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whumperscorner · 4 years ago

Note

"Chained to bed" for the bthb please

Here you go anon! Enjoy this lil one-shot in which Prompto has a bad time!

BTHB#3- Chained to Bed

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Prompto Argentum, Cor Leonis

Whumpee: Prompto Argentum

Word count: 3260

Warnings: Stalker, Intimate whumper, creepy touching (though nothing sexual or nsfw)

Prompto groans and stirs awake. His room is still pretty dark, so it must still be night, and sure enough when Prompto reaches over to his nightstand and checks his phone it lights up with the time, 03:24. Slightly confused about what woke him up in the first place, Prompto switches the phone off and turns over to go back to sleep. He's meeting up with Noct and Gladio tomorrow for some training and should probably get all the sleep he can to really blow them away with his awesome moves. By habit he lets his eyes scan briefly over the room before laying down, and then his heart jumps. He thought he'd seen something. A shadow by the door. That's weird, Prompto thinks, he's kind of jumpy sometimes sure, but that's usually not when he's home. He knows the layout and shadows of his room well enough not to be scared, even when he's home alone like now, with Cor away on a days-long mission. That's why it takes him a second to notice why exactly his brain had lit up with warnings like that. That shadow was not one of the old well-known ones, it wasn't supposed to be there.

The realization sends eerie shivers up his spine and he bolts upright in the bed again to double check, expecting to find maybe a jacket or hoodie hanging weirdly and making the shadow. Then he freezes. That's not what he sees. What Prompto sees is the unmistakeable silhouette of a tall, broad shouldered man, now standing in the middle of his room facing him. Prompto's eyes widen, and he thinks he should scream, he wants to scream, but he doesn't. Instead, he sucks in a sharp breath, and freezes. Fear grips his chest tight. The kind of paralyzing fear that makes him feel like even breathing too suddenly will break the fragile standstill in the room and allow something terrifying to happen.

Prompto doesn't know how long the two of them stay like that. Tension rises and hangs heavy in the air between them until it's almost unbearable. Then the man takes a few steps forward, slow and calm in his movements, and the spell is seemingly broken. Prompto can move again. The breath he'd been holding in comes out in the form of a choked gasp, and without thinking he scrambles off of the bed. He needs to get away from this man. So it's purely on instinct and fear-fuelled adrenaline that he then moves forward, ducking around the man and making a dash towards the hallway. Prompto is nearly by the door when the man catches up with him and tackles him hard to the floor. The impact knocks the wind out of him. Strong arms twist him around, so he lays on his back looking directly up at the face leering over him. There's something weirdly familiar about it, but Prompto can't put his finger on exactly what and there's no time to wonder about it now. A wordless scuffle ensues on the floor. Prompto flails and pushes against the man, hoping to regain some semblance of control over the situation. The man is muttering to himself through it all, and his face twists angrily the more Prompto squirms. Coming to a head when he in a stroke of good luck manages to connect a hit to the man's chin.

The man looks taken back for one short moment, then he gathers himself and lashes out with an enraged snarl. Grabbing the front of Prompto's t-shirt and hoisting him up from the floor, then slamming him back down. The back of Prompto's head hits the floor and he cries out as stars explode in front of his eyes. Using the time as Prompto struggles to recover from the blow to his advantage, the man yanks him up from the floor and walks him back to the bed. Prompto is dropped down, and just barely manages to brace himself against the covers before the man is on him again and something cold snaps around his right wrist. He jerks the hand back on instinct, but the man holds it tight, and he gets nowhere. The handcuffs glint in the dim light from the window in his room, and a new wave of panic washes over Prompto when the man snaps them shut around the far-right bedpost. He strains against the cuffs, using his left hand to try to push against the man when he leans over him again. "Nono, WAIT-" he begins, but the man clamps a big hand over his mouth, silencing him.

"I didn't want to do this. I wasn't going to hurt you. But you keep struggling." He mumbles. Whether it's more to himself or more to Prompto is unclear, but he leans in closer and keeps going. "The Marshal is finally gone, and I have you all to myself and you keep fighting it. Don't! Don't ruin this." Prompto closes his eyes tight, wincing in pain when the man tightens the grip over his mouth. His body is tense, and every inch of his being wants him to fight back, to grab the arm covering his mouth and get it away. But there's no telling what the man would do then, and with his right hand restrained Prompto doesn't want to risk being lashed out at again. In a position where he can't properly defend himself. "You'll stay quiet now, won't you love?" The man's voice is calmer now, but no less intense or pressing and Prompto shivers. He does not like this new pet name. "You won't cause problems anymore, and I won't have to hurt you. Cause I don't want that, and I know you don't want that either." He lets his thumb slide gently over Prompto's freckled cheek, and an involuntary whimper escapes into the hand. "I'll take my hand away if you promise to behave, love. Can you do that?"

