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stillthewordgirl · 6 years ago

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LOT/CC fic: Somewhere on Your Road Tonight (ch. 13)

Sara and Leonard made a life for themselves, together in 1958, after the Waverider left them, Ray and Kendra behind. But now they're back on the ship, Mick has been twisted into Chronos, Kendra is pregnant, and Savage is still out there. They'll deal--together. (Sequel to "Chances Are.")

And now we start the "Destiny" chapters! There will be four of them. I've been planning these a long time, and there are many changes coming to fruition. Thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta!

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

The space beneath the Waverider’s floor is deep but narrow. Sara, her face buried in Leonard’s collarbone, tightens her arms around him as they lean into each other, trying to keep each other upright despite the strain on legs and backs. Leonard’s forced to stoop just a little, and Sara’s willing to bet it must be hell on his back, but his breathing is nearly silent as he holds her there and the Time Masters’ lackeys stomp back and forth above.

It’s a good thing, she thinks again, that they’re together and used to being in each other’s space at this point. If they were still just friends, revolving around each other and keeping their distance with flirting and innuendo, this could be pretty damned awkward.

It’s an interminable amount of time later, but eventually the sound of footsteps fades. They wait longer. Finally, Sara feels Leonard lift his head, listening. Then she feels him sigh and pull away.

She lets him go with faint reluctance, watching as he climbs up onto the slightly raised platform where they’d entered this hidden area. He pushes up the floor panel, glancing around, and then clambers out. Sara moves toward him, accepting his hand to climb out, letting out a long breath as she glances around the silent bridge.

“How did you even know that was down there?” she asks Leonard, who’s looking around restlessly.

“When Rip first recruited us, I made it my business to case every square inch of this tub in the event there was something worth stealing,” he tells her, looking around, then glance back. “There wasn't.”

He pauses, and Sara lets a smile tug at her lips, at odds with the position in which they find themselves. “I hope,” she says delicately, “that there were other worthwhile things.”

The corner of his mouth ticks upward too, but only momentarily. Leonard’s expression goes serious, deadly serious, and there’s something in his eyes Sara doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. Not when they were first stuck in Harmony Falls. Not even when they found out about Mick as Chronos.

“Should we get out of here?” he asks quietly, his tone a bit…

Yes. That’s it. He sounds…broken.

Sara stares back at him. “Wait,” she says cautiously, “what about the team?”

Leonard’s eyes, she thinks, are tormented. And he’s acting far more hesitant than she’d expected. “I…” He pauses. “I…after what Mick said. About the Time Masters. Do you think…is there even anything we can do for them?”

Sara, taken aback, shakes her head in disbelief. “Leonard,” she says carefully, “I…would you just leave Mick? The others?”

Her lover glances away, mouth tight. “If the Time Masters are half as twisted as Mick said, there's an excellent chance Mick is no longer Mick.” He lets out a long breath and appears about to say more, then stops, watching her.

Sara’s struck by the thought that he wants her to convince him otherwise, the better angels of his nature warring against a lifetime of being a survivor. The Leonard she’d met in the beginning, icy and cynical, might have run with barely a backward glance.

This is not that Leonard.

But he’s terrified, she can see it in the tightness around his eyes, the stiffness of his movements as he looks around the bridge. Sara frowns, stepping closer. He’s one of the bravest men she knows, and this is uncharacteristic, now, in more ways than one.

What’s going on?

It feels like a panic attack again. And while that’s probably even pretty justified, given their circumstances, Leonard’s having a particularly hard time getting a grip—and it’s not like he can go somewhere quiet now for a bit, to try to get his breathing and his racing heart under control.

And Sara’s staring at him with an odd mix of understanding and dismay at his words, clearly wondering what’s going on.

“I'm not going anywhere,” she says firmly, then waves a hand. “And even if we wanted to, we're in a hangar surrounded by an entire armada of timeships.”

Getouttahere-getouttahere-getherouttahere...

Leonard tries to take a deep breath. He’s not entirely successful. “It's the Waverider,” he points out, hearing the ragged sound of his own voice. “We've got guns. We could blast our way out.”

Sara’s chin goes up. “This isn't 'Bonnie and Clyde,'” she informs him, disappointment thick in her voice. “And I'm not going anywhere without the rest of the team.” A pause. “What about Kendra and Ray? Their son...”

He can’t let that kid grow up without his parents. He can’t. But...

“Sara...” he says, hearing his own voice as if it’s miles away.

And right over the top of it, a snarl, also in his own voice, if a vastly different tone. Maybe I didn't make myself clear.

The fingers of his right hand twitch, as they’ve been doing since it was rebuilt. Toward his cold gun, still holstered at his side.

You idiot! A voice, suddenly clear as day in his head, hisses. It’s also his voice. But also…different.

Sara’s eyes widen, but Leonard only sees that for a second before he folds into one of the jump seats, eyes squeezed shut, shaking his head. He puts his hands on his knees, fingers contracted and nails digging into his jeans, and takes a deep breath.

“What. The. Fuck,” he mutters.

He hears Sara step closer. “Are you OK?” she asks quietly.

“Don’t know.” Leonard waits another moment, then opens his eyes. "I think so.”

Somehow, things seem clearer now, without the sort of weird echoes he was getting before. After a moment, he gets back to his feet, shaking his new hand roughly, cursing its recalcitrant nature.

Then he looks at Sara, whose expression is very carefully blank.

Would he, in different circumstances, have pulled his gun on her, to try to force her to get them both out of here safely? He’s not pleased to admit that he probably would have. Between the things Mick has told him about the Time Masters and his strong conviction that this whole thing is going bad, Alexa bad, fast, all the traits that make him a survivor might have led him to do something he’d later regret, just because at least he'd be alive to regret it.

