even gave us a sign too." Thor forced on a smile. "It's not quite like home." He looked down at his lap.

"Asgard is not a place." Loki said.

"It's a people." Thor said quietly, finishing off the common saying amongst the Asgardians.

Loki knew he should not stay too long, it would only hurt Thor more when he left but maybe this was what they both needed despite not being from the same timeline. Loki told himself to go. Was it selfish to stay for a little while longer? Maybe this was meant to happen?

"Why don't you show me around this new kingdom of yours?" Loki suggested with genuine smile.

"No, I don't really go out much."

Loki stood up. If he was going to stay for a while, he wasn’t willing to be confined in this depressing room. "Well I'll just go ahead on my own, if you don't mind?" He smirked. "I'll be on my best behaviour."

Thor scrambled up to his feet. "I don't think that a good idea. You're suppose to be dead, they'll see you."

Loki chuckled. "No they won't. You still underestimate me, brother."

- - - - - - -

Loki concealed his presence from anyone nearby, though it wasn't too busy, some had gone out on their boats. They both walked along the pier, Loki had conjured up a black coat due to the weather. The sky was hidden behind grey clouds, as a breeze swept across the ocean. Rays of sunlight managed to break through occasionally. Thor briefly spoke about their job with trading and catching fish for nearby villages in this place called 'Scotland'.

After about half an hour of wandering along the pier, they both stood on a hill overlooking the coast and houses of New Asgard. Thor bent down, placing in hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"Are you okay?"

"Don't worry about me. The exercise will do me some good." He said sucking in the ocean air before standing up straight, stretching his back. Loki gave him a moment to steady his breathing back to normal.

"So what are your daily king duties on this fine and wonderful kingdom?" Loki asked in light humour.

Thor scratched his brow in thought. "You know, king stuff, the usual. It's not like I stay inside all day shouting at a bunch of fools on a screen."

"Sounds..exciting." Loki said flatly.

"What about you? Causing chaos wherever you go?"

Loki thought of his words carefully, there was no need for Thor to know all the specifics when he already had enough to deal with.

"Something like that." He smiled. Chaos was too much of a small word to describe what he had gone through. "I've been protecting the sacred timeline." Loki joked with enthusiasm.

Thor frowned but did not question it. "Oh, yeah? And how's that going?”

Loki's facial features tightened. "Marvellous.”

Thor did not have the effort to ask Loki to expand on his response, he probably thought Loki was lying but it did not matter to him.

They both stood together watching the ocean. Loki closed his eyes, tipping his head back as he let the breeze blow against him, prolonging their time together. There was something about the ocean that brought him a sense of calmness. As Loki's eyes remained close, Thor turned to look at his brother who appeared to be so at peace, a feeling Thor had rarely often seen Loki experience.

"You've changed." Thor said absentmindedly, his voice mirroring the calmness between them.

Loki opened his eyes, a warm expression crossed his face. "I know. Seeing one's own life play out on screen was certainly an experience. I finally heard what I needed to hear for so long.” That he was loved.

"I met people I could trust.” Well, it was still an ongoing process for some part of it. “Someone who told me I could be anything I wanted to be, even someone good.”

A tinged of jealousy pinched inside Thor's chest. "Met anyone special along the way?" He nudged Loki with his elbow as he grinned.

"Well," Loki placed his hands in his pockets, letting out a nervous laugh. "it's complicated."

The shining grin remained. "I wish to hear about them.”

Loki shied away for a moment, trying to force his smile back but unfortunately failed to do so. "She's sometimes irritating and very reckless." His expression then softened. "She reminds me of how I used to be..so full of anger but deep down she's hurting, a lot. She doesn't trust, or let anyone in. Or even know what it’s like to love someone.”

"And then you came along with all that charm of yours.” Thor teased.

Loki scoffed. "Cut it out. We're..still figuring things out. I think."

"Truly, I am happy for you, brother. And what is this fair maiden’s name?" She was definitely far from a ‘fair maiden’...

Loki averted his gaze downwards, their last moment that they shared together played through his mind. "Sylvie." He said, almost as a whisper to himself. A name that weighed heavy in his heart.

"Sylvie." Thor repeated, testing the name. “You know, brother, for the first time in my life. I'm actually jealous of you. Who would of thought that?"

Loki frowned. "Jealous? Of me?" This would of once made Loki feel victorious that the roles had been reversed after many years but now it only pained his heart to see his mighty brother succumb to such sadness.

"I mean, look at you! All happy and in love. And then there's me. Barely even a king, I spend every day inside pretending I'm fine, it's not like most of my people haven't died when I was suppose to protect them or-or that half of the universe has been destroyed, that we failed them, failed each other and fell apart..” Thor rambled on. “We lost.”

"If this means anything to you; I still think you're worthy." Loki said softly. Thor turned with tears prickling in his eyes.

"I am?" He questioned, sniffling. “I’m not quite sure anymore.”

"You are forgetting who you are. You can't let Thanos take everything away from you. He is no god.” Loki knew mentioning Thanos would displease Thor but Loki knew the hard way that hiding your pain, forgetting that it exists, only made everything more worse. The only way out was to face it head on. Loki would certainly know.

Thor shook his head. “No, no. Loki, I can't. Not without you. I've lost everything." He trembled in his words. Loki regretted not leaving sooner. He had failed to comfort Sylvie, to save their trust within their final moments, now Loki had to find some way to bring closure to Thor who was possibly past his breaking point. Comforting others was a tricky task, a trait he had not quite naturally inherited from his mother.

"You don't need me. Our paths were destined to diverge." Loki had found a way to move on and Thor needed to do so as well. "All is not so lost, brother." When you live for so long, loss must be something you became familiar with but regardless of long you knew someone, there was never enough time for when you'd be ready to say goodbye.

"I know. I know." Thor mumbled to himself. Despite his larger size, somehow he seemed to cower into himself, making him seem so small.

Loki cleared his throat. "So the Avengers..they disbanded?" He asked.

Thor nodded. "Seemed that way. Not heard from them since the whole 'snap' disaster." They abandoned him, Loki thought in anguish, failing to hide the disgust in his features.

"The mighty so-called Avengers gave up, is that it?" Loki folded his arms across his chest.

"You seem angry, brother." Thor commented out of curiosity.

Loki shrugged. "They call themselves heroes, protectors against evil but when they lose, they go and hide away from their mistakes like cowards.”

"Then what makes someone a hero?"

Loki blinked several times, his annoyance was caught off guard by Thor's question. Someone who blindly follows the rules? Who uses their powers for fame and fortune? Those who believe they are perfect? But it seems after all, that they were anything but perfect.

"I don't know." Loki looked across at the waves, straightening up his posture and gave Thor his answer; "They are selfless, willing to sacrifice themselves for others without question. They don't just give up even when they lose. They keep on going." Loki attempted to keep his frustration under control but tendril of it managed to slip through.

A small smile portrayed across Thor's lips. "So is that who you are now?"

Loki frowned, turning his attention to his brother. "What do you mean?"

"A hero."

Loki chuckled. Him? A hero? He'd never stopped to think of himself as that. Loki had been many things, taken on many roles; the villain, a trickster, an outcast, a prince. But never a hero in the eyes of others or himself.

"Is that really such a bad thing, Loki?"

"I suppose not." Loki huffed out in uncertainty.

"Whoever said you could be anything you wanted to be was right." Then Thor repeated the words he once said to his Loki on Sakaar; "You could be more."

"Thank you." Loki spoke sincerely with a smile. Maybe he was thankful that he had stayed after all. A final chance to see his brother and for Thor to know that on another timeline, Loki was alive and well.

"No need to thank me, brother. I should be the one thanking you. I am glad fate has brought you here to me, to remind me of who I am."

"My pleasure." Loki nodded.

After a gloomy start to the day, the sun had won its battle against the clouds and shone its rays against the ocean, blessing New Asgard with its glorious light and warmth.

"Looks like the sun is finally making an appearance." Loki commented, looking upwards. "This place is rather melancholy to say the least."

Thor's eyes widened in bewilderment, his gaze switching between the sun and his brother. A tear trickled down his cheek. Fate was truly cruel in some ways. Loki noticed Thor's odd expression.

"Thor?"

Thor shook his head to escape himself from his thoughts. "I'm fine. And don't talk badly about my newly established kingdom. It's a...work in progress. Come back in a few years time and we'll have towers across these mountains."

"I'll take your word for it." Loki chuckled, though their happy mood soon faded. Loki would not be back here in a few years time. He would likely not come back at all. Thor picked up on Loki's sudden change of mood.

"Why can't you stay, Loki?" Thor asked despite knowing that he could not stay.

"As much as I would wish to stay with you, I can't. I.. have people wanting for me." He needed to find Mobius and Sylvie, to fix this mess that had unfolded, he will not run away. Thor nodded with a sniff.

"Will you at least come and visit?" He pleaded. Loki did not want to make any false promises, though he so easily could to make this less painful for Thor but in the long run, the guilt would soon eat up inside of him. He had enough of it to deal with already.

"Thor. I can't. I don't belong here."

Thor’s newly found confidence collapsed, hands beginning to shake. Loki made the decision to leave before the pain was too much to bear for both of them.

"No." Thor shook his head. "Don't leave me."

Loki placed a hand on his brother's quivering shoulder. "I have to. People need need me."

"To be a hero?" Thor managed to force smile as the tears shone in his eyes

"Well I guess." Loki smiled back before opening up his arms to embrace him in a hug. He let their embrace linger on.

"Don't give up." Loki whispered until they let each other go one final time. Thor did not have a chance to reply when Loki waved a hand of green sparks across Thor’s tear stained face.

"Goodbye, brother." Was the last words Thor heard before a gentle darkness overtook his sight.

- - - - - -

"Hey, man. You waking up anytime soon?" Said a voice. Thor felt something small and solid hit his face. "You're not dead are you?" Another minor hard object made contact with his cheek.

Thor had awoken, he was inside his beach hut, Korg stood above him catching a rock in his palm. "Sorry, hope that didn't hurt too much."

Thor ignored him, shrugging off his blanket as he stood up, stable onto his feet. There was a gleam of strength in his eyes that had been missing for far too long. A broad smile made an unusual appearance as the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Must of been some good dream you had there, buddy?"

"We need to contact the remaining Avengers." Thor demanded as he strode off towards the front door.

Korg scratched the back of his head. "Why?"

"Because heroes never give up!" Thor beamed.

Thank you, brother.

- - - -

@cazzyimagines @maciswack

[chancelloramidala]

Staring at the Sun ➤ Evan Buckley

Chapter Two: All’s Fair in Love and Work

Masterlist

Marceline can’t help but keep a wall divide between herself and her feelings. She doesn’t like to talk about them, she doesn’t even like to acknowledge that she has them. She likes to pretend that the more she ignores her emotions that they’ll eventually go away like a cold.

But the thing is, emotions don’t work like that. Sometimes something’s gotta give. The heartbreak, anger, and sadness start to spill over on the lid she duct-taped shut a hundred times over.

So there she was, staring a hole into the back of Buck’s head while he talked to Bobby about Abby for the millionth time. 

“She’s great, Bobby… like, seriously. I don’t know how I’m so lucky to have her in my life.” Buck said with a bright big smile that made Marceline’s knees weak and her heart tremble. 

Bobby nodded, ever-so the father figure, and patted Buck’s shoulder from across the counter that divided them. “I’m glad to hear that, Buck. You deserve someone good like that.”

There was a loud metal screech that came from the chair Marceline suddenly jumped out of. Hen and Chimney shot her a worried glance from the end of the table they were sitting on while Bobby and Buck both raised a brow.

“You good there, Mars?” Chimney asked her as she dug her nails into her palms to keep her cool.

“I just have too much energy, that’s all.” Marceline smoothly lied before throwing the long single braid that hung over her chest to her back. “I’m going to do some workouts to try and relieve some of it.”

And before anyone could say anything to that, Marceline zoomed past and used the fire pole for a quick exit. 

The young woman grabbed a metal cylinder that was no bigger than her thumb but at least two times as thick from her locker before walking towards an empty space downstairs. She then aimed both ends of the cylinder away from her body as she placed her thumb on the metal ball and pressed down. At the other end, was a thin latch that she pulled and at the same time released her thumb from the metal ball, and whoosh the bo staff was released. Well, this is better than smoking.

The metal bo staff was six feet tall, so she required enough room to do some of her practice stances. It’s been a while since Marceline has used the bo staff because there was nowhere in her place with Nicolette to use it, and it gained some stares when she’d bring it to the local gym.

So she started off simple, the basic spins. Marceline stood with her feet apart, her left leg forward with the staff held in her left hand up off of the floor. She held the staff in the middle before taking in a deep breath. 

Let’s see if you’ve still got it, Pierce.

When she exhaled, she slowly turned the staff front and back leaning into her body and made sure that her thumb was leading the fluid motions similar to a figure eight. When she grew comfortable enough, instead of turning the staff from the front and back, she spun it as well, in reverse to the last spin.

She did this for another two minutes, allowing the familiar motions to take hold before switching the staff to her right hand almost instantly. 

After getting used to this, and feeling the muscle memories fall into perfect harmony within her. All that heartbreak, anger, and sadness dwindled away momentarily as Marceline swiftly fell into a familiar rhythm. She continued to mix up the various strikes, spins, and blocks into her routine as they popped up in her brain.