For a second Prompto weighs his options, albeit there not being a whole lot of them in this situation, and then he nods. He's hoping that by playing along he can placate the man long enough for some other solution to eventually reveal itself. In any case something has to happen in the morning, he reasons with himself in an attempt to calm down, if he doesn't show then Noct and Gladio have to notice something's up. Upon his agreeing, the man flashes a wide smile that stands in stark contrast to the chilling horror Prompto is feeling. The hand covering his mouth is pulled back, and the tension in his body eases slightly, though it rockets back up again when the man then grabs a firm hold of his free left hand. The man's eyes hold Prompto's in a cold stare, warning him against resisting as he lifts the hand and places a soft kiss on it. Warm breath against his skin is enough to send shivers up Prompto's spine, and his breath hitches uncomfortably. Seemingly pleased with this, the man hums as he pulls out a second pair of handcuffs and snaps one part around Prompto's left wrist. Prompto's breathing picks up pace at the sight and the feeling of the cold metal, he only has time to vaguely wonder through the fear where the man has gotten these cuffs before they are snapped shut around the far-left bedpost. Now forcibly sprawled out on the bed, Prompto feels more open and vulnerable than ever before.

"Good boy." The man says, extending his hand towards Prompto and pushing a few strands of blond hair carefully to the side and out of his face. He's smiling, but Prompto wishes intently that he could be anywhere other than here. The man is still running his hand through Prompto's hair, and his touch makes Prompto's skin crawl. His eyes intently scan Prompto's face, like an artist admiring his work, and then he fishes out an old, worn phone from his pocket. Prompto wonders at first what he's planning to do with that, but not for long, as the sudden flash of a photo being taken makes him wince and shut his eyes. When he opens them back up again and they readjust to the dark he sees the man standing a few steps back, looking at his phone, presumably the picture just taken. "This one might be my favourite." he mutters, and the words make Prompto's stomach churn.

Against his better judgement Prompto opens his mouth to ask about it, but finds it and his throat too dry for any sound to come out and swallows hard before trying again. He just has to know, needs to find out why this man is doing what he's doing. "I- I think I've seen you before?" He poses it like a question, and his voice is shaky. Prompto wishes it wasn't, wishes that he could at least feign confidence despite how astronomically not okay the situation is. The man laughs in response.

"Oh, you have? Happy to hear it love, but you probably haven't seen me nearly as much as I've seen you." There's that pet name again, and Prompto squirms uncomfortably. The word stalker lights up in bright letters in his brain, but he's not going to be saying that out loud.

"But-" Prompto tries, voice meek enough to barely be more than a whisper, so he tries again. "Why all this then? Why not just approach?" he asks. To which the man's expression drops. He approaches and sits down on the bed next to Prompto. The mattress shifts and creaks from his weight.

"They wouldn't let me if I tried, so I watched from afar." He says nonchalantly, but there's something cold in his eyes now that wasn't there before. It scares Prompto, this change in demeanor. He seems somehow angrier now that he leans in closer to Prompto, again bringing his hands up to play with his hair. Prompto squirms under the touch, wishing the cuffs would allow even just a little more leeway to get away from the man. "Someone like me would never be let close to the Prince, and since you're always with him- ah, that reminds me actually." The man interrupts himself and sits back up. First and foremost, Prompto is relieved not to have his hands on him anymore, and then his brain starts chewing on what was just said. Someone like him, does he have a record then maybe? Prompto knows there are strict rules for who are and who aren't allowed near Noct, and known offenders are definitely not. Then he's distracted from his thoughts by what exactly the man is doing now that his focus isn't on Prompto. He has a phone in hand, and with a slight jolt of surprise Prompto realizes that it is his own, having been taken from the nightstand.

"Can't have your charming friends interrupting tomorrow when you don't show up for training, can we love?" He unlocks the phone and Prompto's heart sinks. How did the man know the code for his phone? But there isn't really any time to worry about it, as the man types something quick on his phone, and then turns to face Prompto. "You have now told both the Prince and his Shield not to worry that you're not coming tomorrow, as you regrettably have to leave for a bit to do an errand for the Marshal before he returns." Prompto's heart sinks further, if that is even possible. The sudden show of just how much of Prompto's life the man knows about leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but that isn't the worst part. This whole time Prompto has been counting on Noctis and Gladio to check up on him tomorrow and figure out that something's wrong, without that there is nothing he can think of that could help him.

"No!" Prompto exclaims, slightly louder than he had intended to. It just burst out of him, and he's already regretting it, with the way the man's brows are now furrowing angrily. His face twists and he surges forward. Prompto gasps, straining the cuffs in an instinctual attempt to brace himself.

"Didn't I say not to yell?" The man hisses, his right hand curls around Prompto's throat threateningly. "Why are you protesting now? This if for you, love. For us." Prompto whimpers and attempts to shake his head, but the man tightens the grip and he gasps, eyes going wide with fear. "I won't kill you, love," the man says, and he lets up the pressure, though he doesn't remove the hand. "But if someone hears you and comes running, I can't promise the same for them. They can't get in our way. And you don't want that do you?" Prompto whimpers out a tiny 'no' and the man nods intently. He opens his mouth to say something more, but a sound from downstairs catches both his and Prompto's attention. It's the sound of the front door being opened and then closed again as someone enters the house.

In the next few seconds, Prompto's mind races. Cor isn't supposed to be home for another few days. Could it be a neighbour? No, they wouldn't just let themselves in, they'd ring the doorbell first. Is it possible he could have gotten lucky, and his dad really is home early? Regardless of how small the chance of that actually is, Prompto has to try.

"Dad!" He yells, it's a weird, choked sound that comes out and he hopes to the gods that Cor really is there to respond to it. The man over him curses under his breath and slams his free hand over Prompto's mouth.