He’s a survivor.

Just like Vandal Savage said.

But he’s also a survivor who loves Sara Lance, and he’s trying to be a better man.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. And Sara nods.

Then the old-fashioned phone in Rip’s office rings.

Sara’s so grateful to hear Gideon’s voice that she feels tears prickle at her eyes. So, she closes them, taking a deep breath, listening to the AI’s calm voice as Gideon explains their plight and that of the others in more detail.

She can also hear Leonard’s still slightly uneven breathing, the panic he’s still fighting to control. Sara hadn’t missed how his hand had twitched toward his gun, a survivor’s reflex she’s sure wasn’t fully within his control.

She’s positive, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Leonard wouldn’t hurt her. But she also remembers the terror in his eyes, the tightly pent-in fear and the lifetime of doing what it takes to survive. And there’s more going on, too. His conviction that their strings are being pulled. His odd reactions to various occurrences. His surety that something, someone, else is messing with him.

By the time Gideon’s speaking over the ship’s comms again, he looks a little better, moving closer to Sara, who’s glad for his presence despite the lingering tension. She leans into his shoulder a little as he stops by her side, hearing and feeling his faint sigh as he relaxes a fraction himself.

“Ms. Lance is correct,” the AI is telling them. “We’re surrounded by timeships. However…” She pauses. “I…and Captain Hunter, of course…may have come up with measures that could eliminate them, if needed. For a time.”

“Why, Gideon,” Leonard drawls, sounding far more like himself. “Are you suggesting…sabotage?”

The pause is just lengthy enough that it’s clear that’s precisely what the AI is suggesting. And she never does answer that question in so many words. “There are enough devices in the armory, in the container labeled ‘experimental overrides,’ to adequately derail every timeship in the armada for a time,” she announces. “Captain Hunter thought they might be useful one day. You will simply have to retrieve and set them before placing them on the ships.”

“The ships,” Sara repeats. “The ones all around us.”

“The ones that could blow us up if we twitch,” Leonard adds sardonically. “Oh. Easy.”

“You will simply have to be your sneaky self and watch Ms. Lance’s back, Mr. Snart.” Sara hides a smile as Leonard blinks at Gideon’s comeback, which is a bit more openly snide than the AI usually gets. “No one is on these ships, however, and no one is looking for you here. As no one could find you on this ship, they will have presumed you have already fled and are at large, probably looking for your teammates. And they presume that I, as you said, am no longer…‘alive.’”

There’s no self-pity in the AI’s voice, but in a way, that just makes her matter-of-fact statement even more poignant. Sara glances at Leonard, seeing the same mix of sympathy and concentration, but he doesn’t speak. Not yet.

So Sara does.

“But, Gideon,” she says slowly, “we don’t want to leave the team, even if we can get that breathing room. You can’t want us to abandon Captain Hunter. We…”

“I don’t want you to abandon anyone, Ms. Lance,” Gideon says crisply, cutting in. “But once you get enough breathing room, for lack of a better term, to make a time jump, you can, as they say…fake them out.”

Sara considers that as Leonard hums thoughtfully.

“Not quite following,” she admits. “Help me here, Gideon. It’s been a rough day.”

“You don’t have to jump forward,” the AI tells her. “Nor backward. You…”

It clicks. “…can just go somewhere else in the same time.” Sara grins, getting it. “Like out of this hangar, elsewhere in the Vanishing Point, before they notice.”

“Indeed.”

“Gideon,” Leonard cuts in now. “Where are these devices?”

The AI tells him succinctly, and Leonard departs, as Sara studies the diagram of the Vanishing Point that Gideon has pulled up for them, pinpointing the location of the cellblock where the others are being held. By the time Leonard has returned, hefting the crate and placing it carefully on the holotable, they have at least a working plan.

They open the crate, and Sara pulls out one of the disks within, considering it. “We just need to stick one of these to each ship?” she asks Gideon. “Really?”

“Yes, Ms. Lance. They use adapted sound waves,” Gideon tells them, then pauses. “You can, should you wish, pick a song. That might be even more distracting that simply random noise.”

Sara looks at the disk, then lifts an eyebrow, looking at Leonard. He smirks a little, regarding her in return.

“I could we could pick something with adequate profanity,” he drawls, shrugging, “or…”

“Or,” Sara tells him in return, grinning. “I think I have the perfect idea.”

Gideon is right. No one seems to notice as Sara and Leonard—Sara placing the disks, Leonard watching her back—skulk across the floor of the hangar, carefully making sure that every ship has one of the overrides.

“This is a bad plan,” Leonard mutters uneasily, turning from side to side, pointing his cold gun everywhere, watching everything.

“It's Gideon's,” Sara shoots back, slapping another disk down against the side of a ship. She makes sure it’s set, then moves on, carefully, Leonard keeping pace.

“You're not helping your argument,” he mutters. But he doesn’t fool Sara, who smiles to herself as she glances around, setting her course.

“We need to finish putting these on the ships and get back to the Waverider,” she says quietly.

“Well,” Leonard motions with his gun, a Snart smirk hovering at his lips despite everything. “Carry on.”

And she does.

Leonard, despite his earlier conviction (unreasonable, he’d admit) that they’d be able to “Bonnie-and-Clyde” their way out of the Vanishing Point, is skeptical as they return to the Waverider. However, his pessimism is conflicting with Sara’s confidence, and gradually, she starts to infect him with it, too.