But just because Marceline was getting really into her workout, didn’t mean that she was oblivious to a certain paramedic descend down the stairs. The familiar presence of Hen filled the thick air surrounding the other woman with ease even if she didn’t stop her fluid movements.

“I got you some water,” Hen said, holding up a bottle of water. “Thought you might be thirsty from all of… that.” she gestured vaguely at the bo staff Marceline swung around in the air.

“Thanks, Hen,” Marceline replied before raising her staff above her head to effortlessly spin it against her palm.

Marceline has always been a hard person for Hen to read because of how unwilling she was to talk about herself or how she felt. It was essentially the equivalent of trying to cut open a rock with a plastic spoon in Hen’s opinion. It’s always a guessing game to figure out if Marceline was angry or sad or even happy. And although Marceline was an asset to this team, (which was more of a family, really) with her brute strength and quick thinking during intense calls, she was also intensely private about her personal life. She was a true mystery for anyone that met her and that frustrated the older woman.

But for once, Hen finally felt clued in on how Marceline was feeling. She has successfully connected the dots.

“So,” Hen started as she leaned against the hood of the ladder truck and crossed her arms over her chest as she looked at Marceline. “What do you think about Buck and Abby?”

Marceline nearly dropped the bo staff onto her head when she was spinning it up above.

Hen tries to hide her very best amusement.

Marceline navigates the staff in front of her and plants one end to the concrete floor while the other is aimed at the ceiling. Then, she starts to close the staff, keeping one hand planted in the middle of it, steady and firm. Her other hand is at the top end, twisting it until the length of the staff shortens to the point where she’s on her knees and slipping the latch through.

After closing her staff, Marceline looks up to find that Hen is still waiting for an answer to her previous question. For a moment, she contemplates even answering but decides against it. “I don’t have an opinion on their relationship,” 

Hen snorts. “Bullcrap,”

Marceline visibly stifles at that and then heads to her locker to put away her staff, presuming that Hen would follow behind her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I’m talking about how you clearly don’t like Abby.” Hen was now standing in the doorway, blocking her escape.

“I don’t have an opinion on Abby,” Lies, lies, lies.

Marceline felt Hen’s eyes pierce through her back.

“At your welcome back party, you were pissed that Buck brought a plus one.”

She ended up slamming the door to her locker shut with such force that it nearly made the other woman jump in surprise. “No, I was pissed that you guys even threw a party, to begin with.” Now Marceline was facing Hen, her lips curled into a scowl. “I don’t like the unnecessary attention, ya know.”

Hen sighed. She wanted to bite back with well I don’t really know anything about you but kept those thoughts to herself. “Fine, if you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.” she mused before softening her stare at Marceline, knowing that she can’t force any information out of her (even though she’d like to). “But I’m here if you’d like to… ya know, talk.”

Marceline kept quiet, unsure of how to respond with such sincerity towards her. So Hen left her in the locker room, allowing her to collect her thoughts before the alarm rang out.

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“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Help, I think my two-year-old sister locked herself in my parent’s wardrobe!”

“Alright, ma’am. What’s your name and address?”

“Lillian McHugh at the Angelene Apartments in West Hollywood- uh, uh, second floor, room… April? April- oh my god please help she’s wailing!”

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“Alright guys, we got a two-year-old girl stuck in a wooden wardrobe. The older sister called it in,” Bobby said over the headset as they sped down the highway with Marceline honking the horn and flashing the siren fiercely.

“Why the hell wasn’t the older sister watching her sister? She’s a literal baby.” Buck asked before the ladder truck came to a sudden stop.

“Let’s go ask her, herself,” Marceline said as she parked the truck to the side of the road before getting out.

As everyone exited the truck, they gathered their things before heading into the apartment building. Once they made it to the right floor, they didn’t even have to knock on the door. In the hallway stood a teenage girl who looked no older than fourteen with a frantic expression on her face.

“Oh my god, finally!” the girl, Lillian sighed out in relief.

Bobby stepped forward and nodded at her. “We’re LAFD, you called 9-1-1 saying that your two-year-old sister locked herself in your parent’s wardrobe?”

Lillian winced as she nodded slowly and lead the firefighters into the apartment. “Yeah, uh… we were playing hide-and-seek and she takes the game super serious for a baby… god, I didn’t even think she knew how to climb up that high into the chest and when I finally found her-”

“Do you know how long she’s been in the wardrobe?” Hen asked, stepping beside the teenager as they followed her into the huge master bedroom.

“I don’t know… maybe like- twenty minutes… I’m sorry I just-” Lillian huffed angrily as she pulled at the ends of her hair, frustrated tears falling from her eyes. “It’s my fault, fuck-- my parents are going to kill me.”

Everyone then gathered around the oak wardrobe that looked straight out of the goddamn Narnia movies. Bobby started to instruct everyone to do something, Buck was told to use the saw, careful not to hit the baby, while Chimney, Hen, and Bobby coaxed the scared two-year-old as she wept. Then there was Marceline who hung back just in case something went haywire, keeping her arms crossed over her chest anxiously as she eyed the wardrobe.

“No, they won’t,” Marceline said softly, looking over at the teenage girl with a soft expression. “It was a mistake, they’ll understand that.” she then spared Bobby a look when he had Buck stop using the saw as the baby, April’s cries grew louder. The noise of the saw was probably scaring her more. “I think April could really use your help. She’s confused and in the dark, and I think she’d greatly appreciate hearing her big sister’s voice telling her that everything will be okay.”

Lillian slowly rubbed her eyes and turned to Marceline as she started to calm down. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Marceline nodded gently. “My older brother used to help calm me down a lot when I was little and it helped.” then she slowly guided Lillian towards the wardrobe with a small, encouraging smile.

“Hey, April? It’s me, Lilly,” she waited for a response as it went silent. She then gave the firefighters a nervous look before going on, “There are nice people here who want to help you get out, okay? All you gotta do is come near my voice and don’t move…” Lillian sighed and pressed her forehead against the wooden wall she was talking into. “I know, it’s scary right now, but we’ll get you out of here okay? I’ll give you all the cotton candy you can dream of when you get out, okay?”

A sniffle and a hiccup could be heard before a quiet, “Okay” was heard along with some shuffling coming from inside of the wardrobe.

Bobby gestured to the opposite side Lillian was at as he looked at Buck. “Right here, Buck,”

“Got it,” Buck nodded at his Captain and turned on the saw, beginning to cut into the wood.

And in no later than five minutes, Buck had successfully gotten April out and had the baby in his arms before handing her off to her sister. Lillian hugged April so tight and cried into her sister’s hair, kissing her all over. It was a sight for sore eyes and Marceline watched the entire thing with a small smile on her lips.

Before they left, Hen and Chimney looked April over to make sure that nothing bad happened to her inside the wardrobe. As Marceline was about to leave, small dark arms suddenly snaked around her torso. Her brown and green eyes widened, looking down at the source to find that Lillian was hugging her.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Marceline stood there, her arms awkwardly hovering in the air unsure of what to do. So she gave the girl a small pat on the back before clearing her throat. “I didn’t do much, you should be thanking Buck, he’s the one who got your sister out.”

“I already hugged him,” Lillian said in a matter-of-fact kind of tone that most teenagers used. “But you were the one to help guide me into helping my sister. You were like… like my big sister right then and there.”

Marceline was at a loss for words.

“I think your big brother would be proud of you.”

Again, Marceline was at a loss for words because what the fuck. When did pre-teens become so perceptive?

“Thanks,” she mustered out.

And now she was driving the ladder truck back to the station, her lips pressed into a thin line. Over the headset, Buck was asking everyone where he should take Abby on their next date. God, how Marceline wished she could just crash this truck right now so she wouldn’t have to hear how excited Buck was about his upcoming date. 

Fuck you, heart. She cursed herself. It just had to be Evan Buckley, didn’t it?

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One moment Marceline was making out with a very attractive blonde woman in the bathroom of a bar and the next she was running out of the bar entirely. She couldn’t keep grinding against the blonde woman and sucking on her neck without wishing this girl was someone else. Another blonde, but taller, muscular, with a peculiar birthmark on his left eye… and yeah, it was Buck she was imagining.

So she ran out, ripping herself away from the girl and leaving, paying her tab and just booking it down the street. If anyone else were to see her, they’d just see a woman going on a run at night after a forty-eight-hour shift for you know, exercise. But no, that was not what Marceline was doing. She was just running from her mind, her annoying intrusive thoughts about Buck and his lips and his eyes and his arms and his shoulder muscles and-- just everything about him.

She kept running until she made it to a familiar doorstep and rang the doorbell. Marceline leaned against the doorway, her chest heaving because holy shit she really just ran like three miles in skinny jeans. 

The door opened to reveal Hen, who was surprised to find Marceline at her doorstep and shot her a confused and equally concerned look. “Um, hello?”

“Uh,” Marceline started to finally catch up to the fact that she ran to Hen’s house. “Hi,”

Hen looked behind Marceline before staring at her up and down. “Did you run here?”

“Heh, yeah, uh, I did.” she clicked her tongue, suddenly craving some nicotine on her tongue. “Yeah, um, sorry about this. I just kind of… running and… yeah…”

“Would you like to come inside?”

“Uh,”

Marceline contemplated this for a moment, unsure if this was something she should really be doing but then again if she… what? Subconsciously ran to Hen’s house, then yeah, maybe she should go inside.

“Yeah, I’d actually like to… um… talk?” she alluded to the conversation they had in the locker room a day ago now.

Hen nodded before a small comforting smile appeared on her lips. “Of course, come in, make yourself comfortable.

@skyslowalking​ & @beelarson​ once again, this is 4 u <3

[pleom]

i. hunger

A sound awoke you. It shouldn’t have—it was much too distant and far too quiet for you to have picked up on it. But the tension in the air left you hyperaware of every move and shuffle, too high-strung to fully give yourself to sleep. You lacked the energy to open your eyes and relied on your other senses to give you a clue. The sound slowly grew in clarity—plastic crinkles and the smacks of a dry mouth.

It was Jisung, sat against a wall with an empty bag of chips dangled over his tongue. He panted desperately, and licked at the pitiful amount of crumbs that dropped into his mouth. All around him were containers of already finished food. The last meal ate was a can of green beans, and it was Minho who shoved the last bits into his mouth while everyone slept. The room never smelled of rotten food, though, as everyone made sure to pick each package and cartridge clean. No one would dare leave behind a speck in their wake. Not while the whole room starved. 

“Jisung,” Mina warned. 

“Sorry,” and the plastic bag crumpled back down to the floor. Jisung groaned with his chest, arms twitching over his stomach. “I’m just so hungry; how long do we gotta wait?”

It seemed like everyone was awake, now. More feet dragged across the concrete, and every wrinkle seemed to have its own reverb. Life sprung back into being inside this cellar bunker of yours.

You felt it, too. An emptiness none too gentle. It rocked you in violent waves that left you heaving, but even so, you had to keep a steel grip. The rest of the cabin moaned with the same predicament. And deep inside all of them, even with the knowledge they beared, they wondered the same thing.

“Long enough,” Mina said, easily irked. She kicked a can to its side and nestled deeper into the wall. “We’ll survive, I promise. But only if you guys keep it down, alright? Ever heard of meditating?”

“Meditating is supposed to be done under ideal conditions,” Jisung fired.

“Not true,”

“Very true, what—”

The screeching of metal broke the beginnings of another argument before it began, signaling either the return of someone important or the arrival of someone disastrous. Heavy boots plodded down the concrete stairs leading to your bunker, a single bated breath shared among all its dwellers.

“Guys,” a familiar, somber voice echoed through the chamber, “it’s safe.”

It’s Chan. And he came back bloodier than before. But the stains on his clothings registered later than his words—

—“Really?!” You jumped from your seat, and immediately tumbled back down to your knees. The hunger sucked the energy out of your muscles, and left you with limbs that defied your every wish. 

Chan was by your side immediately, wrapping his hand around your rail-thin arm. “Yeah, and I brought food, so you all can relax.”

The room broke down in relief, sighs and cries falling from left and right. The grumbles from their stomach sounded louder than ever. 

Chan slunk a shredded sack from over his shoulder, opening it up to reveal piles of delicate products—peaches, Hawaiian rolls, jerky. Instantaneously, the whole room charged forward on their fragile hands and feet to grab a serving.

When everyone had their piece, they laid back against the wall with renewed vigor, sated and lively. The smell of copper, sugar, and meat wafted through the air. Chan downed a bottle of water and tossed it to the side.

“Now, we just need to wait for the sun to come up, and bear till the afternoon.”

ii. dew

Exiting the bunker cellar brought forth both revelatory and crushing realizations. A new smell met your nose, rancid, and it wasn’t from the thick mush of coagulated blood and torn flesh strewn across the lawn. It was the aftermath left stuck on the grass.

“Usually, after nights like that, the smell of the morning is supposed to be, you know, pleasant,” droned Jisung. “It feels like we woke up in hell.”

“Isn’t it?” Changbin quipped. “But, yeah, this isn’t how it was last time we were out.”

“Feels like climate change gave us its worst,” Sana took large steps to maneuver out of the way of the grass. When everyone gathered to the middle of the street, away from the festering puddles, it was time to consider your odds.