"Prom? You up?" It's Cor's voice from downstairs, Prompto has never before been so happy to hear his dad's voice. The man curses again, and Prompto's newfound relief from hearing Cor's voice is lessened somewhat. The hand still around his throat tightens, and then tightens further, so Prompto's vision blurs and he arches his back desperate to get some air.

"Shouldn't have done that, love." The man says, in a low and breathy voice. He removes the hand covering Prompto's mouth, but before Prompto can regain his breath enough to yell again, something soft is roughly stuffed into his mouth. It's something made of leather, Prompto finds, and it tastes really bad. Gloves maybe? He doesn't know. "It wasn't supposed to come to this, but I promise you," the man presses on. "I will get rid of Cor the fucking Immortal if I have to." Then he stands up, finally releasing the grip around Prompto's throat, and begins rummaging for something one the floor just out of Prompto's line of sight. Downstairs, Cor yells for Prompto again, confusion and worry laced in his voice and the man gets up. He walks towards the door, and light from the window glints in a blade in the man's hand.

Prompto's eyes widen and he yells, but it's muffled by the gag. He has to warn Cor in some way. Prompto knows his dad is a good fighter, one of the very best in fact, but worry still clenches his chest hard. What if the man catches him off guard and he ends up hurt? He can hear yelling form downstairs now, both the stalker's enraged voice and Cor's own. Something breaks, and the sounds of the fight continue, getting more and more distant as the two presumably move to a different room. Wanting nothing more than to go check on his dad, Prompto struggles against the handcuffs. He twists and squirms and strains until his wrists are rubbed raw, but gets nowhere. Then he stops. It's gotten quiet downstairs. No sounds of a fight, nothing. He yells again for Cor, not caring about the gag muffling his yells, Cor has to hear them. Then the staircase starts creaking as someone walks up to the second floor, and Prompto's heart beats faster. He can already envision the man from before coming up the stairs, having done something horrible to Cor and coming to take him away. Tears are prickling in his eyes, and when a silhouetted man finally enters his field of vision, he chokes out a terrified sob.

"Prompto!"

It's Cor. It's his dad running through the hall towards him, yelling his name, and relief floods through him. The first few tears start to fall just as Cor reaches the bed and kneels down next to it. The gag goes first, Cor removes it carefully and tosses it on the floor while Prompto coughs involuntarily in the absence of it. "Are you hurt?" Is the first question he has, eyes scanning over Prompto intently, searching for any pressingly dangerous injuries. Prompto shakes his head. He doesn't try to speak, knowing he would probably just cry. Cor's brows furrow worriedly, but he moves on to the handcuffs without further questions. The one around Prompto's right wrist first, and he curses under his breath at how the metal has rubbed his son's skin raw, and at certain places drawn blood. He makes swift work of the first pair of cuffs, and moves on to the ones chaining Prompto's left wrist.

When both his hands are properly released Prompto moves to sit upright on the bed, and winces when the movement jostles sore joints and muscles. Cor is quick to help, placing a secure hand on his shoulder and supporting him as he sits up. And suddenly it's all too much for Prompto, it's like a breath of tension leaving his body and everything comes crashing down. Cor seems to have seen it coming just ahead of time and drags Prompto against his chest for a tight hug as the rest of the tears run unhindered down freckled cheeks. "Shh, shh, you're okay kid. You're okay now." Cor whispers in a soft tone of voice uncharacteristic of the man, rubbing soothing circles on Prompto's back.

Gradually, the trembling stops and the tears slow down. Prompto's breath hitches as he looks back up at Cor. His expression, previously one of worry and tension, has softened considerably as well. Cor poses the idea of going to the bathroom for something to treat his wrists with, and Prompto agrees, sniffling and drying the remaining tears on the way through the hallway. Seated on the toilet as Cor finds a potion to use, Prom asks about the man. His throat is stuffy and tight from crying, so it takes him a few tries to get the words properly out. Cor smiles bitterly, breaking the potion over Prompto's extended hands, and tells him he doesn't need to worry about it.

"He's out cold downstairs, I've called Monica to come get him and lock him up. We'll deal with the rest tomorrow." He explains, and Prompto nods, it sounds like a reasonable plan. However, when the doorbell rings, signalling Monica's arrival, Prompto hesitates. He doesn't want to go downstairs. Doesn't want to have to see the man any more times than necessary. Cor gets it, Prompto doesn't even need to say anything, his dad just gets it. Prompto waits upstairs until the man has been taken away, and knowing he's out of the house helps, admittedly not a lot, but it helps. Then Cor yawns, and suggests for them to go to bed, but truth be told Prompto isn't exactly keen on going back to his room tonight. Cor gets that too, and they both end up sleeping on the couch in the living room.

#Whump #bthb #bad things happen bingo #rasko's bthb #chained to bed #final fantasy xv #ffxv whump #prompto argentum #cor leonis #Prompto Argentum whump #stalker #creepy whumper #papa cor

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wilwywaylan · 3 years ago

Text

Here’s to pretty boys who went to our beds

Fandom : Stand Still Stay Silent

Canon-compliant, post-Adventure 1, Emil x Lalli, 5104 words, gen / K+

Béta-ed by the amazing @paon-de-jour ♥♥

Emil just wanted a bed for himself and some peace, but Lalli has other plans...

Please pretend that they stayed one night in town before leaving for Reynir’s place.

Also on AO3 !