Is it really possible they might pull this off? Sprawled on the floor and watching her with hooded eyes, Leonard actually feels a faint stir of hope. If they can just get the team back…if Mick is still Mick…if…if…if…

He doesn’t realize he’s been tapping his ring restlessly against a metal beam until Sara sighs, drawing his attention to where she sits across from him.

“Can you stop doing that?” she asks wearily, then gets up and heading onto the bridge proper as he pulls his hand away from the beam. “Why did you start wearing that thing, anyways?”

She knows the ring’s story already—she’d been there when, while moving his things into her room, he’d found the small piece of silver in a pocket. He’d told her about the warehouse in Freeport, the first job he’d ever planned with Mick, both of them still in their teens. Leonard had only recently dropped out of school, giving up on reintegrating back into so-called normal society after his stints in juvie, and Mick was already unapologetically a criminal; still, Len’s experience had been limited to jobs with Lewis and Mick’s to basic smash-and-grabs.

Leonard had known that he was a better planner than Lewis, even at that age. This had been his first chance to prove to himself that he could strike out on his own and do better than his father ever had.

Except that, for all his planning, everything had gone sideways.

He holds up his hand, studying the ring, thinking about how they’d just gotten into the warehouse between the shift changes, through a rarely used door. It wasn’t so long after a big delivery from a jewelry wholesaler—nothing that would make them rich, but Mick knew someone who’d buy even good costume jewelry at decent prices.

Leonard had just cracked one crate, though, double-checking its contents, when Mick had tripped the shiny new security system that hadn’t there even a day or two before. Len had grabbed a box and bolted, and while at least the two of them had made it out safely, all they’d come away with were a few necklaces (which Leonard had let Mick take to his fence) and the silver ring.

At the time, Leonard was still so slight and scrawny that the ring had been big on even his ring finger. He’d wound some string around the back of it and worn it anyway, as a…

“It's a reminder,” he says, hoisting himself off the floor and ambling toward her, turning his hand and watching the light catch the silver surface. “That even the best laid plans can go sideways.”

Sara made a thoughtful noise and reaches out, gently taking his hand. It’s the sort of casual touch he’s still really not used to, but it’s OK with her. Nice, even. Her hands are small, strong, and calloused, familiar in so many different ways at this point, and the touch is steadying.

“You thinking this is going to go sideways?” she asks, glancing up at him.

Leonard lets his fingers fold around hers. “Don’t know. The best chance we got, but…I still have a weird feeling there’s more going than we know. And I don’t like it.” He gives her a wry smile. “Not real keen on the idea of trading my life for nothing.”

At least Sara’s going to be the one who stays on the ship in this plan, he thinks, though he doesn’t say it aloud. If the worst happens, she could get out of here.

He doesn’t say it, but he’s pretty sure she hears it anyway. Sara gives him a faint smile in return, leaning closer.

“Well,” she says firmly, “you better not. You’ve got better things to do with that life.”

“With you?”

It’s meant as a quip, but the question comes out quieter and more solemn than he plans. Sara’s eyes go more serious too, and she studies him a moment. They’ve avoided talking about the future, not until Savage is defeated, but that doesn’t mean neither of them have thought of it, and…

“The Time Drive is back online,” Gideon cuts in neatly. And it’s probably just as well; this isn’t the time or the place, but Leonard sighs as he straightens from his lean. Sara squeezes his hand before they move apart, her to the captain’s chair and him to a jump seat.

The Waverider lifts smoothly into the air and rockets out of the hangar. Leonard watches Sara take a deep breath, nod to herself, and then lift her voice and order, “Gideon….now!”

And the ship jumps--to the other side of the Vanishing Point, close to the cell block where the others are being held. Sara brings it down fast and quiet, and Leonard’s already out of his seat, checking his gun and throwing one more look her way.

“I’ve activated the overrides,” Gideon announces. “And they are working quite well, if I do say so myself.” She pauses. “Would you like to hear?”

Leonard pauses as Sara glances at him. “Sure.”

“…singing a song. Don't mess around, you just got to be strong Just stop…”

Sara laughs, but Leonard can’t resist, despite the time constraints. He takes a few steps to the captain’s chair and leans over, kissing her firmly as the Captain and Tennille sing. Sara laughs again, against his lips, and curves a hand around the back of his head to hold him there.

“ ‘Cause I really love you. Stop! I'll be thinking of you.”

“Be careful,” she tells him breathlessly as they break the kiss, and Leonard turns for the hatch.

“You know it.”

“Look in my heart…And let love…keep us together…”

As soon as Leonard’s off the ship, the Waverider rises again, looping around and rising into the air. He’s not watching, though, immediately heading for the door Gideon’s schematics had told them would be nearby.

It’s locked, but application of a cold gun blast and then a firm boot to the center send the door crashing inward. The guard inside only gets off one shot, which Leonard dodges, before a punch lays him out on the floor. Then Leonard bolts up the stairs, gun primed and ready, taking out a few more startled guards before he reaches the level he’s looking for.

As he turns into the hallway that should lead him to the cell block, he hears voices ahead.

“…we've calculated when the Waverider is headed.”

“Past or future?”

“The present.”

Leonard smirks as he hears the Waverider’s guns fire outside, shaking the building as Sara gives him a particularly violent distraction. Striding forward, he fires his cold gun at the soldier who turns toward him, then slams the weapon into the head of the robed older man, stepping aside as he falls to the floor.

“Somebody order up a rescue?” he drawls, glancing around at his teammates in their cells, frowning as he realizes that someone…two someones are missing.

Stein sighs, relief and pain in the sound. “Mr. Snart, your timing is impeccable.”