“At least we picked on a pattern,” you said, eyes following the ruptured cords from power-line to power-line. They had stopped sparking with life. “But are we sure this isn’t happening elsewhere? I mean, it’s acid rain. Pretty sure that isn’t location-locked.”

“Before the electricity cut off, I searched for news from everywhere. If psychotic raindrops were falling in anywhere major, it would be an epidemic. Hell, if it even rained in the next town over we’d know. The con of living in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, besides the obvious, is that we are truly out of sight and out of mind.”

The group shivered with the truth of Chan’s words. Everyone bore a face of both hopefulness and cynicism as they toyed with the future of the town. 

“Think the cars still work?” Jisung mulled, “Or did the rain kill those, too?”

“Only one way to find out.”

iii. forewarning

“Got a little caught in the rain?” You mused. Hyunjin dashed into the restaurant, soaked down to the bone. A group dinner to celebrate your promotion at work was planned since the announcement, although now very hastily carried out due to the sudden weather. 

A waiter came moments before, and at numerous times, each to which were turned away in consideration for those who hadn’t made it yet. It started looking bleak—and understandably so, until Hyunjin finally pulled through at the door. The rest of the group chuckled lightheartedly; Chan pulled back a chair for him to seat. 

A fist smashed it to its side. 

“Hyunjin?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he muttered, just barely loud enough for you to catch. He pulled the seat back up, and threw his coat over it with abandon. Your friends’ liveliness diminished considerably, with every head turning towards the other. A cautious concernment battled the air, with Seungmin being the first to confront it. 

He rested a hand over Hyunjin’s fist, whom now sat with a face full of red and eyes casted down at his lap. 

“You alright there?” Seungmin started, pausing to look over the group, then tried again. “Did you miss the bus? Are you angry you’re late? It’s fine, you know. You can talk—”

Hyunjin erupted from his seat, staring down at Seungmin with irrational indignation. He clenched his lips, then slowly, quietly began to speak. “Don’t push me. I am not in the mood for this.”

You could tell he was holding something/himself back, but the curtness of his words startled you all the same. The rest of the group—Mina, Changbin, Jisung, Minho, Sana, and Chan—all gaped. Seungmin pulled his hands back and held up his arms, sweat building at his temple. You watched his features morph with his thoughts, and just when Hyunjin’s anger seemingly simmered, he braved his next words.

“Forgive me—”

Hyunjin swung. 

You heard it before you saw it. The sound of bone cracking against bone, the wet splats of blood upon tableware, it all made your stomach churn, and you dry heaved at the sight of Hyunjin aiming again. Your friends gasped, screamed, and scrambled away from the table as Chan raced for Hyunjin, but it was too late. Hyunjin’s fists met with Seungmin stronger than before with the buildup of his rage. Their faces almost held the same shade of red, but the color covered just as much ground. 

The entire restaurant followed your steps, spreading chaos where they looked on in shock. 

Chan stopped Hyunjin from placing another blow, but Seungmin already laid unconscious between the crimson rows of chairs. “Hey! Hey! Come on, man! What are you doing?”

“Shut up!” Hyunjin shoved Chan off and turned around to face him. This wasn’t Hyunjin, it couldn’t be. He looked and behaved all too unfamiliar, and within the depths of his eyes, he saw the same. He stared at Chan as though he were a stranger, a nobody, and in a split-second, an enemy. 

He thrusted at Chan and narrowly missed. 

“Chan!” you screamed and nearly bounded for him, tripping over the dozens of disorder limbs in your way. Hyunjin snapped his head and you saw the shift in his focus. He took a step towards you, unrestrained, before your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around his waist and threw him down to the floor. 

The restaurant’s workers decided to pull their weight—aiding Chan in confining a thrashing Hyunjin to the ground. A server grappled for Hyunjin’s waist. In that moment, Chan let go, for a second’s reprieve, to find a stronger grasp, or to spit some sense into Hyunjin’s face—you weren’t sure which; everything happened in a blur—Chan being shoved off, Hyunjin flying for the waiter, his fists connecting to his face, blood, shrieking, Chan burrowing you in his chest, tears full of fear running down your cheeks. 

“What’s going on?!” you cried, “He’s beating his face in!”

Chan’s ragged breaths met your ears, and his arms squeezed you in a deathly grip. You backed both of you into a corner along with the others, the sound of rain drumming harder with a sense of mayhem. All this confusion, the uproar inside your brain, you screamed for an answer, his, God’s, anyone who knew the truth. Chan’s tears fell alongside yours, and thwarted, he conceded. 

“I don’t know!” 

His hands balled in your hair, his eyes buried over the crown of your head. And the storm raged on, thunder clapping to the beat of Hyunjin’s fists.

iv. outrage

“Run.”

Shrieks echoed between every nook and cranny of the abandoned school building as you bounded down the halls. You were forced to break with your group, lest you fall victim to one who was in the group.

The sight of the school was first a sign of hope, a shaky breath of air, as you all barely escaped the downfall of the rain. And barely, indeed, since not all of you were lucky. Jisung sludged slowly behind the group, and when the first sound of thunder rang throughout the woods, he struggled kicking his feet quicker. For when it rained, it downpoured; and when the canopy could no longer protect him, he was doused with the sparkings of rage. 

He reached for Changbin, also soaked with the sky-fallen petrol, and strangled him. 

The rest of the group safely arrived at the building and collapsed, not in exhaustion or thirst or hunger, but with a chest-aching hopelessness. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. And you all swore that you had enough time to make it—instead, Jisung made it at the steps before anyone could react.

“Close the door!” 

Minho’s screams sounded from somewhere behind you, but you stayed put behind Chan’s back as he clearly tussled with the thought of blocking off another despair-stricken friend. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the door’s handle, and Jisung stomped closer and closer to your team. By then, you could already predict Chan’s next action, as a man with too much faith in his heart and fists too soft to land blows, he welcomed him in.

“Run!”

Fortunately, Chan’s legs were much too fast for Jisung to catch, but that just left the rest of you. 

Now, you all raced between rooms all familiar and yet alien, as the rain from the past week seemed to have already eroded its walls. It’s decrepit and menacing, and all around not a place you’d like to see Judgment Day in.

You avoided every footfall, chased every moonlight, and studied the rainstorm. You’d assume that with enough trained practice, this night should end without any more blood spilled. With enough luck and mercy on your side, you’ll all regroup, away from the terror of Jisung hunt for broken flesh. Maybe, all you guys needed was time and patience and separation. Maybe, the rain, the cursed rain, would drown out Jisung’s prowling footsteps and the shuffling of yours.

Your steps. 

His steps.

Chan’s steps.

Whose…? 

The steps—they wouldn’t stop coming in all directions. They grew louder with every step backward you took, and grew quiet when you stood still. Every now and again screams could be heard, and they repeated as the moon sailed through the night sky, blissfully unaware—a luxury that you could not be afforded. You prayed for the hiding to end, for Jisung’s rampage to quiet, for your friends and partner to escape to safety. But as each star grew brighter, as though mocking your situation, its reality settled heavy on your shoulders. 

You were never going to see your friends again.

v. new find

A male figure laid with only skin and bones. His arms crossed over his stomach as though he died hanging onto what little remained in it. You didn’t approach, too disheartened by the reality of your situation to take a closer look. Chan clearly felt differently, because he stepped closer to kneel over the body. You sighed.

“Another person starved,” you bemoaned, “That could’ve been us.”

Chan kept his silence, opting instead to rearrange the figure despite your protests. Wincing, you turn your flashlight towards something less gruesome. 

“He didn’t starve,” Chan whispered. 

“Huh?”

“He definitely did not starve,” Chan repeated, rising to full-height. He took a step back, knocking against a wall, a jittery finger pointed at the body. He struggled to spit out his words. “He ate. His lips, his clothes, his hands—full of blood.”

Confusion swirled in your mind. You flashed your light back at the body, but remained in your spot—the thought of seeing further detail made your stomach twist in knots. But the light reflected just enough for you to see; viscera were loosely wrapped around his limbs, yet you couldn’t spot a single open wound or injury on him. 

“W-what do you think this means?” you didn’t want to think deeper on this topic. You wished you could turn your brain off instead. “Surely it could have been an animal, right? Rats must be everywhere.”

“All animals had died since the very first time it rained,” Chan said grimly. You could feel him turn to look at you, but you refused to lift your gaze from the ground. “You know what this means. You’ve seen it.”

You gulped. The truth was there. 

“I have.”

vi. is it rage?

A drop of rain fell onto your hand. 

It soaked there, for just a second. The fear in your stomach almost vanquished, replaced instead with a false sense of relief, pride, and wisdom. You had almost cheered—it isn’t the rain that’s changing people! But then it absorbed.

You felt it in your chest first—thrumming violently near your heart. It made your heart feel like a muscle, a real muscle that grew tougher and stiffer with every pump. It made your blood prod against your veins, seeking exit in holes that didn’t exist. But in the end, it made its own and tinted your vision with red splotches, boiling out the skin of your face one pour at a time.

It grew maddening, terrible, and seared through your stomach in bouts of bile, venom and spite. Your lover’s face flashed inside your mind, and in the next bruised, burnt, and pummeled. Each image ticked with a new injury, a new mutilation and somehow it was the only thing that calmed the fire underneath your ribcage. You gurgled with the little space left inside your lungs.

Your limbs twitched. Your ears pulsed. 

A drop of rain fell onto your hand. 

Blood followed next.

— An All-Consuming Rage

[dcnatural]

Trouble

Word Count: 1987

Pairing: Harley Quinn x Joker

Rating: Mature

Synopsys: Harley reevaluates her relationship choices.

A/N: I’m tagging this as Jarley, but although they are the main couple in this fic, I wouldn't say it’s pro-jarley, as their relationship is portrayed in pretty bad light. 

Tears ran down her cheeks as he dragged her upstairs, gloved fingers wrapped tightly around one of her pigtails, pulling her forward and causing her scalp to ache. She trotted behind him, biting her lip to suppress her pain. He kicked the bedroom door open and forced her inside.

“Mistah J!” Harley cried out as she stumbled forward, falling to the wooden floor and landing at the feet of the bed.

The Joker stood before her, fists on his hips, glaring down at her with those intense green eyes. His long green hair clung together with sweat in an awkward side bang. There was blood splattered all over his purple suit, but none of that seemed to ruin the smile on his face. His mouth was curled in a grin, flashing his pearly white teeth, with red lipstick smeared carelessly on his lips. Or perhaps it was blood, Harley couldn’t tell the difference.

He bent at the waist, face hovering over hers. “You stupid little minx,” he howled. “Look at what you did!” he tilted his head to the side, flashing her the long scratch a batarang had made on his cheek. 

Batman had been aiming at her, but Harley had jumped out of the way at the last second, causing the sharp edges of the batarang to scrape Joker’s skin. 

“I’m sorry, puddin, I really am,” she whimpered.

He snarled as he backhanded her, his gold ring cutting her lower lip. He leaned over, tongue darting out to lap at the blood pooling on the side of her mouth. He groaned satisfied and pulled away, picking her up with ease as if she weighed nothing. It would cease to amaze her how much strength he had despite his thin body and overall lack of muscles.

The Joker carried her over to the couch, or what was left of it. Yellow foam spilled out from holes on the sofa’s seat, the cushions were torn with use and there were burn marks of cigarettes. He sat down and straddled her, his fingers tangling in her blond hair to tilt her head up so he could kiss her passionately.

“Harley, Harley, you drive me crazy,” he said, running his thumb along her swollen lips. “But I need you too damn much, and you need me too, don’t you? After all, what’s a harlequin without a king?”

In the pale glow of the moonlight, his skin gleamed silverish and each droplet of sweat sparkled before Harley’s eyes. The Joker stared at her with his gray eyes, darkened with lust, reading deep into her soul, discovering her every thought and desire. She sighed dreamingly, loving the attention he was giving her, she lived for these sparse moments of tenderness, a lost oasis of soft words and gestures in the middle of a desert of violence.

Then she spotted something out of the corner of her eye and she couldn’t care less about the Joker. Fallen beneath the wardrobe, a pair of pink plastic sunglasses scattered pink tinted light on the floor. Her sunglasses, forgotten in that motel room two months ago, on the last night she had seen Ivy. Sometimes, she regretted her choice, wondering how different her life would be if she had been strong enough to let go of the Joker and follow her heart.

His fist made contact with her already bruised cheek, a crackle resonating in the room. Her entire body seemed to ache from the impact and she felt dizzy. She sobbed weakly, trying to hide how much it had actually hurt. 

“Stupid girl! I was talking to you!”

“I’m sorry, Mistah J. I-- I got distracted by your eyes,” she stuttered, the lie coming easily to her.

He placed a kiss on the flushed skin and took her hand between his. “Oh, my sweet Harley. You know I get all worked up sometimes,” he said with a maniac laugh. “Let’s just forget this and sleep, I’m tired from all that killing.”

She nodded and, after a quick visit to the bathroom, followed him to the bed. He was sprawled over the mattress, leaving her just a tiny space to squeeze herself in. He tossed an arm over her chest and pulled her body against his before falling asleep, his peaceful snores filling the room.

Harley, however, couldn’t fall asleep. Her eyes wandered the room, from the scratched wall to the cracked ceiling and the broken mirror in the bathroom. The heavy smell of alcohol emanated from the floorboard and from the mattress, as if someone had spilled drinks all over them. The motel seemed to have been through a lot since the last time she was there.