Emil looked around the room, appraising each and every minute detail. It was nothing more than a small, square space, with a single person bed, a small nightstand that had seen better days, and a giant dresser that dwarfed the whole room. Impression made even stronger by the wooden floor and panelling that tried to pass as dark and polished, but was certainly black due to old age. The only fanciness came from paper-thin drapes hanging in front of the tiny window, and a copper lamp set on the nightstand. Emil could maybe have tried to get something a little better, but the cost would certainly have climbed to high heavens, and he wasn't even sure there was anything better in that hotel. And after months spent in cramped spaces with no privacy, way too much noise, and sometimes no walls, it felt more welcoming that any house Emil had ever set foot in.

He set his bag at the foot of the bed - the room was so narrow that it ate almost all the space between the furniture and the wall - but right now, the only thing that mattered was the mattress, and a great question : would it be comfortable, or hard as a plank ? He sat down, carefully. And promptly let himself fall backwards. Oh, it was comfortable. It was better than comfortable. It was soft, it was sinful, it was heavenly. It sank under him, hugging his body in a warm embrace. What was in it, Emil didn't know. Feathers, straw... didn't matter. But it was nice. It was perfect.

He quickly undressed, setting his clothes at the end of the bed, and slid under the - soft, heavy, warm - blankets. The bedspread on top of them looked handknit - handknit ! Emil burried his face in the pillow that was maybe even softer than the mattress, breathed in the smell of soap and something that was certainly not that of a pillowcase that hadn't been washed for months. He didn't want to leave, ever. No way he could go back to a measly cot in a boat or a tank. He burrowed a little deeper under the covers, enjoying the warmth, and the quiet. After months locked in a metal can or being in the wild every night , the silence of the night was almost deafening. No motor noises to keep him awake, no cat stepping on every bed in the middle of the night, no crew mates to fill the air with random sighs (Tuuri), grunts (Mikkel), mumbles (Reynir and Sigrid) or all those mixed with tossing and turning (Lalli). Nothing but the cracks of the rafters over his head, and a gust of wind from time to time, gently whistling around the building, rattling the shutters against the wall. Any other time, he would have got up to secure them and stop that noise, but the effort needed was way too important right now. Already, his eyes were closing, his body was getting heavier and heavier. Before he could muster the energy to get up, he had fallen prey to sleep.

To shoot up only an hour later, heart knocking against his ribs. That last crack hadn't come from above like the others, but somewhere from his left. Something was out there, something that could catch him at any time, and he had fallen asleep like an idiot, without a vigil, and he had discarded his weapons, oh no where were they, he only had a few seconds before...

The shutter rattled again, managing to cut through the rising panic and bring him back to his senses. There was no troll, or giant, or any creature prowling in the dark. He was not outside in the Silent World, but in a small hotel in a secure town, in a regular bed, with a roof over his head and a hefty meal in his stomach. There was no weapon beside his bed, because there was no need. He was safe.

But that didn't explain the crack that had woke him up. And another, even closer. Troll or not, something was coming nearer. Emil patted the nightstand, trying to find the copper lamp and a way to light it, when something landed on the bed, sinking the mattress.

If someone had asked him under oath to tell the truth, Emil would still deny that he let out anything else than a small noise, and certainly not a piercing shriek. Something knocked him lightly on the side of the head.

- Stop, stupid.

Emil's heart jumped once more, but it was more surprise than fear. Now that he'd grown accustomed to the darkness, he could vaguely see a human-shaped shadow beside him. A human-shaped with silvery hair barely visible and large, blue eyes, faintly glowing in the darkness.

- Lalli ? What are you doing here ?

Emil realized then that he had spoken entirely in Swedish, and probably too fast for Lalli to grasp what he was saying. But his point seemed to reach him, because he said, with a gesture that could have been a shrug :

- Tired. Sleep.

The words took two seconds to make their way through the fog of sleep still wrapped around Emil's thoughts, and not just because of Lalli's accent. In fact, it had got a little better lately, better at least than Emil's Finnish. But good Swedish or not, there was no reasons he cound envision that would bring the mage on his bed in the middle of the night. Maybe it was another trick of his mind, like imagining Lalli in his dreams. If it had been a trick, which wasn't neither here nor there.

Lalli must have grown impatient, because he pushed him aside. Or tried to, but his arms weren't strong enough to do more than move Emil an inch to the right. At least it made his intentions crystal clear, which only served to confuse Emil even more. He couldn't remember when or if he'd ever seen Lalli sleep in a bed in a normal way, only under beds, in small spaces, or curled up in a seat in a way oddly reminiscent of a cat. But in a bed ? No, never. Which made even more puzzling the fact that not only he wanted a bed, but he seemed to have set his mind on Emil's bed. It... didn't make sense. Not at all.

- Lalli, Emil said cautiously, this is my bed, and...

- I know. Move.

- You don't have a room ? Didn't Onni...?

Lalli scoffed at the suggestion.

- Move, he repeated.

Emil could have thrown him out. He could have nicely suggested that he went back to his own room to enjoy his probably-as-comfortable bed or his probably-not-as-comfortable floor under said bed, or a tent shared with his cousin, or wherever he wanted to spend the night. He could have defended his right to his own bed after months of rooming with the noisiest roommates in the world. He deserved it, dammit ! He had earned it !