Leonard, though, sees Raymond’s eyes widen as the scientist looks past him. “Or not!”

He spins, aiming the cold gun, just as Chronos…no, it’s Mick, it’s always Mick, even in that armor…pauses in the doorway. Then the armored figure starts forward, slowly, gun aimed at Leonard, inexorably.

“Put the gun down, Mick,” he says. An order and a plea, both. Can his friend hear it?

But Mick doesn’t listen, moving until his gun is nearly right in Leonard’s face, and another man in robes moves quickly into the room behind him, circling to the right, barely tossing Leonard a quick glance before focusing on Mick.

“Chronos,” he orders. “Fire!”

A pause. And then: “Sure thing,” Chronos rumbles in a tone that’s all Mick, whipping his gun around and firing at the Time Master, who’s so startled that he doesn’t even try to get out of the way. The energy bolt crashes into him, and he topples to the floor as Mick pulls off his helmet, advancing toward him.

“If I recall, I made you a certain promise,” he informs the fallen man.

“No, I beg of you. No!”

Leonard makes himself watch, but then turns away before Mick can see the look on his face. He hits the panel at the side of Rip’s cell before spinning toward Raymond’s. “Where’s Kendra?” he asks as he opens the door, heart sinking at the look on the scientist’s face.

“They took her. They gave her to Savage!” Raymond’s voice is both furious and heartbroken as he stumbles out the door. “She fought, but there were too many. I…”

“We’ll get her back,” Leonard tells him, watching Mick open Stein’s door and help the man inside out. “And where is our least-favorite psychopath?”

“On his way to kill my family,” Rip says dully, approaching them. “You were right, Mr. Snart. The Time Masters are the ones who put Savage in power. And everything we’ve done has been helping them.” He shakes his head. “They’ve been doing more than pulling our strings. They’ve been setting our course. All along. Perhaps our entire lives.”

Leonard freezes, staring at him. For all his cynicism and suspicion of the Time Masters, there’s still a part of him that’s stunned to hear all those suspicions confirmed. “What?”

Another volley of fire from the Waverider shakes the walls, then, and Rip shakes his head roughly.

“Back to the ship, first,” he says. “We have a lot to talk about…but first we need to get out of here.”

#somewhere on your road tonight #captain canary #legends of tomorrow

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ebhenah · 6 years ago

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Klancemas 2018 December 3: Ice Skating

@monthlyklance

Klancemas 2018

“Tumbleweed”

Dec 3: Ice Skating

It was their First Christmas (which was important enough to warrant capitalization!) since they started seeing each other and over the months they’d been ‘officially’ dating, Lance had discovered that Keith had been sorely lacking in romantic moments in his lifetime. There were some that everyone just HAD to experience, and Lance had made it his personal mission to make sure that Keith got to do every cheesy, sappy ‘classic’ date he could humanly manage.

In the time since they’d started actually dating (instead of just hooking up at random intervals) back in April, he’d enlisted the help of pretty much everyone he knew to cross some of the trickier ‘special’ dates off his list- like apple picking, and finding a state fair with a tunnel of love, and now- tracking down the most romantic spot to go ice skating. Well, technically the most romantic spot to go ice skating that ALSO rented ice skates… because he wasn’t shelling out the money to BUY two pairs of ice skates for a single date.

Still, he was excited. So far, all of the ‘special’ dates have been… nice. Really nice. They haven’t really been as perfect as he would like, but real life isn’t a rom-com, despite his best efforts… Plus, Keith doesn’t have as much of a romantic streak as he does. He’s been holding out hope that that is mainly because Keith hasn’t really had the chance or inclination to NURTURE a romantic streak and that one might… kind of… take root in that cynical heart of his.

It was a small hope… but a tenacious one.

And the special dates HAVE been good ones. They’ve had fun. They’ve gotten closer. Keith had stopped saying that Lance was making a ‘big fuss for no reason’. In fact, the last ‘classic’ had been a walk through the park looking at the leaves and getting hot chocolate together and that had been AWESOME! They’d had a blast and when stopping to drink the chocolate and watch the early sunset had meant getting chilly, they’d snuggled up together and Keith had been so relaxed and happy that he hadn’t even scowled when Lance had called him ‘cute’.

This time, he’d actually let Lance blindfold him. Actually, the first miracle was that he’d agreed to let Lance DRIVE… then he’d agreed to the blindfold with hardly more than a sigh and an eyeroll. That was… kind of mind-blowing, actually.

“Do you have, like, hints for me to try to decipher?” Keith asked as Lance parked the car.

“Nope,” Lance answered, smiling hugely, “and you can take the blindfold off now. We’re here.”

“Before I do- this isn’t some kind of ambush is it? I’m not going to take this off and get hit with some weird version of ‘this is your life’ or anything?”

“What? No! But, that’s an awesome idea! I am going to have to put that in the ol’memory bank,” he laughed, leaning in to kiss his boyfriend softly, tugging the blindfold off, “it’s just us. A real DATE- me and you and nobody else, see?”

“Are we…” he looked around, the spot was obscenely pretty. Snow covered the branches of tons of old-growth trees, sparkling and filtering the sun into little pockets of dancing light. There was a stream nearby, just big enough to keep from freezing over and close enough that they could hear it ‘babbling’ even in the car. There were a few wrought iron benches scattered among the trees, populated by people feeding the winter birds. At the end of the parking lot, sat a small bank of bleachers that looked to be made of halved logs, and a little building that was decorated like a gingerbread house and sported two signs: ‘Rentals’ and ‘Returns’. “Are we at an outdoor rink? We’re going skating?”