A dark cloud crossed the sky, blocking the little light that had been coming through and blinding her. All she could see now was the faint silhouette of her boyfriend, who hugged her in a possessive grip. 

Why did he choose this place as a hideout? Does he knows about me and Ivy? That was Harley’s worst fear. If the Joker figured out what had happened between her and Ivy in that very bed, he would unleash his fury on both girls, and the thought of Ivy being hurt made Harley want to scream. Maybe I should leave, she pondered as she massaged the area where he had punched her. Go find Ivy and then we could run away, to some uninhabited island where she could build us a treehouse and we would live happily ever after. She chuckled at the idea. It’s too late, she must hate me now.

The sun began to rise on the horizon and Harley was still awake. Despite her tiredness, her brain was too alert for her to sleep. Her injuries ached more as the time passed and the memories from that night weeks ago burned fresh in her mind.

Just as the first rays of sunlight penetrated the room, Harley sighed and slipped out of Joker’s grasp, careful as to not wake him. In the bathroom, she faced her reflection in the shattered mirror. There were bruises scattered all over her milky white skin, purple and green marks, its colors fitting perfectly with the ones of their creator. Her make-up was ruined, mascara trailing down her cheeks and her lipstick had been completely washed off. There was dried blood on the corner of her mouth and her hair had fallen off the pigtails during the night, becoming a tangled mess on top of her head.

She cleaned her face and inspected the swells and cuts, applying princess-themed band-aids on the larger ones. Staring at her image, seeing all the damage the Joker had done, mentally and physically, Harley finally made up her mind to leave. For Ivy, but above that, for herself. She took a deep breath, gathering up her courage before stepping out of the bathroom.

She didn’t look to the bed where the Joker still slept, afraid that seeing him might make her change her decision. Instead, she kept her eyes to the floor as she moved around the room, collecting her few belongings as well as the money bags from the previous day’s robbery. She picked her lost sunglasses from the floor and put them on, letting her world become rose-colored.

Before she could give another step towards the door, she was slammed against the wall, her back hitting the hard surface and sending a wave of pain through her body, causing her to drop the bags, which fell to the floor, scattering all of its contents. “Where do you think you are going?” the Joker hissed in her ear, his large frame keeping her pinned in place.

She opened her mouth to reply, but the words seemed stuck on her throat and she found herself unable to speak.

He grabbed her neck and banged her head against the wall causing her vision to become blurry. “Answer me! Damn it! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU ARE GOING!”

“I’m leaving, Mistah J!”, she said, pushing him back. “For realsies.”

The words felt like a slap on his face. He could hear the determination in her voice and, somehow, he was sure that if he let her go, he would never have her again. “You’re lea-- leaving?”

She nodded once and tears sprang to his eyes. “You can’t leave me! You need me!”, he shouted, gripping her wrist tightly and pulling her violently towards him. His nails dug into her skin, forming crescent shaped cuts. She frowned in a mix of anger and pity, and, with a sudden move, kneed him between the legs. He let out a long groan of agony and released her, falling to the ground.

“No, Mistah J. You need me . I don’t need you,” she said before turning her back to him and, without bothering to retrieve her belongings, she took off to the door.

As she pulled the doorknob, Joker’s slender fingers closed around her ankle and she glanced back to see him crawling up to her. “You are mine , Harley!” his voice came out as an animalistic growl and she shivered. Without thinking further, she raised the free leg and stomped over his wrist. There was the distinguished noise of bones breaking and he cried out in pain.

She slipped out of the bedroom as fast as she could, running down the hallway. She came to a stop in an intersection, unsure of which corridor would lead to the stairs. She closed her eyes and, wobbling her finger in the mid air between the two paths, started chanting. “Ee-ny, mee-ny, mi-ny, mo. Catch a ti-ger by the…”

“Think twice before you give another step, Harley. It just might be your last,” he warned, coming up behind her and interrupting her rhyme.

She turned slowly, jaw dropping at the sight of the bomb in his hand. He calmly turned the crank connected to the box, the soft melody echoing in the hallway.

“You pop that and we are both gonners,” Harley said, indicating the explosive mechanism in his hand. 

He smiled mischievously. “You are the love of my life, if I can’t have you, no one can. I won’t let you leave me, at least this way we die together.”

“I don’t get it! You have tossed me aside so many times and you didn’t even miss me, but now I say I’m done suddenly I’m the love of your life?”

“YOU don’t get to call the quits, I do! I’m the Joker! No one breaks up with me!”

She rolled her eyes and shouted. “Fine. So blow us up, it’s better than to be stuck with your narcissistic ass for the rest of my life!”

He snarled and began to spin the crank. She didn’t waste a second before running, not caring which path she chose, as long as it was away from him. His laugh crackled maniacally throughout the hallway and she sighed in relief as she reached the staircase.

The motel shook from the explosion, large blocks of cement crumbling and the floor catching fire easily, with no sprinklers to ease the flames. Frantic screams came from the rooms, but most guests found themselves blocked by collapsed parts of the building.

Smoke filled the lobby, as the lucky ones to have been able to escape ran pass the front door and into the streets. People scrambled and shoved each other in an attempt to get away from the raging flames, and bodies toppled to the floor, one after another. Amidst the smoke, a single silhouette remained, her athletic body stepping over the fallen with ease.

Wielding a broken piece of the handrail as a bat, Harley Quinn emerged through the front door, just as the first floor ceiling caved in.

She giggled and pushed her sunglasses back in place. “Well, that was a spectacle, wasn’t it? I’d love to stay for more, but I have a date. Nice knowing you all.”

[bleasehelpme]

no kind words left, love, for you

TW: violent imagery, blood, serious injury, stitches 

Sequel to this: Her Gentle Sin 

“She’s been gone for days,” Ellie muttered quietly, staring down at her fidgeting hands as she finally spoke. 

Natasha didn’t respond, simply lifting an eyebrow in Ellie’s direction and not looking away from her nails which she had been filing. It had been 20 minutes since she sat across from Ellie who had been sitting still on the uncomfortable plastic mattress she had been assigned, distantly staring at the frame of the bed Natasha now occupied. 

“And?” Natasha finally said after a few moments when it became clear Ellie wasn’t going to elaborate. “What about it?” She tried to keep her tone open and receptive, but that’s clearly not what it sounded like to Ellie who flinched violently at the words. She awkwardly cleared her throat.  “I mean, it’s not unusual for something like this to happen,” Natasha attempted to clarify, still not looking at Ellie. It was one of the first things the older girl had learned about Ellie: She hated being stared at, even the slightest misconceived glance could cause her to tremble.

Ellie curled an arm around the post connecting her bed and the one above.

“Shouldn’t we do something? Tell someone?” 

Her nativity hit Natasha’s heart like a sharp pain and she couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into her tone. She let out a deep sigh, dropping the file and her hands as she turned to look at the ceiling as she rested her back against what could barely be considered the headboard of the metal bed.

“Who would we tell?” Natasha said flatley. “Ellie, people like us?” She gave a sidewards look towards Ellie. “Homeless people? We leave. We disappear. We go missing.” Natasha nonchalantly shrugged her shoulder, but even Ellie could see the tensions and the stiffness in her movement. “That’s just how it is.”

“Why?” Ellie whispered, her hands clutching the post. “Don’t people notice?”

“Whose gonna notice?” Natasha asked. “Their families? Their friends?” Natasa met Ellie’s gaze. “The police? We’re background noise.” What was it that officer had said when she tried to report Nyalah’s disappearance? “Drains on society better off gone.” She let out a cruel laugh and waved a vague hand towards Ellie who cringed at the sudden expression change on her face. The lines on Natasha's face grew deep and her lips drew into a harsh smile Ellie couldn't recognize.  “I mean look at you. You’ve been gone for almost two weeks, and nobody even noticed.”

Ellie’s throat seized and she blinked in confusion.“What?” She couldn’t have heard that right. Natasha once again laughed, sitting up and leaning over towards Ellie with a wide grin that showed off her canine teeth that Ellie had only seen on her mother. “Natasha-” She uncurled from the post, practically crawling back on the mattress as Natasha stood and stood in front of her. “What are you-”

“I bet nobody even remembers you exist.” Natasha jeered as she pressed down on Ellie’s chest, forcing her back as she crawled onto the bed, practically straddling Ellie. “Nobody even liked you.”

“N-Natasha, please stop,” She cried, raising her hands to try and push against the manic girl. “What are you-,” 

Natasha didn’t do anything to acknowledge Ellie’s fight or pleas. “I mean,” She took the younger girl’s hands in her own, wrapping around her wrists in an iron grasp. “I didn’t.” Natasha forced Ellie’s hands down, pinning them to the bed above the girl’s head. “Your parents didn’t.” She wrestled both of Ellie’s thin wrists under her left hand, reaching for something in her back pocket with the other. “I’m sorry!” She cried, having no idea what she was apologizing but she willing to do anything, to say anything to stop her. “Please!” Ellie thrashed underneath Natasha but the girl stayed and unmovable as she pulled a sharp, gleaming needle from her back pocket. 

Natasha -the girl that took her in, the girl that had taken care- raised the needle above her  “Keelie certainly didn’t.” A cackle roared from Natasha’s mouth and fear seized every nerve in her body as she raised the needle over her pinned wrists. “I mean, this exactly what Keelie did."

Ellie screamed as the needle pierced through her wrists like a blade. Her eyes were frozen shut and an awful, violent pain burned in her left arm. Her body thrummed with a suddenly found ache and she no longer felt Natasha looming over but was completely aware of the two hands pressing against her shoulders.

"Ellie!" A voice cried. It wasn't Natasha's but she still somehow recognized the voice in the back of her mind. She couldn't find any coherent or rational thought and continued to thrash blindly at the voice. She couldn’t move; something still kept a tight, cold grip around her right wrist. "Ellie, stop! You need to stop moving!" A figure came into her blurred vision as Ellie forced open her eyes; she hadn't even realized they had been closed. "Ellie, you're bleeding." The words stalled her and she finally recognized that it was Keelie pinning her to the wall. "Ellie please!" She recognized that the screaming pain in the arm was from that crazy fucking woman who fucking carved into her arm like a fucking brand. She slowed at that thought, no longer fighting against the girl and she could hear Keelie’s sigh of relief. Ellie didn’t make any more attempts to move as Keelie moved her attention back to the bloodied arm, pressing an extremely dirty and bloody towel to the… injury. 

"What are you doing?" Ellie whispered a moment later; her voice raw and grating on her dry throat as she made a pointed effort to not look at her wrist and the blood on the ground. Pain laid her mind like a thick fog and she wasn’t even sure if she had actually managed to grit out the words until Keelie responded. Keelie didn’t look at her but Ellie could see the tear tracks and the drying blood on her face. 

"I need to-" She coughed blood into her hands and Ellie wondered if it was her blood or Keelie's that coated her gaunt fingers. "I need to stitch it. I was hoping to do it before you woke up but…” Keelie glanced away, guilt and apology clear in her tone. “We’ll just have to do it now.” Ellie’s harsh exterior softened and she let out a pathetic noise of slight panic. “I know. I’m sorry but you’ve been bleeding a lot. I don’t think we can wait any longer.”

Her head throbbed and Ellie couldn’t find it in herself to give a response, not that Keelie waited for one. “Press down on this,” She directed quietly, pressing Ellie’s right hand, which still had the fcking cuff and chain around it, to the towel that was barely covering all of the cuts.  “Jesus, you’re cold,” Keelie muttered, moving from the girl to the needle and thread that had been tossed aside when Ellie woke up. 

She picked them up slowly as Ellie’s head lulled to the side, although she kept her eyes open. “Fuck,” Keelie wisped as the looked back at the objects. She still had no real idea what the fuck she was going o do with this. It certainly wasn’t enough thread to stitch all of the letterings but she couldn’t just not do anything. 

She turned away from Ellie so the girl wouldn’t see her trembling as she attempted to thread the needle. It was a full minute before the thread went through the eye and Keelie could turn back to Ellie, whose eyes were only half-open. 

“Okay,” Keelie forced her voice steady as she moved over to Ellie. She hadn’t done anything close to sewing since sixth grade home economics classroom. Fuck. “Okay.” Keelie took Ellie’s hand and gently put it on the ground before peeling back the towel to expose the letters L, E, and S. “Ellie, this is-”

Keelie’s breath hitched as the women looked up at Ellie, lifting the tip of the blade once again to its previous spot on Ellie’s wrist. “This is going to hurt.” 

“Um, it’s going to be okay,” She said instead, giving her the most reassuring smile she could muster. She pressed the tip of the needle to the skin and couldn’t stop a chill running down her spine as she realized the sick irony of this. “Here we go.” 

It took half an hour for all the stitches to be done and the bleeding had come to a halt. They were sloppy, crooked, almost too far apart and looking one wrong movement for tearing our but they had done the trick. Ellie hadn’t spoken or let out a single cry of pain from the movement on the fresh cuts but she couldn’t hide the tears rolling down her face. 

Neither of them spoke as Keelie folded of the towel, setting it to the corner of the room with the needle and empty spool atop it. She moved back over to Ellie and made a note that she was looking much more lucid and color had started to flush back into her cheeks. 

“Ellie, I’m so sorry,” Keselie said suddenly, sitting down from across the girl; her own body aching from the effort. “I’m just so sorry.” For minutes, Ellie didn’t respond and Keelie was overwhelmed with the need for her to say something, to do something. 