Instead, he laid down again and moved against the wall, leaving some space. Not much, it was still a single-person bed, and not a very large at that. He was expecting Lalli to lie down beside him, like they had done every time they had shared their sleeping quarters. At least the Finn didn't take too much space, built as he was, as long as he didn't flap around too much. He certainly didn't expect Lalli to just pull the covers and flop down. On him. His head hit Emil on the chest, knocking the wind out of him and effectively cutting down on all his protestations. In the several seconds it took for him to get his breath back, Lalli had settled on him, one leg thrown over Emil's and an arm around his waist. His head nestled on Emil's shoulder, moving a little to make himself more comfortable. And he stayed like this, perfectly happy with the situation.

Which wasn't Emil's case. Not that he was complaining, but... Okay, he should be complaining, a lot. Saying something, anything, because this certainly wasn't normal. There wasn't any way Lalli was right now lying on top of him like he was just another pillow, not flinching away from the contact. It was just a dream. That, or Lalli was very, very drunk. And, then, it was very, very bad of Emil to get any enjoyment from the situation. He needed to do the right thing, before Lalli came back to his senses and killed him very gruesomely.

Carefully, Emil extracted his hand from where it was stuck, between the mattress and the wall, and shook Lalli's shoulder. He was immediatly swatted at.

- Stop, Lalli growled.

- You're not... Emil started, but he couldn't get farther.

- Tired. I sleep. Talk in morning.

His voice seemed assured enough for him not to be drunk, and enough also for Emil to guess that he wasn't going to move anytime soon. Emil could have moved him himself, rolled him out of bed and in the hallway, leave him to find his way back to his room on his own. But he didn't.

Instead, he did his best to make himself as comfortable as possible. It was made a bit easier by Lalli lying on top of him instead of beside him, leaving him a bit more space. And a lot, a whole lot harder by everything else. First, because nothing, be it in the army or during their little expedition, could have help him get ready for someone sleeping on him. It was... weird. He knew how heavy Lalli was (which was, not a lot), he'd carried him or dragged him around enough to know it. But right now, he was heavy enough to pin him to the mattress, keeping him where he was with no chance of escape.

Second, because Lalli was, there was no other way to put it, pointy. His cheekbone was digging in Emil's collarbone, painfully pressing against it each time he moved. His shoulder was tightly squashed against Emil's, and his knee was poking him in the thigh. He'd probably have bruises in the morning, he thought a little bitterly.

And third, because it was starting to be uncomfortably hot under the blankets. Lalli's body was giving an impressive amouth of warmth, and wrapped as he was around Emil, he was acting like some kind of weirdly shaped comforter. Except for his feet, which were still ice cold, and pressed against Emil's legs to warm them. Leaving, of course, two freezing spots on his skin.

Still, Emil didn't even try to make their respective positions better, only pushed the blankets down a little, burrowed his head in the pillow that Lalli had left him, and closed his eyes. But even exhausted as he was, sleep evaded him. He could feel minutes pass, one by one, jumping lightly over him, his eyelids growing heavy... but still, he was wide awake, glaring in the darkness at the ceiling he couldn't see. Come on, he had managed to sleep through the noise of the tank, the snores of three-to-five people (depending on the night), being chased by monsters, and now, such a minor inconvenience would be too much for him to sleep through ? Nonsense !

But could he really put Lalli down as an annoyance ? Granted, he was annoyed, yes. That he couldn't get the privacy and full bed he had been yearning so much after. But as the minutes passed one by one, slowly becoming an hour, Emil realized that he cared less and less about it. Maybe he was finally falling asleep. Or maybe he just couldn't stay mad at Lalli for more than a few minutes. Even at his worse behavior (the breakfast incident was coming to mind), Emil kept coming back to him, trying to make himself understand, and to break the icy demeanor. Well, it seemed to have worked wonderfully, if their position was anything to go by.

The Finn didn't seem to have the same hang-ups as he did, and had fallen asleep. His breath was even, and the grasp around Emil had relaxed a little. He didn't seem disturbed by the situation. The situation he'd orchestrated and that was entirely his doing, okay. But still. For someone who was so skittish and only slept in closed spaces, he looked perfectly fine sleeping in the open, in such proximity of someone whom he could barely communicate with out of the dream realm. Very unaware or uncaring of the predicament he had just thrown Emil in. Was he even conscious of it ? Or did he just get so used to sharing sleeping quarters that he just didn't realize how someone would feel in this situation ?

Because he was feeling weird, and it had nothing (next-to-nothing) to do with the normal weirdness of the situation. Unless feeling one's cheeks burn and one's pulse running fast were usual symptoms of having one's private space invaded. His heart was beating wildly against his ribs, so hard that Lalli would surely hear it and wake up. And then call him stupid. Which seem to be more and more common, these days. Not the stupid-calling part, even if Lalli still used the word a great deal.

He hadn't thought that much, at the start. Since the first days of the expedition, he'd taken an interest in Lalli. Maybe because the mage was intriguing, with his weird manierisms, his distant attitude and his piercing eyes. Maybe because he was aloof, and being ignored didn't stand well with Emil. He had tried his best, trying to get to him, seeking his attention, talking to him despite the barrier language, getting only weird glances and muttered groans for his efforts. But they had grown closer, slightly. The pull had grown stronger, keeping Emil drawn to Lalli, more and more, and Lalli, in turn, became a little less cold, a little... friendlier, even ?