“We’re going skating!” Lance repeated, with the proper level of excitement thankyouverymuch!

“Is this one of your whole ‘I learned how to date from Hallmark movies’ things?”

Lance rolled his eyes, “I don’t watch HALLMARK movies!”

“This seems like a Hallmark movie thing,” Keith said levelly.

“Since I don’t watch Hallmark movies, I will have to defer to your CLEARLY more educated opinion,” he teased, “since you’ve obviously watched enough of them to spot the supposed similarity from the parking lot.”

“You’re really not as funny as you think you are,” Keith muttered, reaching for the door handle.

“No! It’s a date, and I drove- so I have to get your door for you,” he insisted, hopping out of the car. He could see Keith shaking his head as he rounded the vehicle and opened the passenger side door.

“You are ridiculous with this stuff,” Keith said, but Lance could see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He hated to admit it, but Keith really loved it when Lance treated him like he was ‘important or something’ (because he WAS. Keith was very important to him!).

“I am a gentleman,” he argued, slipping his hand into Keith’s as they headed to the rental office, “you are just going to have to get used to that… and that means, I get the door when I drive. It means I walk you to your door at the end of the night…”

“Lance, you walk me to my door at the end of the night because you are SPENDING the night,” Keith laughed.

“But even if I WASN’T, I’d still walk you to your door and say good-night and make sure you were safely inside before I left,” he pointed out, “and maybe leave out the whole spending the night bit if my Mom ever asks if I am being a gentleman.”

“We’ve been dating for MONTHS, Lance… you are the youngest of five kids- your mother is well aware that we are having sex.”

Lance gasped, eyes wide with horror as he turned to Keith, “take that back! My Mom thinks I am an absolute angel! Pure as the driven snow! Nope. Nuh-uh. I refuse to accept that she even SUSPECTS anything else.”

“What’s… happening here? Is this you being in denial?” He asked, brow creasing with confusion, “or is this you being grossed out by the idea that your Mom knows you aren’t a virgin?”

“Stop it!”

“C’mon Lance, be serious,” he chuckled, “she’s a grown woman, she knows how things work!”

“I’m not listening!” He dropped Keith’s hand to clamp both of his over his ears, “lalalalalalalalalalala I can’t hear you!”

“Lance! You are TWENTY years old!” He was on the verge of cracking up, “and your mom is always going on about how handsome you are and what a heartbreaker you were and how ‘all the girls loved’ you… be serious!”

“No! Shhh! Stop talking!” He gave up on the ineffective tactic of covering his ears, choosing the much more rewarding one of kissing Keith until they BOTH forgot what they were talking about.

Keith laughed into the kiss, which was something he’d only started doing recently and that Lance kind of loved. Because he thought it meant that Keith was relaxing with him a bit. Trusting him more. Sometimes, early on, it had felt like he was courting a porcupine or something- one wrong move would trigger a defensive response that could really hurt. Lately though… probably since… ohhh yeah, since Keith had dragged him camping on Labor Day Weekend… things had been… mellower. He’d been less guarded. More affectionate. So, lately, Lance could do this… kiss him and know that they’d be able to get lost in it for a bit- without losing track of where they were and who might see and start heading down a path that was very much not fit for public viewing.

“You are adorable,” Keith said as the kiss broke, “Loverboy-Lance horrified to think that his Mami knows that he likes to fuck.”

“Keith!” he squawked, head whipping around to make sure there were no kids in the vicinity. “Public!”

“I’m not a complete jackass, Lance,” he chuckled, “I did CHECK for people nearby before I said that.”

“Can we just talk about something else?” Lance sighed, “like.. ANYTHING else?”

“Okay, sure,” he caught Lance’s hand and squeezed it, “I didn’t want to upset you. You know that right? I just… I think it’s funny how much it means to you that she thinks you are… how did you phrase it? ‘Pure as the driven snow’? It’s sweet, though… really.”

Lance huffed, but he rubbed his thumb over Keith’s hand, “sometimes I forget… because you are one of like six people who knows what my life was like in space, who understands about being a Paladin and everything we went through… but THIS… I forget that you and I had very different lives before Voltron.”

“It’s okay Lance,” he said, smiling at him, “I really like your family- your Mom, especially. I love how close you guys are. I just… it’s so different from my relationship with my mother.”

“Yeah, you and Krolia have kind of a unique relationship,” he said, brushing his lips along Keith’s jaw. “It’s awesome, but…”

“Yeah,” his smile was sad, “maybe if we hadn’t been pulled apart by the war, I’d understand better.”

“I love you,” he said softly, “you know that, right?”

“I do,” Keith answered, “and I love you, too… and weren’t we supposed to be ice skating?”

Lance blinked, “oh my god… we need to get our skates!”

He laughed, “you completely forgot, didn’t you?”

“You’re distracting,” he muttered. “Come on,” Lance tugged on his hand, dragging him over to the counter.

It didn’t take long to get situated with skates and before he knew it they were stepping out onto the ice. “So, is the rom-com date just the ice skating? Or is there like a flashmob waiting for some secret cue?” Keith asked, gliding backwards on the ice to make room for Lance.

“Just the skating,” he chuckled, “no flash mob. I mean, I THOUGHT about a flash mob, but… I figured you’d dump me on the spot if I tried.”

“I wouldn’t dump you for something like that,�� Keith replied, laughing along with him, “I knew you were an overly dramatic romantic before I fell in love with you. Just like you knew I was a moody loner before you fell in love with me. You wouldn’t dump me for acting like a moody loner, right?”