“We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” Ellie finally whispered, startling Keelie.

“What?” 

“We are going to die here.” She emphasized the words but kept her tone even and steady; there was no heat or anger or even sadness behind it. “Aren’t we?”

For a moment, Keelie just considered lying to Ellie. This was fucking hell and a little bit of hope could take her -them both- a long way but then she looked at Ellie, really looked at her for the first time. Any hope she had held had been just been cut away by that crazy bitch. Lying would do nothing but make them hurt worse. 

 “I don’t think we’ll have it that easy.” 

[vityacristo]

Grilled Cheese

Para: Grilled Cheese

Who: Vitya Cristo & Monty Prescott @montyprescottjoy

When: June 27th, 2020

Where: Vitya’s apartment

What: Vitya, mid-manic episode, goes grocery shopping for food beyond candy. Monty is waiting, unannounced, in his dorm room. They tip-toe through conversation, yet again, unable to break down each other’s walls. That does not mean boundaries aren’t broken, though...

Triggers: Suicide, Drug use, Abuse, Sexually Explicit

VITYA

Vitya was cursing to himself as he walked to his dorm room. Something processed him that morning, something gripped his gut and it would not go away; Go buy groceries. Vitya never bothered, just eating junk food. he figured, if he wasn't going to live long, why bother taking care of himself? He had no idea how to cook, anyway, so this could be a complete failure. the only guide he had was the 'diet recommendations' his doctor had, buying everything he could find on that list. His wallet was looking thin now. He opened his dorm door, noticing a familiar pair of shoes by it; Monty had let himself in. Vitya didn't mind. It felt... nice coming back to his dorm, knowing someone was there waiting for him. Even if it was Monty, of all people. Now that he thought about it, the voice in his head, telling him to do this, was less his own just telling him to get groceries, but more Monty's voice. 'Eat some real food, asshole' was more appropriate. Knowing the other man was likely in his bedroom, he passed by the kitchen and opened his bedroom door. Unceremoniously, he dropped one of the bags on the bed, the contents of apples, lettuce, and a loaf of bread spilling out.

"Get up. You're teaching me how to cook."

MONTY

Monty had been waiting for Vitya, he was rather surprised when he'd gotten no answer at the door and part of him was worried by that. as far as Monty knew Vitya didn't spend the night with clients so it was concerning to not get an answer this early in the day. It was barely lunchtime. Monty often showed up here without any warning these days and this was the first time there had been non answer. Monty pulled a small tool from his wallet and jimmied the lock, keeping his eyes peeled for anyone who might see him breaking in but luckily the dorms were quiet because it wasn't quite official move in day yet so only returning students were even on campus.

Monty looked around the dorm as he entered quietly, toeing off his shoes so he wouldn't make much noise just incase Vitya was still asleep. Monty found the apartment empty which made his stomach fall in disappointment. He huffed but decided to wait, after all it wasn't like he had anything better to do than hang around with the younger man for the day. Not that he would admit he wanted to spend the day here, just that he had nothing else going on with no classes to keep him out of trouble at the moment when he wasn't working on his research project.

Monty took a peek in the refrigerator and couldn't even find a beer. He grumbled under his breath about Vitya having finished off the last case he'd left here and flopped down on the bed. He let his mind wander as he laid there and was half asleep, face buried in Vitya's pillow when he was shocked from his sleep by the sound of Vitya's footsteps and a bag of groceries hitting his leg.

"The fuck asshole?" He groused, voice thick with sleep and hair sticking up in every direction. "Where the fuck ya been man? What with the bag attack?" He huffed, brow raised suspiciously at the food that had rolled out of the bag.

VITYA

Vitya couldn't help but laugh to the state of Monty. His disheveled hair, the sleepy tone of voice, the huffing and puffing. "I went shopping. I actually paid for something, for once." He stepped to the edge of the bed, leaning over and petting his hair back, kissing his forehead. "Come on, you're going to show me how to make something." Vitya said, standing back up and grabbing the tossed bag and walking outside the bedroom.

"I was able to grab you a bottle, too. I had to smuggle it out, since you Americans have moronic age gates for that, but I still got it," Vitya said, placing the bags on the table and starting to unpack. An array of healthy foods, fruits, grains, meat, as well as a few bags of candy, more due to Vitya's love of sweets and impulse to buy them. "I have no idea what I am doing with all of this, so I hope you at least know something. I'd rather learn from someone in person than a Youtube video," Vitya admitted, reaching into his left boot and pulling out the bottle of bourbon he stole. He set it to the side, for Monty to go at whenever he wanted.

MONTY

Monty hummed softly in appreciation of the gentle forehead kiss that helped bring him back to the land of the living and batted Vitya’s hand away playfully. “So you’re telling me ya didn’t just raid a vending machine damn kid what is this a special occasion?” Monty laughed teasingly. He’d never see this much food in Vitya’s apartment and he couldn’t help but wonder if the younger man was finally taking his own illness seriously by actually trying to live a healthy lifestyle.

“I see! The truth is finally out. The prince of poison himself doesn’t know how to cook. that’s why he lives on a diet of candy!” Monty actually laughed out loud, messing with Vitya and using his childhood nickname against him. “I ain’t exactly master chef ya know. I don’t just eat take out around you, but Nikko did teach me some shit an’ I do have my own famous grilled cheese I can show ya real east an it looks like ya got all the stuff for it. I see ya couldn’t resist ya sweet shit though.” Monty teased as he spied the candy while collecting the ingredients for a good grilled cheese and starting to throw the rest slightly haphazardly into the refrigerator out of habit, not thinking (or more like not allowing himself to think) how helpful he was being by doing it without being asked or forced. “Good call on the bourbon.” Monty moaned eying the label. “Ya got any ice goin in the freezer or do I gotta wait to have a glass of this?”

VITYA

Vitya laughed to himself, shrugging at Monty's question. "Not sure... You're here fairly often, and we always eat, figured I can have something here," Vitya noted, still pulling out various items. He looked at a rather girthy cucumber with a twinkle in his eye. "Thought of you," he joked, setting it on the counter.

Vitya could not control his impulsive laughter, this one making his eyes crinkle, his cheeks turn pink. "Shut up, I was a pampered prick. I never lived somewhere without a personal cook until moving America- Imagine my horror!" he said with both sarcasm as well as self-reflective truth. Feeding himself was hard at first, and that challenge made his diet of candy an easy choice. Nevermind what it did to his emotional state, eating junk all the time. It wasn't the cause of it but it certainly didn't help.

"Well, I am not expecting high cuisine here. You have just... lived more than I have, and if anyone is going to teach me how to be better at this 'feeding yourself' thing, it would be you." There were little butterflies in his stomach as that sentence came out. It was tart to say, sour but sweet. Monty had such a riviting life, of mob hits and gun fights and a brother he would die to protect. To Vitya, it was a far more exciting life than his. His eyes wandered to where Monty was helping him put the groceries away, tossing them inside. Hey, as long as they were edible, he didn't care where they ended up. First step was actually eating them, not organizing them like colors of socks. "Of course I do, Red Bull with vodka demands ice. It's in the freezer," the pointed to the top compartment.

Vitya collected the plastic bags, shoving them under the sink to be used as trashbags later. He grabbed his precious bags of candy and placed them on his desk, having to move some jars of dirty water and ink to give them a spot. He walked back to the kitchen, playfully resting his chin on Monty's shoulder. "So, are you going to make me watch you make the grilled cheese, or are you going to recreate the pottery scene in Ghost?"

MONTY

"Tryin' ta tell me ya sick of take out? Fuckin' sure they can cook more than me, but unless ya highness has a money tree we do need to cut down," Monty cocked his head, and stuck out his tongue in a way that wasn't exactly common with him but he was still a little pliant from sleep in a way that was also unusual so it seemed his guard was down for a change... though it didn't last long as he made his next quip he instantly felt his own insides shatter... "or ya need ta be takin' ya ass ta work more." Monty instantly bit his own lip. There was a time he didn't care about Vitya's job, he understood doing whatever a person needed to do to make money but now the thought of Vitya going out and doing that made him feel sick in a way he didn't understand. Monty turned away feeling himself blush, he never blushed.

Monty only looked back when he saw the cucumber waiving in his peripheral vision and he was finally able to laugh again, to took the produce from Vitya and lewdly imitated the motions of a handjob on the length of it before throwing it into the refrigerator with the rest.

"Fuckin' fine. Grilled cheese it is. It's one-a the first things Nikko showed me, figure if he let me do it you can too, and I throw slices or tomatoes in there so it counts for vegetables or whatever." Monty shrugged off Vitya's comment about having 'lived more'. He didn't find his life something to be proud of something people should be interested in, to him it represented the very worst of his memories and as much as he used his mob connections as a shield; something to terrify others with, it was the thing he was most ashamed of. Monty looked away from Vitya, keeping his eyes downcast as he moved around the kitchen area collecting a glass, ice, and the bottle of bourbon. He took a deep swig before pouring a half glass and topping it with ice. Monty leaned back into Vitya's body when he hooked his chin on a shoulder, he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to the younger mans jaw. "If by that ya mean forgettin' the food and going to the fuckin' I ain't complainin' but if ya wanna eat today ya better gimme a frying pan and the bread and butter." He chuckled.

VITYA

"What, and you aren't? There are only so many fucking times I can eat chinese food, or afford to." Vitya joked again, giving Monty the middle finger at him sticking his tongue out. The playful warmth between them froze like Hell in a blizzard, for a split second, when Monty let slip his addendum. Vitya's jaw locked a moment; it had been a long time. His last 'paycheck' was three days before his hospital visit, nearly two months ago. Vitya never said anything, but he was strapped for cash. "Let me worry about that," he said, in a somber tone. The reality was, Vitya knew nothing else. He had no other practical skills beyond sex, but he was having so much fun with Monty, feeling better than he ever felt, both inside and out- He didn't want to fuck someone else. Vitya had to be rational; he needed cash. And he wasn't going to take it from Monty anymore. So, whoring himself out it is.

The tone met in the middle, lukewarm, as Vitya watched Monty pour his drink, feeling the other man's warmth against him made it so tempting for Vitya to let his hands wander, maybe jerk Monty off from behind, but he resisted, for now. He chuckled, returning the kiss on his jaw with a lick up the shell of Monty's ear, biting the lobe and then letting it go. "Alright, hold on," Vitya said, letting Monty go, searching through the cupboards for a frying pan. he eventually found one, handing it to the other man along with the items he asked for.

"Normally I would take you up on the 'skip food, just fuck' thing, but the last time I ate anything was when you were here last, so I figure I better not skip this time," Vitya admitted. It affirmed one thing; his grocery shopping today had nothing to do with Monty coming to visit. Vitya had no idea he would be there today. He didn't buy it for when Monty was there; he bought it for when he wasn't. For when Vitya was on his own, not caught under Monty's eye, who Vitya knew watched him eat...

"Tell you what; once we're done here, I'll blow you. As long as you want."

MONTY

"Fuck, fine, okay, sendin' Nikko ta LA hurt my wallet an' I'm even more on the outs with pops after refusin' ta do a job for him but I should be gettin' some cash at the end of summer for this project I'm workin' on if I get all the fuckin' math figured out. That or we go Breaking Bad in here an' I start cookin' my own shit." Monty laughed dryly. Humour fizzling out as he mentally took stock of his current savings. Yes his graduate program got him room and board thanks to the scholarship prize but it barely stretched beyond the apartment rental. Textbooks and equipment in his field were not cheep.

"Ya know, ya could think about sellin' some of this." Monty gestured to the art littering the room. He actually did appreciate Vitya's art more than he would ever feel comfortable voicing and the thought of Vitya selling that rather than his body was oddly comforting in a way he couldn't understand never mind explain.

A shiver ran up Monty's spine thanks to the heat of Vitya's breath and the kiss in return. A blush raised in his cheeks and he cleared his throat distractedly, trying to refocus himself on the task at hand.

"Fuck Vitya, it's been two full days." Monty sighed heavily, wanting to punch the other boy for his idiocy but not wanting to expose his concern, already berating himself for the words he'd let slip so he kept the anger in check as best he could as he attempted to butter the bread gently so it wouldn't tear it up.

"Al'ight sounds like a fair exchange," Monty grinned, feeling more relaxed as their easy banter set back in. "Want ya ta swallow it too, look so fuckin' hot when ya swallow it down for me, pretty boy..." Monty couldn't help the words slip out as Vitya's lips caught his eye, reminding him of the image that was Vitya's lips red and puffy...

VITYA

Vitya snapped his fingers at Monty, in a small 'told you' sort of way. Monty was stretching himself, too; all the more reason Vitya needed to get back out there and work. Monty at least had a plan, one that involved his career, uplifting himself. It was admirable. His train of thought was interrupted at Monty's suggestion, eyes rolling over the mounds of art he had made. He grimaced. "Really? It's all depressive ramblings and... I don't know, devil worship? That's a niche market if I ever heard of one." He said. In all honesty, Vitya had no faith in his own work. He only chose it as a major so then he could get into this college; it was either that or be homeless, so Vitya chose college.