And when he was around him, when he managed to make him lose the glum expression, even for half a second, even just a slight quirk of the lips, when Lalli let his shields down around him and acted a little more comfortable, Emil's heart started beating a little faster, and he felt... strange. The first time, he had thought he had caught a fever, and actually started checking everywhere he could if he wasn't developping the first traces of the Rash, even knowing very well that he was immune. But there was nothing, and the feeling had receeded. At the time, he had felt relieved. Until Lalli almost-smiled at him, and it came back, the heart, the heat, and clammy hands at the same time. And again, and again, until Emil started to see a pattern. It was Lalli. A Lalli-induced fever. That was stupid, but he couldn't deny the link. And still, he kept seeking Lalli's presence, because being with Lalli made him feel weird, but there was also a feeling of elatement when he could reach him, a rush of energy that made him smile no matter what.

And then, of course, the whole dreamscape adventure happened. It had been weird, to be suddenly able to communicate with Lalli perfectly. To discover that the Finn was way less silent and drawn than Emil had first thought, quite sarcastic, even, and seemed very perfectly comfortable with sharing a space with him. It had been fun, in a way, enjoyable, even, to spend time together, to chat like that, and Emil did regret not being able to do it anymore.

(His mind carefully danced around the events that led to said dreamscape adventure, pushing aside the fear at being lost far away from the others, at seeing Lalli's lifeless body, the low-key despair of dragging said body across a snowy waistland without a hint of relief in sight, the pain in his arms, his legs, his head, burning and freezing, the hunger, and the loneliness, and above all, the terror, neverending, squeezing his heart, and him counting the steps as not to think about what would happen sooner or later, counting the steps at day and Lalli's breaths at night, scared of them stopping and not going again...)

Maybe that was the reason of Lalli's presence right now. A way of thanking him for not abandonning him to the dusklings or in the middle of the snow, of taking care of him even in the face of impending death. Had he caught on Emil's efforts, or maybe those feelings that even he couldn't put a name on, that made him seek the Finn through his worst moods and stay with him no matter what ? Did he see his presence tonight, the was he was holding on Emil, as some kind of... reward ? A way of getting even ?

Emil's chest suddenly felt tight, and a sharp pain on the side made him wince. No, that could be possible, he didn't want to even entertain the thought. Lalli didn't just decide to come and sleep in his bed just in exchange for saving his life, like he would have bought him dinner or a trinket or something. He would certainly have retorted that Emil did choose to help him and besides, he had already thanked him. And they had saved each other's lives enough by now not to think that one needed to find a way to thank the other. No, it wasn't just some kind of weird, emotionless transaction. It couldn't be ! He didn't want it to be ! He didn't want it to be just give and take. He wanted it to be as meaningful for Lalli as it was for him. He wanted Lalli to want to be with him, to seek his companionship as Emil seeked his. He wanted Lalli to appreciate him. To like him. And the weight of that realization was as crushing as the one on his chest.

Lalli suddenly stirred, his arm tightening around Emil. His foot shot up, hitting him in the shin and made him yelp. The noise didn't wake Lalli up, but he started trashing around, his hand reaching up to grab at his hair and pull. All idea of sleep left Emil's mind ; Lalli's nightmares usually meant troubles incoming, and incoming fast. He listened intently, trying to pick on anything that would mean troubles, a noise, a signal, anything. But the night was silent, beside the small rustling of the blanket and the strangled whines ripped out of Lalli's throat.

A pitpating outside the door drew Emil's attention. Cat paws. A cat was going down the hallway. And it didn't seem to hurry in any way. Which meant that there wasn't any danger around. Good. Then Lalli's nightmare was just that, a nightmare. This came as no surprise for Emil ; with everything he'd seen and been through, it was even a wonder that he had been able to fall asleep. He'd probably had nightmares every night since he'd managed to get out of the dream world, and even before. And he had had to deal with them alone, without anyone to help. Not that Emil knew how to help someone he could barely have a conversation with, especially when one was awake and couldn't get into the dreamscape. And Lalli hadn't shown a thing to anyone, dealing alone with hurt and fear. It hurt, it hurt a lot to think of his friend having to go through it alone.

Gently, Emil laid a hand on Lalli's forehead, slid it over his eyes. It had worked, that time, in the cat tank, and it worked again. Lalli emited a low noise, that "mrrp" that sounded so much like a cat purring, and relaxed. His hand opened slightly, the fingers still curling around Emil's collar. His breath evened out, stroking Emil's throat, making him shiver, but he didn't push him or turn away. It was a mark that Lalli's sleep had become peaceful again, at least for the time being. It made Emil smile, to see that he could still be of help for Lalli. Of course, he wouldn't be able to do that every night, unless they slept in close quarters on the regular again, like they did in the wild, or shared...

Emil shook his head to push the idea out of his mind. Not because it was in direct opposition with what he wanted (privacy, a bed just for him), but because it made him feel strangely... giddy. No, he didn't want that ! He wanted his comfort, he wanted to be left alone ! But even as he tried to focus on this, on a bed larger and larger each time, he didn't feel as elated as he was previously. He was trying to picture the numerous pillows and the heavy comforter, when Lalli moved a little against him, mrrping again, and Emil immediatly forgot about his plans.