“Of course not,” Lance smiled at him, stepping tentatively onto the ice and grabbing Keith’s hand, “you’re MY moody loner. I love you just the way you-” Suddenly, he was lying on his back, staring up into Keith’s concerned face.

“Are you alright?” Keith asked, “did you hit your head?”

“Ummm.. yeah, I’m ok. The only thing hurt is my pride,” he flashed a charming smile, sitting up.

“Rusty, huh?”

“I didn’t THINK I was- I was rollerblading most of the summer.”

Keith braced, holding his hand out to help Lance to his feet, only to have him fall again. “Rollerblading? Lance? How long has it been since you were ICE skating?”

Lance’s smile was sheepish, “ummm… never? But blades are blades, right? It’s all just skating.”

“You have NEVER been ice skating?” Keith echoed, “darlin’, why would you pick THIS as a date if you don’t know how to skate?”

“I DO know how to skate! I roller blade all the time, I can even DANCE in old school roller skates!”

“Quiznak,” Keith sighed, dropping into a surprisingly stable crouch, “this is a lot LIKE roller skating or rollerblading, but it’s not the same. Being able to one doesn’t mean you can do the other. You really never learned how to ice skate?”

“If I HAD, I’d be gliding gracefully around the rink with you, not sitting on my ass on the ice, Keith,” he pointed out dryly. “I figured I’d be the one helping YOU- the guy from the desert!”

“Charities LOVE to spring for kids in the system to have big ice skating parties during the holidays,” he explained “I used to go ice skating a few times a year when I was a foster kid. I can teach you, if you like?”

“You can?”

Keith shrugged one shoulder, “yeah. I’ve taught a bunch of kids over the years. It’s not that hard… especially since you are used to rollerblades. Think of it like… um… learning a new weapon. Revolvers and sniper rifles are different in a lot of ways, but they are both GUNS right? The basic principles still apply. Aim. Breathe. Prepare for the kickback. Squeeze, don’t pull the trigger. Etc.”

Lance smiled, touched at the offer and at how Keith was trying to find a comparison to a skillset that Lance, specifically, was confident in. “I would LOVE it if you taught me how to skate,” he answered.

“Alright, first step is to get you up on your feet again,” Keith answered, “c’mon tumbleweed.”

It took Lance about an hour to get the hang of staying upright and moving forward with enough confidence and grace that he no longer clung to Keith like a lifeline. Keith was notoriously hot-tempered, but he was an incredibly patient and supportive teacher. He never got frustrated or cranky, even those times when Lance pulled or knocked him to the ice when he’d fall.

They spent a surprising amount of time laughing, and even more time talking. Keith had quickly figured out that over-thinking was Lance’s biggest downfall. If his mind was occupied with something else, he’d relax and let his body self-correct without stiffening up or jerking. If he was trying to concentrate on the skating, he seemed to completely bypass his own natural grace.

STOPPING on his own still seemed like an impossible dream, but Lance wasn’t really complaining about the way Keith would catch him in his arms and slow them both down to a stop while he skated backwards. He also was definitely NOT complaining about the soft praise and encouraging little kisses Keith doled out once they did stop moving.

The little countdown buzzer they’d been given to track their rental time went off much sooner than Lance had expected and Keith gently guided him back to the little bank of bleachers by the rental office so they could change back into their regular boots.

“This was NOT how I was expecting this date to go,” Lance laughed as they waited in line for the bizarrely small return window to give back the skates. “Did you have fun?”

“I always have fun on our dates,” Keith answered, “I always have fun with YOU, Tumbleweed. Even when we aren’t on a date.”

“Aww… look at you being all sweet and borderline romantic. Here, hand me your skates, I’ll pass them both in together.” He let go of Keith’s hand to collect the skates, handing both pairs over and signing the log book that tracked the rentals. He commented on them using old school pen and paper and how he thought it was cute. The teenager just nodded, a weird smile on her face. Even after all this time, he STILL wasn’t used to the strange pseudo-celebrity status he had as a Paladin of Voltron. It just always felt WEIRD when someone recognized him, but he was raised to be polite so he just smiled at the kid and didn’t mention the awkwardness.

“Alright,” he said, stuffing his gloves into his pocket and turning back to Keith, “let’s head back to the… what?” He looked around, like scanning the area would somehow change what he saw in front of him. Keith. On one knee. A ring box in his hand. “Oh my god… Keith!”

“Lance,” Keith purred, his voice quiet and sure and steady, even though Lance could see in his eyes how nervous he was, “we’ve been dating for, like eight months, and I know a lot of people would think that wasn’t very long… but you and I… we are so much more than those eight months. We’ve been through the worst stuff the universe could throw at us, watching each other’s backs and working together. We got off to a bit of a rocky start, but it didn’t take long for us to get past that. We are such a good team. You bring out the best in me. I like to think I bring out the best in you. I’m happiest with you. I… make SENSE when I’m with you. I hope I make you just as happy. I hope you want to give me the chance to do that for the rest of our lives. I have loved you for so long, even when you drive me crazy, even when you don’t make sense to me. I was away from you for two years and it didn’t lessen that love, like, at all. You SEE me. ALL of me… and you love me.” He opened the ring box to reveal a very simple silver (white gold? Platinum? Some kind of alien metal? He couldn’t tell the difference.) band with a tiny pearl flanked by two rubies inset in the metal. “Will you please be my husband?”

Lance had been crying since Keith had said his name the first time. Seeing that ring box had rendered him speechless, which was good, because it meant that he hadn’t interrupted Keith’s little speech. How had he ever thought that this man wasn’t a romantic? Apparently, he just saved up the romance for the big moments.

“Lance?”