Vitya could hear the concern in Monty's voice. Instead of give in, he just smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, well... I'm working on it." he spoke softly, returning Monty's concern with a hopeful optimism. A rare form, in Vitya's case, the emotional vulnerability making his heart pound. "It takes a lot, sometimes, just to get out of bed, so the fact I made it to the store and back? I call that a win," Vitya threw his hands into the air, hoping this conversation would end here. He didn't want to talk about his mental health, or his behavior, right now. He wanted to make food with Monty, and ignore the past two days entirely.

"Mmmn," Vitya teased back, licking his lips when they caught Monty's eye. "Oh, I will, if you..." Vitya leaned to Monty's ear again, sliding his hands down's Monty's arms. "...Slide your cock so far down my throat, it makes my body freeze, and my head go all fuzzy-" He cut himself off, stealing Monty's glass of bourbon a moment and backing away, taking a sip before putting the glass back where it was. "Don't get too distracted, " he teased, motioning to the task at hand. "You need to earn it!"

MONTY

"Hey stop thinkin' so hard over there, ya know I can mock up some financial documents for ya, that's how I cleaned up freshman year, been doin' ma dad's taxes an' shit for years, the man's an ass but we know how ta play the system." Monty laughed, he'd never told anyone but Nikko about this and even then it was only recently, after he started college. Yet he didn't question the way he was opening up to Vitya, it just seemed natural and somehow he knew Vit wouldn't snitch.

"Nah man, crazy old collectors go mad for this shit. An' if tryin' ta sell legitimately doesn't work gettin' ya shit inta an established gallery is a scam I could work easy." Monty winked, letting his mind wander down the road of imagination. Even if scamming was part of his horrid upbringing it was something he often genuinely enjoyed. The thrill got his heart racing. Though that could just be from Vitya's proximity... Monty cleared his throat "Got a knife for cheese or did ya get craft slices?" he asked, concentrating more than necessary on the pan heading up and melting the glob of butter he'd thrown in.

"Did someone fuckin' sneak happy pills in ya mornin' red bull? Ain't seen ya this fuckin' optimistic since the idea of havin' my cock up ya ass" Monty teased, but it was soft, almost kind, pleased to see the younger man in a light he wasn't used to. Having someone to connect with, who understood his pain was one of the best things about Vitya, after fucking of course, but seeing him hopeful did something to Monty he hadn't experienced before except with Nikko... it made him proud. But even deeper than with Nikko it also made warmth stir in his belly.

"Fuck..."Monty groaned shamelessly at Vitya's response, that familiar tingling racing through his body, making his dick twitch in response, his head fell back onto Vitya's shoulder and he pressed his ass back against the taller man's dick instinctively. His body instantly felt cold when Vitya moved away and he had to press his hands hard onto the counter to regain his composure.

VITYA

Vitya shook his head. "Temping, I don't want charity... As nice as your offer is," Vitya added on the end, not wanting to sound ungrateful at Monty's offer. It was kind of him, and Vitya had no idea what to do with that. Vitya had nothing to offer Monty beyond sex, and yet he wasn't asking for anything by offering this to him. At home it was 'Smile for the camera and you get a treat', a concept that Vitya still used to this day with his prostitution.

Vitya laughed for a moment, a air of disbelief on his face. "You would scam my way into a gallery? I went to so many useless galas and balls at art galleries growing up, the people at those were posh and snarky and... gross. You think you can trick that crowd into thinking my depraved, sexual, borderline rancid work is high class?" Vitya reached into a nearby drawer, handing him one of the knives inside. The drawer was disorganized, taking a moment to find it.

"This is just... normal," Vitya said, cryptically, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm low, sometimes really low, for a few weeks and then, boom. Really, really high for a few days. It comes in waves. My professors back home would say I was 'manic'," Vitya explained. He had never gone to a therapist, psychologist, nothing. With his physical health being so poor, he hid all he could about his mental health. But with Monty, away from home, feeling more free than ever... He was able to talk about it. For the first time in his life, someone knew he had a problem.

A tingle of power went down Vitya's spine as he watched Monty fumble before him. It made him feel so strong, like he could take on the world, when he had Monty like this. In the palm of his hand... "Don't let the thought of me circling my tongue on your tip distract you too much. Go on, I want to learn how to make your sandwich..." he teased, grabbing a jelly bean from one of his many, many candy bowls and slowly sliding it onto his tongue.

MONTY

“Ain’t like I’d be the one giving ya money, just a few fake documents ta have the school giving ya what ya need.” Monty shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal to try and scam a huge business like a university. His perception of what constituted ‘a big deal’ was extremely warped thanks to his upbringing. Kindness, selflessness, compassion were things that terrified him as much as if not more than putting a gun to someone’s head and pulling the trigger but fraud was nothing.

Monty shrugged, continuing to work on the food as if it really wasn’t a big ask. “Sounds easy enough, those bougie pricks are easy ta manipulate, they’re like fuckin toddlers always wanting new entertainment and bein possessive little fuckers.” He laughed. “We’d persuade some hot dude who can pull off that mysterious shit ta play the part of you an’ charm his way into those inner circles with a bit of blackmail and the promise of a small cut.” Monty mused, letting his mind run wild planning a con. It had been a while since he’d done anything more than running drugs and the potential had his mind buzzing.

Monty listened closely to Vitya explaining some of what went on in his head. It was similar to how he felt when he was taking drugs regularly, but those feelings were chemically induced highs and lows not his own brain chemistry and he had heard enough from Nikko to know what Vitya was describing wasn’t healthy or normal but he had no idea what to do or say and it terrified him.

He did the only thing he could think of. He put down the knife and turned into Vityas arms and placed a hand on the taller boys neck, his thumb resting on his sharp jawline and kissing him hard. Not sexually and filled with desire but firm and filled with promise even though he had no idea what he was promising.

“Fuck you!” Monty tried to sound threatening at Vitya’s teasing but it came out breathless almost like a whine and he couldn’t even gather his thoughts enough to care how pathetic it sounded.

VITYA

"And I'm telling you, I don't need it," Vitya said again, this time more firmly. "You already have given me enough money, I don't need you goading the university to give it to me, too." He said, hoping this would be the end of it. Knowing Monty, he would bring it up again, butt hat was for another time.

Vitya snapped his head to Monty, a curious, and fake-offended look on his face. "What, you don't think I could pull it off? I've played The Game before, Monty. I've wowed a crowd or two. Mainly at my father's request, but if I can convince money-hungry dogs that I was, indeed, the perfect son with full intent to take over his business, I can con some art hacks into thinking I'm some bougie personality," Vitya glanced at his art again, pursing his lips.

Vitya was shocked at first, at Monty's sudden burst of affection, but didn't refuse it. He kissed back, with a similar fervor, taking Monty's waist with one hand and his hair with the other. He gripped tightly, wanting nothing more than to strip him down, there and then. It was so hard to resist.

"You really want it bad, don't you?" he whispered, the hand on Monty's waist sliding to the obvious bulge in his pants. "Really, really bad," he continued, sliding his hand up and down. Fuck, this is what Vitya needed! That dominating power, that hold on Monty like a vice. He could get drunk from this... "Be a good boy and finish cooking. Then, whatever you want. You'll be a good boy, right?"

MONTY

"Thought I was payin' for a service." Monty raised a brow trying to read Vitya but he didn't press any further no matter how much he wanted to. To be good at illicit activities you needed at least some level of perception and he'd quickly learned when not to push Vitya if he didn't want it to turn into a fight though he was still more in the dark about this guy than he would like.

Monty laughed. "I've got no doubt the littlest prince could pull it off but do ya want all them jerk-offs knowin' ya face? Aren't ya supposed ta be hidin' from Daddy? Figured ya'd be tryin' not ta draw attention to yaself but whatever we'll throw ya ta the dogs if that's what ya want." He rolled his eyes, feeling as though Vitya was only pushing this to prove a point and he didn't feel like fighting. Monty knew all about trying to be the perfect son but his families idea was far different than the Cristo family.

Monty held Vitya tight, the hand not at his neck was wrapped tight around his waist keeping them close. He let his eyes close and leaned their foreheads together in a comforting, intimate gesture once their lips broke apart. To some sex was intimate, but to him these soft gestures were more than he could bare. Usually.

"Always want you," Monty gasped out, losing himself to the feel of Vitya surrounding him. The taller man was taking over all of his senses and the thought of cooking completely left his mind as he tried to thrust his hips forward to find more friction for his fully hard cock. Vitya had power over him like nobody else and all he wanted to do was give himself over willingly and have someone take care of him in every way. Monty shivered with the words ''good boy" and he whined shamelessly. "Y-Yes." He forced out.

VITYA

Vitya looked at Monty with an unblinking stare, a mile long, navigating the words that came out of Monty's mouth. He broke eye contact a moment, licking his lips. "You aren't giving me more money." There. Final. Done.

Vitya shook his head. "Not really hiding anymore. He paid my hospital bills, sends me these medications he wants me on, but aren't FDA approved. He knows where I am. Why he hasn't come after me... I have no idea. I think he knows if I see him again, I will make damn sure he can't find me..." Vitya stopped, his hands balled into fists as he went on. he let the pressure go, breathing his fury out. "Besides, I don't want some rando claiming my work, even if we pay them."

Vitya continued palming Monty's erection, his wrist changing the angle every few strokes, letting Monty practically hump his hand. "Good. Then," Vitya turned Monty back around, but this time, pressed his chest to Monty's back, lightly grinding his own hard cock against his lower back. His hands were on Monty's hips again, but this time, one went up to play with his belt buckle. "You keep going, and the more you do, the more I do," he said. With the pace of a snail, Vitya started pulling at Monty's belt, slowly starting to take it off. He stopped, just before the last of the belt left the metal buckle. "See? Look what being such a good boy got you... So much closer to your reward."

MONTY

Monty rolled his eyes but dropped the subject, seeing it wasn't worth fighting anymore right now.

He took a moment to absorb Vitya's words on the subject of his father trying to process it. "So no Bratva followin' ya around?" Monty tried to tease, shying away from talking about fathers, it was an uncomfortable subject and he tried to block out the memories of the the last time his father had contacted him because his threats were still hanging over his head and he was both scared and glad his father hadn't yet followed up on the threats. "We'll make ya the perfect little Russian gentleman an'  have 'em fawnin' all over ya." Monty chuckled, redirecting his attention to the image of Vitya suited and booted for a fancy party. It was a good image.

All the thoughts of scamming and scheming were driven from his mind as Monty tried his best to move his concentration back to the task at hand. The pan was smoking from the time he had been distracted, usually he was more than capable of preparing the food while the pan warmed but not today. A strangled moan left Monty's throat at the feel of Vitya's hard cock sliding against his ass. He had to clench his fists the stop them shaking from desire before he could turn down the heat on the burner and put together the sandwiches. He layered the cheese and tomato between the bread waiting for the pan to get back to a proper cooking temperature. "More, please...." He whined, trying to buck his hips up to the hands that were so close yet so far. He loved and hated how quickly Vitya could reduce him to begging. Monty Prescott did not beg for anyone. Except for this man.

VITYA

"If they are following me, they are doing a good job keeping themselves hidden," Vitya said, noticing that this was a subject neither of them wanted. Good, this was uncomfortable. Both of them had difficult connects with their fathers, and neither wanted to talk about the details too much. Yet one more thing they could agree on. Vitya smirked and ran his fingers in his hair, rolling his eyes. "You just want me in a suit," he teased.

Vitya watched Monty try so hard to keep it together. He really was doing everything Vitya said, without question. He was trembling, and each little shake made Vitya feel so damn powerful. Vitya kissed and sucked at Monty's neck, watching his hands work. When he whined, Vitya smiled against his skin. He gracefully unbuckled the last of Monty's belt, letting it dangle by the loops. His hands were on Monty's jeans, two fingers sliding up and down the length of his zipper. "Almost there," he whispered, undoing the button and peeling the zipper apart. Vitya's finger's danced over the elastic of his underwear, tracing circles around his confined cock through the thin fabric. "You're doing so well, so close. Such a good boy.”

MONTY

"We could throw a few Cugine on ya see if they find anythin'." Monty mused, though thinking how badly that ended after putting a few young idiots on Sam and it ending with him being robbed and putting him and Nikko on the outs. But it was worth it to protect someone he cared about... wait no he couldn't go that deep... but another thought cut him off as he realised it was too late now...

Monty winked, "Wouldn't say no ta that, bet ya look hot as fuck." He licked his bottom lip teasingly, letting his eyes roam Vitya's lithe body.

Standing there Monty felt completely powerless. Usually it was a feeling he hate more than any other. For his whole life he'd craved complete control because he'd been stuck under his fathers thumb doing things he hated but giving up control to Vitya was freeing. He didn't have to make tough calls and painful decisions because here was someone doing it for him, keeping him safe and steady. He didn't hate this because in the end the things Vitya was making him do were things he wanted to do, he'd just never understood how to ask...

Monty felt completely consumed by Vitya who's body was all over him; fingers, lips, chest, dick. He sloppily threw the two sandwiches into the pan and prodded them with a spatula he'd spotted in the draw Vitya had opened to find a knife so they didn't stick. Monty's body was getting hotter and hotter, every inch of him was tingling with too much not enough as Vitya touched and teased him. "Please man fuckin' touch me" He groaned, letting go of the pan handle and reaching back to fist his hand into Vitya's hair. "Been good, please, more." He keened, wiggling his hips, trying to grind back on Vitya's cock to get him as desperate for more as Monty himself was.