Very gently, he unstuck his arm from where it was caught under Lalli, and brought him around the Finn's shoulders to pull him a little closer. He didn't dare turning on his side and holding him fully. Even now, he wasn't sure of how much exactly Lalli would accept from him, and he didn't want to start pushing him too far. Especially not now, when he was sleeping and could not agree or disagree. So he stayed as he was, enjoying the warmth of Lalli against him, the lull of his breath and the low sighs he gave here and there. The awkwardness had dissipated, leaving him with contentment, and horribly exhausted. But it didn't matter if he could stay like this, Lalli's head on his shoulder and his arm around his waist, safe against him.

That's how sleep claimed him, holding Lalli, the blankets tight around them like a cocoon, keeping them close.

Emil awoke with a start. He'd been sleeping so peacefully, perfectly settled in his bed, when the shutters had slammed together with a bang. He sat up, heart beating wildly. It took him a second to remember where he was and what he was doing here. Sleeping, right. Enjoying the real bed with a real mattress. Spending a real, restful night in a real room. He let himself fall down, relishing in the dip under him. He spread his arms, almost hitting the wall in the process, and let himself drift away again.

Wait.

There was something wrong with the picture. He hadn't laid like that last night, occupying all the space he could, because there was no space to speak of, courtesy of Lalli. He could still remember the Finn's weight on his shoulder and how his arm had grasped him around the waist. But there was no trace of Lalli in the room bathed by the early morning light. No warmth beside him, no footprints on the floorboards, nothing. Like he had vanished into thin air. Or rather, abandonned ship as soon as he could.

Emil tried not to feel too disappointed at the thought, but he could have guess it would end like this. Lalli may have looked for a place to sleep, but it was on his terms. Being held too close by Emil certainly didn't factor in his decision, and he probably had run as soon as he realized their closeness. He probably hated him for catching him in such a position, now, and he would certainly never talk to him again. Not that Emil minded, of course. His bed would be his and his alone.

... oh, who was he trying to kid ? Of course, he would mind ! He had made so many efforts to get closer to Lalli, and he had thrown everything out the window because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. Stupid. Lalli was right. Stupid, stupid Emil ! He would have slapped himself, hadn't he been afraid of leaving marks on his cheeks. Maybe he could fix it by going into the dreamspace and explain everything to Lalli ? But one needed to be asleep for that, and he certainly wasn't ready to go back to sleep. Not to mention Lalli was awake, and wouldn't be there. Solace wouldn't come from there. He needed to find a way to apologize, and to apologize well, or Lalli would surely hate him forever.

The door opened, and Lalli walked in, a large serving of cookies in hand. He sat on the bed, plate balanced on one pointy knee, and started eating. Emil stared at him, bewildered. Here he was, trying not to feel like his heart was ripped out of his chest, and Lalli was just munching on his cookies like he didn't have a care in the world, like nothing had happened ! How could he ! Damn bloody Finn !

Lalli must have sensed Emil's eyes on him, because he suddenly turned towards him.

- What ?

Emil scrambled to find something to say something that Lalli would get.

- Last night... he started.

And stopped, because what could you add to that ? "Why did you decide to sleep in my bed and also cuddle with me like some kind of very big cat, and also I liked that because I've just realized I like you and it felt very good" ? First, he didn't know how to say that in Finnish, he had barely reached "good night", and Lalli's Swedish was only a smidge better. Second, because he wasn't sure this wouldn't get him on the business end of Lalli's knife. Or worse, rifle. In fact, he didn't know which option he prefered, because Lalli was deadly with both.

- What ? Lalli repeated, in the same tone.

He was expecting an answer, and probably wouldn't let him until he got it.

- Last night, Emil tried again. You.... angry ?

Lalli stared at him for a few seconds.

- No, he finally answered with a frown. Tired. Not angry.

- No, no, I mean... You know... the...

The words were evading him, so Emil made a tentative gesture of hugging someone. Lalli kept staring, in the same way he did that first time on the train, the one that made Emil shiver, head tilted on the side like a curious cat.

- No, he suddenly said.

And he went back to eat his cookies, while Emil wondered if one could die of a mix of embarrasment, anger and frustration. He certainly felt like it. But still, he refrained from screaming, pushing Lalli on the floor or grab the pillow and deck him on the head. That would certainly get him punched or worse.

- You didn't ? I mean... you're not... angry ? with ?

- No.

It was a little louder, and Emil got the message. With a sigh, he moved against the headboard and leaned his head against it, closing his eyes. Good, Lalli wasn't angry against him. And still, he couldn't help but feel a little... disappointed ? Because Lalli hadn't mentionned anything about his reasons, or would he do it again, or... anything, really. And certainly nothing about doing it again sometimes. And it would have been a lie to say that it didn't hurt a little to see him so... aloof again, like it didn't hold any meaning for him.

The mattress moved, and he opened his eyes, expecting Lalli to have grown tired of his silence and apparent moodiness and left. Instead, the Finn had come to sit beside him, the now half-empty plate still on his lap. They were so close that their shoulders were touching, and their legs pressed together, lightning each and every nerve of Emil's on fire. He didn't dare looking in Lalli's direction, didn't even dare breathing, less the moment be broken. Twenty-four hours ago, he was considering being able to have a conversation with Lalli the biggest step in their friendship. But in the last eight hours, Lalli had come in close contact with him, willingly, not once, but twice, and had told him he wasn't angry at being held through the night. From him, that was a great leap, and Emil tried very hard not to dwell on it too much, lest his heart start running way too fast again. He tried to focus on something, anything, how many explosives he should buy later, and how Reynir's hair was still a mess, everything to forget their closeness, but every thought was shattered each time Lalli moved and his leg brushed against his, turning his brain into mush.