“What? Oh!” he shook himself out of his state of shock. “Oh my God! Yes! Of course, yes! Yes, I’ll marry you! Oh my God! Keith!”

Keith stood, pulling Lance into his arms for a passionate kiss as the people around them erupted into cheers.

After a moment, Keith pulled back, taking the ring out of the box and slipping it on his finger, “the pearl because you love the ocean. One ruby for your birthday, because you being born changed my life. The other for Red… because we wouldn’t be us without Voltron, and we’ve both been her paladin.”

“Oh my God,” he whispered again, awed, “it’s perfect. You are perfect… perfect for me. The perfect boyfrie-I mean, the perfect fiance. I love you, Keith Kogane. So much. I can’t wait to marry you!”

#Klancemas #monthlyklance #laith #Klance #VLD #Voltron #Ice Skating #Fanfiction #my writing #mywriting

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 8 years ago

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Hunger - chapter 23

Hunger master post

By the afternoon, the McCalls’ house is full of FBI agents, because apparently Gerard Argent was in the drug trade and Sheriff Haigh was involved, and absolutely nothing happened that has anything to do with werewolves. Rafael McCall suggests to his colleagues that Gerard at one time was operating out of the old bunker in the Preserve, and that one of the Hale kids must have seen something. And just like that the motive for the fire is neatly explained away.

Stiles worries about the fact that the investigation is going to turn up a distinct lack of drugs, but Chris seems to think that a search of his father’s properties will uncover enough money and weapons that the drug angle will be the only one that will play. Because the alternative? The alternative is werewolves, and nobody is going to go for that.

Stiles worries that Haigh and the surviving hunters won’t go along with it, despite Derek’s threats.

“How can you be sure?” he asked Chris Argent on the way back to the house from the woods, when Rafael McCall and Jordan Parrish were making arrests and calling in outside backup from the scene.

“Because they’re going to prison anyway, and they’ll want to do their time in general population, not the psych ward,” Chris told him. His mouth quirked in the first smile Stiles thought he’d seen from him, and it was bitter. “Because the reason we’ve been able to fight this war in secret for centuries is that nobody would believe the truth anyway. And they know they’re better off in prison that dealing with the fallout from breaking the code.”

And Stiles had shuddered, because the thought of prison is one that never fails to make him feel sick to the stomach.

His dad…

Back at the house, Stiles gets a shower and Melissa makes pancakes. She forces Allison and Scott and Stiles to sit on the couch and refuses to let them move. Stiles fidgets and worries about Derek and Peter. Chris said something about taking them to a hotel to keep them out of the way.

They’re keeping their story simple.

Stiles came back to Beacon Hills because he was unhappy in care, and it was his home. Kate recognized him, leapt to the paranoid assumption he knew something about her involvement in his dad’s set up, and kidnapped him from Parrish’s custody. Parrish, who somehow managed to escape his burning cruiser, approached Chris Argent to question him about Kate’s whereabouts, and he nominated the bunker in the woods. Parrish called in a friend of a friend, Agent McCall.

Everything else happened pretty much the way it did.

Except for werewolves.

Except for Scott and Melissa and Allison.

They’re keeping it simple.

Stiles wishes he could say he feels uncomfortable about the idea of law enforcement officers lying under oath—given the whole Haigh thing—but it turns out his sense of morality isn’t so black and white. Stiles couldn’t be happier that Agent McCall and Deputy Parrish are lying through their teeth. The means really do justify the ends. But also, motive matters. McCall and Parrish aren’t framing an innocent man.

Stiles discovers he can live with that.

***

Stiles’s lawyer is called David Whittemore. He reminds the agents that Stiles is traumatized and in shock, and produces an emergency placement order that says Stiles can stay with Melissa McCall. He pretends he doesn’t notice when Stiles cries.

***

“Are you going to get my dad out?” Stiles asks Agent Kim after they go through what happened. Again. Stiles is tired and every time he blinks he sees Gerard Argent’s skull explode behind him as the bullet exits, but he’s a good liar. Always has been. The trick to lying is not to add any extra embellishments that might trip him up later. And the trick to dealing with police and other law enforcement is to just let the silences go. They’re trained to leave gaps, pauses, like lacunas in an orchestral piece, laden with anticipation. Stiles knows better than to try to fill those silences they’ve left. It’s human nature to want to talk, to mistake a friendly interrogation for a conversation and keep the rhythm going.

Stiles knows better.

He jiggles his legs and chews his nails and tells Agent Kim and David Whittemore how long it’s been since he had Adderall.

It’s just hard to sit back and do nothing knowing that his dad is still in prison.

“When can my dad come home?” he asks.

Agent Kim looks grave and serious. “There’s a process, Stiles. These things take time. You—”

“No, listen,” Stiles says. “My dad is a cop, who is in prison. You think about that. Please. Please just think about that. He needs to come home. He needs to be safe.”

This is supposed to be the end of the story. This is supposed to be the easy part. Stiles has faced the bad guys. He’s fought the fight. It’s ridiculous that the thing keeping them apart now is petty bureaucracy. That’s not fair. That’s not right.

“I want my dad,” he says, and stares at his knees so he doesn’t start crying again. “I just want my dad.”

“We’re done here,” Mr. Whittemore says. “Stiles isn’t answering any more questions today.”

Stiles flees downstairs to the basement.

***

Stiles is curled up into a ball underneath the comforter when he hears footsteps on the basement stairs. It’s late afternoon and getting comfortably gloomy in the basement. The little windows don’t let in a lot of sunlight, but Stiles can’t be bothered get up and turn a light on.