VITYA

Vitya cocked an eyebrow. "No. If I'm in danger, I run. Simple as that. I don't need protecting," Vitya said, in the same tone he uses when he is annoyed. The type of annoyed when someone asks how he is feeling, or if he is taking his meds. It felt like he was being babied, and having wanna-be mobsters keeping an eye on him? No, he'll brave it on his own.

Vitya's heart was pounding. He had this man, who was so loud and strong and independent, around his finger, whimpering and begging for release. He wasn't pushing, either, to get it himself, he was letting Vitya choose when. Vitya sighed on Monty's neck when he grabbed his hair, biting his lip and letting Monty rut against his crotch. The friction of the fabric made it so hard to saw no... But if anything was going to happen, he needed the energy to do so. And that meant eating before getting busy.

Vitya's fingers slid under Monty's waistband, fingers now touching the bare skin of his cock. He was warm, hard, and Vitya could feel Monty quivering. "Shh, shhh," he shushed in Monty's ear, slowly starting to pull his waistband down. "You're almost done, look," Vitya motioned to the food in the pan, cooking away. Vitya's hand coiled around Monty's cock, finally freeing it of it's cloth cage, and with an agonizing slow pace, his hand slid up Monty's shaft. "So hard for me, and waiting so patiently... Can you wait till after I eat? Just a little bit longer, for my mouth on your aching cock?"

The way Monty was shivering had Vitya's head going wild. All the things he wanted to do to the other man became possible realities, and not just his sick, twisted fantasies. And Vitya, being a man of unsound mind, grew a devilish look on his face. "If you wait, like a sweet, good little boy, then I'll fuck you, too," he whispered, his free hand slowly sliding down the back of Monty's jeans.

He made sure to give every opportunity for Monty to stop him, in case this was too far. "Would you like that? Would my good boy wait for my cock in his ass? Will he?..."

MONTY

Monty groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Fine man, whatever." He groused. Vitya was being rather stubborn tonight and as annoying as he found it, he was rather impressed with his determination and pride. Maybe Vitya would find it in himself to apply those trait to his will to live. Monty could only hope.

Monty felt as though he was quite literally losing his mind the way Vitya was teasing him. It was almost painful. He' never felt need this intense before. It was driving him wild. The praise was doing something he had never experienced before and it was maddening yet wonderful. Part of him wanted to snap and make Vitya stop talking to him like he was a kid but a far louder part of his mind was screaming for more and had fire coursing through his veins.

"Feels so good" Monty moaned when Vitya's finally touched his hard cock. It felt so much better than rubbing through his boxers even it was torturously slow. Monty bit his lip, trying his best not to let any more of those pathetic sounds out but it was a fruitless effort when Vitya began talking again. He should have hated it but he couldn't.

The dirty talk was something that should have reminded Monty of Schuyler, because it always had before now and would inevitably lead him to trying to shut the mouth of whoever he was fucking or make them leave all together, even if he did give himself blue-balls in the process. But right now there was no room in his mind for Schuy, he was completely consumed by Vitya.

Monty's body began to sing at the thought of Vitya fucking him. It had been so long since Mont had bottomed and it made him moan deep and loud, so loud that if it wasn't summer break they'd have neighbours banging on the walls to try to quieten them. "Yes, yes, fuck me, I'll do anything, please fuck me." He mewled, pushing his ass back against the hand moving over it. The word my had come from Vitya's mouth and served to make Monty evenmore desperate. The food was completely forgotten to him.

VITYA

“Yeah? Feels good?”Vitya asked, rhetorically. The shake of Monty’s body gave him all the clues he needed, every whimper a sign that Monty was enthralled with all of this. In fact, Vitya was, too. Most clients would pop in, pop out, end of story. Monty was unraveling at his touch, giving Vitya a burning passion in his gut.

Monty’s sudden moan, his cry of desperation, his begging to be fucked; Vitya nearly did it right there. His ass pushing back against him made Vitya growl in his ear, looking down at the hot stove, then back at Monty. “Fuck it,” Vitya said, turning the stove top off and making Monty put the cooking utensils. His hand was on Monty’s cock, stroking at a fast pace to keep his attention, the other hand coming around to hold Monty‘s chest.

“Listen to me. When I let you go, walk to the bedroom and strip. Get on the bed and wait for me. You can touch yourself, finger yourself, but if you come before I am inside you... Well, you’d be a bad boy. And you want to be a good boy, right?” Vitya spoke slowly. Normally he doesn’t get turned on by his own talk, but this was every fantasy he had been having about Monty since he left two days ago!

He stopped his stroking of Monty’s cock, spinning his finger around the head. He have Monty a few seconds before letting him go. Vitya turned his attention to the forgotten sandwich, deciding to leave it for now and grab an apple out of the fridge. The moment he was done with this was the moment he would follow Monty.

FADE TO BLACK

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[11] Glitch in the System - Clear as Mud

By K. A misunderstanding happens.

–

Sunlight filtered through the cypress-laden garden, cutting thin, luminous swathes among their untamed branches. When Talon arrived a month ago, the garden was as much an art installation as it was a respite from the bustling world within and beyond the outpost walls: a meticulously curated selection of local flora contained within the boundaries dictated by remarkable columns of deep, resplendent green. Now, weeks later, the atrium better reflected its constituency, its shrubs and the tall, thin trees comprising its borders reflecting the chaotic aims of its lackluster curators.

Thankfully, it wasn’t quite a foregone cause. A day’s pruning and weeding would, by Widowmaker’s estimate, bring the garden back to at least a semblance of its former glory; from there, it would require only a few hours of care a week to maintain. An undertaking at the outset, certainly, but one which would prevent the recurrence of such aesthetic disrepair.

“Did you call it ‘aesthetic disrepair’?” Sombra asked as they leaned side by side against the railing of the balcony overlooking the atrium.

“Just help me,” Widowmaker replied. “I’m tired of looking at this mess and no one else is going to do it.”

“I don’t know shit about gardening.”

“We’re not gardening,” the taller woman clarified, relying fruitlessly on the semantic difference. “We’re just trimming.”

Sombra cast an appraising glance over the courtyard, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth as she took stock of the haggard landscaping below. “How do you know what to trim and what to leave?”

Widowmaker shrugged. “I don’t.”

“So…,” Sombra prodded expectantly.

“So, cut what looks messy and pull what looks like it doesn’t belong,” the taller woman said as she stepped away from the railing. “We can’t make it any worse than it already is.”

“You’d be surprised,” Sombra replied, following her down the graduating staircase to the garden path below. “I could kill a cactus if you gave me the chance.”

Widowmaker laughed beneath her breath, light and quiet from a few feet ahead of her as they approached a shed tucked into the corner of the courtyard, its door hanging loosely in its frame. It gave way with a groan as she splayed a hand over its surface, its rust-eaten hinges offering no resistance as she pressed forward. Beyond lay a long workbench and a spartan collection of hardware and gardening tools hung haphazardly along the walls. Running her fingers along the line of assorted implements, she plucked a pair of pruning shears from the wall, handing them to Sombra before snagging a second, smaller pair for herself.

“The hell do we do with these?” she asked, opening and closing them with a degree of trepidation better suited to live wires or corrosives.

“You trim,” Widowmaker replied, tossing her a pair of heavy polyurethane gloves. “Go on,” she commanded, shooing the hacker from the shed. She followed shortly after, tugging on her own gloves as she trailed the shorter woman.

“Where do I start?” Sombra asked as she glanced from plot to plot.

“Wherever you please,” Widowmaker replied as she started on the first in a long row of cypress trees.

Hours passed, the pair combing across the garden one tree, shrub, and flower bed at a time. Widowmaker took to the task with tenacity in lieu of skill, approaching each unhewn branch with meticulous attention to detail. Her work was far from perfect, but it was still a dramatic improvement over the garden’s prior state of neglect. That, for the time being, was sufficient.

Sombra, on the other hand, proceeded with increasing frustration. Though her work was no better nor worse than her partner’s, Widowmaker seemed content with the work getting done at all, while Sombra only saw a growing series of amateur imperfections.

“This is bullshit,” Sombra grumbled as she tried and failed a fourth time to even the edges of a particularly officious shrub. Widowmaker, perched atop a ladder where she was engaged in a battle of wits with the almost-perfect point of one treetop, paid her complaint - one of many - no mind.

Sombra knelt, gathering a handful of branch trimmings and lobbing them upwards. The wad of wood, leaves, and dirt connected squarely with the back of the sniper’s head before dissolving into its composite parts.

“Aïe!” she yelped, dropping her shears to steady herself against the ladder. “Really, Sombra?”

“I said, this is bullshit,” the shorter woman repeated, crossing her arms.

“Then take a break.” Widowmaker replied coolly. Sombra’s tantrum began hardly an hour into their task and Widowmaker had long tired of reminding her they weren’t striving for anything beyond simple maintenance. As the hacker’s mood worsened, the sniper gave up on her plaintive and admittedly clumsy attempts at encouragement, choosing instead to concentrate exclusively on her work. This only seemed to make Sombra even more upset, and Widowmaker resigned herself to having to weather her attitude until she either gave up or quit.

“Maybe I will,” Sombra grunted, turning on her heel and marching back up the stairs toward the estate, leaving a quietly flabbergasted Widowmaker to her work.

Dusk settled over the garden as she finished, tugging her gloves off one finger at a time before tossing them without so much as a backwards glance into the shed behind her. It wasn’t a professional gardening job by any means, but it was certainly a marked improvement: the hedges were pruned and nearly even, the cypresses restored to their original, spiring formations. The flowerbeds presented a unique challenge inasmuch as her floral literacy was profoundly lacking, so Widowmaker resorted to keeping what was appealing and weeding anything that looked remotely like it didn’t belong. The result was more unbalanced than she preferred, with bald patches of empty soil dotting the landscape in unpredictable patterns; thankfully, it was less noticeable when considering the garden as a cohesive whole.

Hands on her hips, Widowmaker turned to face the staircase by which Sombra disappeared that afternoon. The hacker never returned, leaving her to continue in earnest. Though she welcomed the lack of interruption at first, a nagging twinge of guilt supplanted her relief as the day progressed, lingering now with the scent of soil and the heavy tiredness borne of a long day’s work.

Pursing her lips, she cast her gaze upwards to the westernmost corner of the outpost, leveling on the broad balcony window she knew to be Sombra’s. How was she supposed to react to the other woman’s whining? She knew Sombra better than to suspect she desired any coddling, so what, exactly, had she been looking for?

“Ça craint,” she muttered under her breath, setting off toward the steps. She sure as Hell wasn’t going to get any answers from the garden.

Of course, finding Sombra required exponentially more legwork than Widowmaker anticipated. Mugs of cocoa in either hand, the sniper traversed the halls of the west wing to no success. The hacker’s room was not only unlocked, but empty aside from Toulouse, and she wasn’t camped out in the kitchen or any of the other communal areas.

Gabriel, churlish as ever, had watched the sniper as she scooped cinnamon into both mugs, his narrowed eyes and omnipresent frown lodged somewhere between intrigue, horror, and concern.

“Cocoa,” he observed with dry removal better suited to a death sentence.

“Oui, what of it?”

“Amélie Lacroix-,”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, diverting her attention precisely long enough to affix Reyes with a piercing, golden stare. Though he offered nothing in the way of apology, he raised his hands, palms out, in a gesture of retreat.

“Widowmaker, making cocoa. With cinnamon.”

“Yes, Gabriel. It’s Novembre: a perfectly reasonable time for cocoa.”

“Who’s the other mug for?” he asked, raised eyebrows indicating he knew perfectly well its intended recipient.

“Certainly not you,” Widowmaker shot back. “Where’s Sombra?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Gabriel rasped, matching her dismissiveness effortlessly. “Try the roof.”

She thought he was joking. Now, having exhausted all other alternatives, the assassin rounded a series of corners to find the attic staircase hanging open, illuminated from above by the flickering orange glow of centuries-old electric lamplight.

Rolling her eyes, Widowmaker followed the stairs upward to a dust-smothered attic spanning at least half the wing. Its contents were few: old candelabrum, a smattering of wooden crates and sealed cardboard boxes, plastic-covered furniture, unframed paintings faded beyond recognition. Unlike the rest of the outpost, this quarter was reserved mostly for living space; thus, while Talon leveraged other parts of the building to their fullest extent, it barely used most of what this wing had to offer. If not for the lines of footprints trailing from the staircase to the rooftop exit at the other end of the room, it would be easy to mistake for untouched.

She followed them until she could see Sombra sitting just outside on the rooftop, a thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“Is this where you take your petulance?” Widowmaker asked as she stepped through the narrow doorway. Sombra’s only reply was a shrug, almost unnoticeable through the swathe of heavy wool. “How did Gabriel know you’d be here?”

At this, Sombra laughed inwardly. “He comes here, too,” she replied, accepting the mug offered her. “Awkward.”

“Mm, prime brooding real estate,” Widowmaker quipped as she sat beside the hacker.

“Cinnamon?” Sombra asked, lifting the cocoa to her nose. “Shit, was that you back at that ski lodge? You did kill the owners, didn’t you?”

Widowmaker, leaning back on one elbow at her colleague’s side, offered Sombra the most cryptic smile she could muster before hiding it behind the rim of her own mug. Of course she hadn’t, but Sombra’s lingering suspicion never ceased to be amusing. Still, watching the hacker over the top of her drink, she could discern her lingering frustration in her hunched posture and adamant refusal of eye contact.