He wants his dad. The ache of it is impossibly sharp now that it’s so close. He’s terrified that something will happen and it will be torn away from him at the last minute. He hates that he’s too afraid, even now, to believe in a happy ending. That he’d rather be this person, cynical and pessimistic and bitter, than to nurture fragile hope into faith in case the universe destroys it.

Once upon a time he had faith his mom would get better.

Once upon a time he had faith no court would convict an innocent man.

Faith and Stiles parted ways a long time ago.

Footsteps tread slowly down the stairs, and a moment later weight dips the mattress.

“Remember how I asked you if sometimes it would be okay if I did the mom stuff for you?” Melissa asks quietly.

Stiles nods, the comforter still pulled up to his chin.

“I think this might be one of those times, huh?” Melissa puts her hand on his back, and rubs small circles there.

Stiles squeezes his stinging eyes shut.

“I know this is hard for you right now,” Melissa says. “You haven’t been able to rely on the adults in your life for the past four years, and now here they are telling you to sit back and wait. Why the hell should you listen to anything we tell you, right?”

Stiles hugs his aching stomach, and manages a nod.

“All I can tell you is we have to get this part right, Stiles,” Melissa says, still rubbing those comforting circles into his back.

It reminds him of what his mom and dad did for him when he was little and sick. What his dad did after she was gone. He’s missed simple touch like this.

Melissa exhales slowly. “We have to trust that Rafa and Jordan know what they’re doing here, because this is their territory now, okay? This is what they do.” She pauses for a moment, her hand against the knot in the top of his spine. “Well, I hope they don’t usually lie and cover things up, but you get my point.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Stiles’s mouth despite himself. He opens his eyes and stares into the gloom. He can’t bring himself to turn and look at Melissa.

“I’m scared,” he says at last.

“I know,” she says. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared too, and today? Stiles, when you boys got out of the car, I thought my heart was going to give out.” She draws a shaking breath. “I have never been more terrified in my life than when I thought you were going to get hurt.”

“You were a total badass today.”

“And so were you,” Melissa tells him. “Being scared doesn’t mean you can’t be brave at the same time.”

“I don’t feel brave.”

“But you are,” she says. “You’ve one of the bravest people I know.”

Stiles scrubs at his damp cheeks with the ball of his hand.

“I know it’s not easy, Stiles, but you’re almost there, okay?” She brushes her hand over his hair. “And you’re not alone anymore.”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Okay.

***

Stiles can’t sleep that night. It’s late when he hears the basement door open and then the click of claws on the steps. A moment later the springs of the foldout couch squeal as a heavy weight lands on them, and then there’s a huff of hot breath on Stiles’s face as a wolf settles down beside him.

“It’s really dark,” Stiles murmurs. “You’d better be Derek.”

The wolf chuffs.

Stiles rolls onto his side and throws an arm over the wolf’s shoulders. He presses his face against the fur of the wolf’s ruff and inhales. Derek rumbles underneath him.

“You can change back if you want,” Stiles whispers to him.

The wolf stretches, his weight shifts, and Stiles’s hand is suddenly resting on the smooth skin of Derek’s hip. It should feel more uncomfortable than it does.

“I’ll bet your hotel is nicer than this.”

“You’re not there,” Derek says, his voice low. He rolls over to that he’s facing Stiles.

Stiles’s hand finds its way to his hip again. And maybe it’s the fact that its dark now and he doesn’t have to see, but it’s very easy to move his hand back and forth, to rub more warmth into Derek’s skin without it being weird. Well, too weird. He touches Derek all the time when Derek is in wolf form. Skin-to-skin makes him feel a little breathless though.

“Can I scent you?” Derek asks. “Like this?”

In his human form.

Stiles suppresses a shiver. “Okay.”

Derek surges closer, closing the scant distance between them. He presses his cheek gently to Stiles’s, and Stiles closes his eyes at the scrape of Derek’s stubble. Then Derek’s nose is nudging his jaw up, and it’s such a familiar gesture—such a wolf gesture—that Stiles smiles as he tilts his head. Back in the alley, back when Stiles thought he had a really cool big dog, this is how Derek built their closeness. With a curious nose and a lack of understanding about personal space. Not that Stiles had wanted personal space. He’d needed someone to lean against, to curl up with, to hold, and that’s exactly what Derek had given him, and more.

Stiles reaches up and drags his fingers through Derek’s hair. It’s soft, and smells of whatever shampoo his hotel room provided him with. It’s okay. It’s not too weird. Derek is still outside the comforter, and Stiles is underneath. That’s several layers of fabric plus Stiles’s pajamas keeping this situation G-rated.

“Are you going to stay?” Stiles whispers.

Derek drags his nose up Stiles’s throat. “Yes.”

Stiles closes his eyes and sighs. “I didn’t just mean tonight.”

Derek’s breath is hot against his skin. “I know.”

Stiles tilts his head back further, and tries not to think about how much he wants to roll onto his back and feel Derek’s weight on him. How it wouldn’t be just for comfort. But maybe he’d pretend it was, because he’s only known Derek’s human form for such a short time that it feels skeevy and shallow to take the feelings he has for Derek—safety and comfort and protection—and add sex to them.

He loves Derek.

That’s been true since the alley.

All the other stuff feels too complicated to unpack right now.

But he loves Derek, and he’s loved in return.

“Say it,” he whispers as he cards his fingers through Derek’s hair and Derek’s mouth settles over the pulse point in his throat.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers. “My Stiles.”

“My Derek,” Stiles whispers back, and holds him close.

#fan fic #sterek #teen wolf #discontentedwinter #hunger

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