“You are upset,” Widowmaker observed.

“Es obvio,” Sombra said.

“Because I ignored you.”

Sombra turned her full attention to her colleague, brows knit as if trying to read something beyond Widowmaker’s impassive gaze. Clearly unable to find what she was looking for, she simply sighed.

“I wanted to spend time with you, araña. Dancing, gardening - whatever; I did it to be near you. So, yeah, because you ignored me. Man, did they shut off your ability to pick up on context clues, too?”

Widowmaker frowned.

“I thought it was because you were just bad at gardening,” she admitted - and it was true. Sombra’s frustration started in tandem with their work and only worsened with time. She never considered the spy’s participation in a task in which she was clearly uninterested as anything other than an inversion of their usual dynamic; now, Widowmaker realized that was never the case to begin with and that she was, to her continued chagrin, always two steps behind in the strange dance they’d been practicing for over a month now.

“Désolée,” she said quietly. “I enjoy spending time with you, too. This is difficult, you understand?”

The hacker tilted her head. “How so?”

“Sometimes, I can put two and two together - context clues,” Widowmaker explained, the slowness of her speech underscoring the care with which she chose the words to best convey her own frustration with Talon’s programming. “Others, it’s as if the two and two are suddenly, I don’t know. Trigonométrie. The math is not so simple. I’m sorry.”

Sombra shifted beneath her blanket, fumbling for its edges as she offered the taller woman an opening. Widowmaker sat up long enough to fit herself neatly against the other woman’s side, slipping an arm about her shoulders before the hacker folded the blanket over the both of them.

“It’s not that cold,” the sniper whispered against her shoulder.

“Do not,” Sombra countered, smiling.

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic

[sinbinsidney]

NurseyWeek Prompt #2 - Surprise

Bitty almost jumps out of his skin when the Haus’ front door bangs open, the loud slam of wood against wall echoing through the hallway and reaching Bitty where he had been sitting placidly at the kitchen table. He relaxes when he recognizes Nursey in the archway of the room, but something about the way he’s standing makes Bitty double take.

It looks like someone took Nursey and gave him a good shake, sloughing off all that hipster cool that he so carefully cultivates for his everyday persona. Nursey’s lost the regular slouch in his shoulders, the serene look on his face; now, he’s swaying slightly, legs and arms tucked tight into his body. It’s like he’s unconsciously trying to take up as small a space as he can, which, being a 6’2” college athlete, isn’t all that small. His curls are slightly mussed, and he has lines of exhaustion written across his face.

“Bits,” he says, a note of solemnity in his quiet voice, “I need your help.”

Bitty blinks in surprise. He loves his team mates, truly, but Nursey and he had never had the sort of relationship that involved Nursey actively searching for his help. Everyone knows he’s got a soft spot for the Frogs, but literally all of them have a soft spot for Chowder, and the Haus (and Betsy, and therefore Bitty) would have fallen apart without Dex around to keep it up; Nursey, though, Nursey hasn’t connected as well with Bitty. Something odd must be going on in that boy’s head.

“Of course, sweetheart, what is it?” Bitty asks, tilting his head. Nursey drops the eye contact he’s held since entering the kitchen and presses his lips together in a thin line before meeting Bitty’s gaze again. He sets four grocery bags down on the table in front of Bitty and lets the rustle of the plastic fill the space between them for a handful of seconds.

“I’m going to make baklava,” he begins again, “but I don’t want to do it alone.” He nudges the bags. “I’ve bought the ingredients already, so we don’t have to worry about that.” Bitty, still surprised, recovers quickly.

“Of course, I’ll help you! I didn’t know you liked to bake, honey,” he says kindly. Nursey gives an uncharacteristic shuffle of his feet and shrugs.

“Making baklava with my mom is a sort of tradition, I guess. Whenever I was feeling particularly shitty, we’d set up and make a batch or two.” He shrugs again, shoulders tight with tension. “It’s therapeutic, I guess.”  Bitty smiles and stands up, nodding decisively.

“Mama and I do the same with peach pie,” he adds, grinning at Nursey and receiving a small smile back, a little bit of hesitance in those brilliant green eyes. Nursey ducks his head and begins pulling out the things he’d bought from the store. Bitty joins in, letting the crinkling of the bags and the quiet thuds of ingredients replace the chatter he’d usually engage in.

The kitchen soon fills with the quiet sounds of Bitty chopping the walnuts and pistachios as Nursey stirs together the syrup, methodically mixing until the sugar begins to dissolve. Bitty watches him out of the corner of his eye as he mixes, a little line forming between his brows as Nursey stays silent.

“Nursey, I just – well.” He stops and huffs out a frustrated breath. “I just want you to know that I’m here to talk to, when or if you need it. No pressure, or anything, just – I’m here, that’s all.” Nursey quits stirring, knocking the edge of the spoon against the pot before he turns to Bitty and leans a hip against the counter.

“Thanks, Bitty,” he says, straightening up a bit, his voice losing that bit of harsh edge it had earlier. He smiles at Bitty, a honest one that tells Bitty that Nursey really appreciates what he’s doing.

“Bits, can I talk to – oh, Nursey.” Dex’s voice cuts through the moment. Nursey essentially flips a switch as Bitty watches, going from the genuine, tired boy from the minute before to this perfected, smooth as glass surface. Dex clearly catches it as well, judging by the shocked expression on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he slows down his last words, dragging them out as he studies Nursey where he’s leaning against the cabinets, one dark eyebrow cocked.

“Need something, Poindexter?” he drawls out. Dex gives him a look.

“. . . yeah, actually,” he says, seeming just as surprised by this as they are. He flicks his eyes over at Bitty nervously, as if he wished not to have an audience. Even so, he steels himself, putting his shoulders back and looking directly at Nursey. “I’m sorry.” Nursey drops the face for a second, fumbling with his left hand at the edge of the counter.

“You … you are?”

“Yeah. What I said came out wrong, but even so, I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Silence for a handful of incredibly awkward heartbeats.

“Well. Good talk,” Dex says gruffly, turning on his heel and marching out of the kitchen, the tips of his ears flaming red. Nursey stares after him until Bitty gives a pointed cough. He startles into action and moves the syrup off the heat to let it cool, avoiding Bitty’s gaze, but even so the corner of his mouth is visibly tilted up and a weight seems to have lifted off his shoulders.

Bitty pats his arm a few times and shrugs as he says, “Boys. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.” Nursey turns to stare at him, green eyes bright.

“You–”

“Honey, please. You think I can’t recognize pining when I see it?” His brown eyes flash with barely contained laughter. “Now, speaking of pining, if you don’t go get that boy and have him help us with this phyllo, I’ll kick your ass myself.” Nursey scoffs but snaps off a quick salute before jogging off to catch up to Dex.

Bitty shakes his head, smiling fondly after the two, before he turns back to his half-chopped pistachios.

“Now, let’s get ya’ll all done for when they come back, alright?”

“Speaking of pining” what’s that supposed to mean? Derek thinks as he leaves the Haus. Bitty can’t mean what I think he means, right? He can’t. I’m hearing things I want to hear, that’s all.

“Yo, Poindexter!” Derek shouts as he spots Dex’s bright red hoodie down the sidewalk to his right. When he sees the figure halt, Derek picks his way over the broken pieces of cement beneath his feet, having learned his lesson about rushing over this part through quite a few falls.

He takes a deep breath just before he reaches Dex and tries to relax. He’s just a dude asking another dude to make some dessert pastry, that’s all. Totally normal. Right. Yes.

“Baklava?” he says. Fuck.

Dex squints at him. “Yes, that’s what you were making.”

“No, I meant, would you like to come back and help?” Dex’s eyes widen and his eyebrows raise just the slightest bit.

“Oh! Oh. I don’t want to intrude,” he trails off.

“You wouldn’t be,” Derek finishes, firm. Dex looks over at him, amber eyes searching. Whatever he sees on Derek’s face makes the hard line of his mouth soften and the lines around his eyes to disappear just the slightest bit.

“I’d … I’d like that,” he says, looking down at his shoes. “Thanks.”

“Chyeah, no problem.” Derek about faces and leads the way back down the street towards the Haus.

“Hey, Nursey?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re okay, right?”

“We’re okay.”

“I really am sorry,” Dex says, eyes on the ground. Derek looks at him, gaze catching on the gold of his eyelashes as they fan out across his cheek.

“I know, Dex. I forgive you, it’s cool,” he says, quietly.

“I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah, well. You can be. You’re not the worst ever, though.”

“Ringing endorsement, Nurse. I’ll put that on my resumé. ‘Not the Worst Ever,’ Derek Nurse, 2017.” Nursey laughs lightly and shoves at Dex’s shoulder as they enter the Haus. It quickly devolves into a mini-wrestling match as they good-naturedly bat at each other in the doorway of the kitchen.

A sharp rap on each of their heads stops them both as they split apart, letting out identical Ow!s.

“If you two are quite finished, we have a dessert to assemble?” Bitty raises a cool eyebrow at the both of them, but he’s grinning. Both of them know what true Bitty kitchen wrath feels like, and this was definitely more of a warning shot, but still. They scurry over to the table, where Bitty has set up a sort of assembly line with the filling, phyllo, and melted butter all in order next to a pan. Derek grins at the set up and leans a little into Bitty’s warmth at his right side.

“Thanks, Bits,” he says, quiet enough to reach Bitty’s ears only. The little blonde tilts his head up to look at him and knocks his foot with his own.

“Anytime,” he replies seriously.

Dex has already begun to carefully unfold the first sheet of phyllo dough, dexterous fingers plying apart the edges and taking care not to rip it. Derek grins as he watches him bite the edge of his lip in concentration, just like he does when he’s fixing something.

The three of them get into a rhythm; Dex unfolds the sheet and puts it in the pan and Bitty spreads each layer with melted butter until they have enough for the first bit of the nut filling, which Derek carefully evens out. They end up with the traditional 33 layers of phyllo and two layers of nuts, just like how his mom makes it. Bitty whisks it away towards the oven. Derek smiles even as he feels Dex’s eyes on him.

When he turns to look back at Dex, time seems to slow, sinking to a syrupy sweetness as their gazes catch and hold. It’s a few seconds that could have felt like an hour to Derek, honestly, lost in the searching eyes of William Poindexter. They’re only a bit apart, turned from where their shoulders were pressed together as they worked. Derek can feel the warmth pouring off of Dex’s body, see the slight movement of his chest as he breathes. Fuck it, he thinks, sudden and loud in the humming quiet of his mind.

He leans forward and presses a kiss high on Dex’s cheekbone, right where he’s traced the Cassiopeia constellation in Dex’s freckles with his eyes countless times. He lingers there for barely half a second, feeling the warmth of Dex’s skin as he closes his eyes, savoring the moment. He pulls back at Dex’s surprised inhale, opening his eyes but keeping them trained on the floor, not wanting to see Dex’s face.

“Thanks for helping,” he murmurs. Dex is silent and Derek winces, already beginning to back away. He sees Dex move out of the corner of his vision and flinches, thinking idiot, what’s wrong with you, you can’t just kiss people, oh my god and taking a sharp inhale of his own when he feels Dex’s hand on his shoulder. He looks up, blinking in startled confusion.

Dex has the softest expression Derek has ever seen on his face, despite the fire red blush that’s arcing its way up his cheeks and over his ears. His thumb is stroking gently over Derek’s collarbone and Derek is 90% certain he’s about to have a heart attack. Dex smiling at Derek and shakes his head.

“Anytime, Nurse.” He grins harder and affects a dumb voice, à la Will Ferrell. “You’re my boy, Blue! You’re my boy.” Nursey snorts ungracefully and shoves at his shoulder.

“McFuck off, Dex.” Dex shakes his head, still smiling.

“Nah, you’re stuck with me now.” Derek lets a moment pass, listening to Bitty pointedly bustling about it the background. He looks over to check on him and feels a swift pressure on his cheek. His green eyes are round as saucers as he whips back around to face Dex.

He pressed a hand to his cheek, right where he had felt Dex’s lips against his skin, just for that brief moment. He can feel the rush of warmth as he blushes, even if Dex can’t see it. Dex himself won’t meet his eyes and gives an awkward cough.

“I’m gonna. Um. Go. Yep,” he stammers out, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and turning tail as he scurries out of the Haus for the second time that day. Derek lets a grin bloom over his face as Bitty swans into his field of vision.

He whoops and wraps Bitty up in a hug, whirling him around in a circle before plopping him back down and ruffling his hair.

“Mr. Nurse, I have no idea why we ever think you’re relaxed, dear lord!” Bitty exclaims, clearly flustered, but he’s smiling almost as wide as Derek is.

“Can you text me when the baklava is done?” He asks in a rush of words, syllables tripping over themselves almost as much as he is as he scrambles to gather his things and get out the door.

“Yes, yes, now go!” Bitty laughs at him, flapping a hand towel at him as he passes. The door slams shut behind Derek as Bitty leans back against Betsy 2.0.

He sighs and shakes his head, smile still firmly in place.

“Well, girl,” he says, patting Betsy 2.0. “the things we see in this kitchen.” He chuckles to himself again and wanders off to find his phone. He presses the screen a few times and holds it up to his ear.

“Honey, the most wonderful thing just happened … ”