Emil suddenly realized that Lalli seemed to be inching towards him. While two minutes ago, their knees and shoulders were barely touching, Lalli's hip was now against his, pointy as ever, digging into his own luckily protected by the waistband of his pants. And he didn't seem bothered by it. Granted, he still had a plate of cookies to distract him from the issue, but still. Emil knew him enough to know that food wouldn't be enough if he was really upset or uncomfortable.

On a whim, he unstuck his arm from between them, and carefully slid it behind Lalli. The Finn glanced at him, but otherwise didn't move. Fine. So far. Now, the most difficult part. Slowly, Emil lowered his hand, put it around Lalli's shoulder. This time, the chewing stopped.

- Does it... can I ? Okay ? Emil quickly asked. I should have asked before but... I... okay ?

There was an uncomfortable silence, long enough for Emil to start regretting everything he ever did wrong in his life, which seemed like a lot. He wanted to take his hand away, but maybe it would have been worse. Lalli was now looking at him, and there was something in his eyes (weird, unreadable, beautiful) that made Emil want to run away, or maybe stay where he was forever. But finally, Lalli broke the spell.

- Okay, he simply said.

It was just a word, but one that set Emil's heart to fly. He could feel his face break into the widest grin. Lalli didn't comment on anything, but he held out the plate, offering him one of the remaining cookies. Emil took it and munched happily on it. He didn't know exactly why Lalli did agree to that, why he was now standing so close to him, and there was still the why of his presence this night. All those points were starting to trace a pattern pointing in a satisfying direction, but he didn't want to think too much about it. Just staying like this was enough for him, and for Lalli too, he hoped. Maybe he could ask him later, when they both shared the dreamscape again. But for now, this was enough. And maybe, the next night, Lalli would come and steal his bed again. Emil was certainly looking up to that.

#stand still stay silent #emil vasterström #lalli hotakainen #emilalli #poor emil will never get his bed #but I don't think he'll mind #first time writing them #they are so fun #I love them

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imagineabrighterworld · 4 years ago

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The Saint and the Prince pt.2

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓸𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼𝓷’𝓽 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾

You look at your mother through the mirror as she braids ribbons into your hair. Her hands flutter as they hold your locks of hair with infinite gentleness.

You were dressed in the color of persimmons and summer peaches, from the ribbons in your hair to the dye streaking your cheeks. You felt silly dressed so weirdly. It wasn't like your family to be so.. Colorful. Not on a day like this. Everyone was wearing black except for you.

You shuffle uncomfortably in your seat. Your mother was crying, and yet she was doing your hair.

“Mama?” You whisper, hating the way her hands began to tremble and lose hold of your hair. Why was she crying? What was making her so sad? “Mama you're scaring me.”

She sniffles, using the back of her palm to wipe away the wetness of her tears. “Forgive me..” The kohl lining her eyes is smeared, but she pays no mind to the smudges on her hands. “Forgive me.”

You want to comfort her but she coaxes you into staying still as she finishes with your hair. It is only when your father comes into the room that you begin to piece together what is happening. You were being taken away from her, but why? It was supposed to be a good day today. The Alshanun Iraziz, the Sun Saint was supposed to be coming to bring her blessings, just like your papa said.

Your mother’s cries of anguish grow louder now as your father guides you out of the room, his own sniffles paled in comparison to hers. The sound of shattering glass is your only goodbye from your mother.

“Papa? I'm afraid.”

He says nothing. His hand tightens around yours, the bones in your hand squeezing together, but you're too afraid to pull away from him. Afraid he might disappear, or go back home to mama, leaving you alone.

A crowd lays in front of you, the familiar black clothing of the Sun Saint’s day is before you. Why were you in color when they were in black? You felt like an ill beating heart in the crowd of bleakness.

Now, you stand in the center of your town.

The villagers around you murmur prayers as you pass them by. They reach out and kiss your palms. As if you were a saint in the books your grandmother had coveted so long ago. Whispers surround you, the sounds crawling on your skin uncomfortably.

𝓞 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓴𝔂, 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼, 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓝𝓪𝓭𝓪

Your father left you behind somewhere in the crowd as he ushered you to the platform in the middle of the crowd. His face blurred among the people, but somewhere in the throng you swear you can hear his cries.

As you look down at the orangewood platform carved with prayers, you know why your mother was crying. You know why the people have to hold your father back as his cries turn to screams.

“Bueirikan kembali! Khadhnaa!”

Give her back. Take me.

“Ahfuz tifli!”

Save my child.

The high priest stands behind you as the sun begins to rise.

𝓐𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼

The orange sky is the last thing you see as a knife is plunged into your back.

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼

---

Shoto returned to the others with his mind full of the color orange.

He mostly stayed quiet for the reminder of their tour around the town, his eyes constantly drifting to the blossoms covering every inch of the buildings. Their sweet scent was almost too much. Their flowers thick with nectar.

The town felt stifling, he didn't know why, but perhaps his talk with the mysterious woman would clear things up.

Bachar leads them back to his home and holds a feast with several of the neighboring lords as guests. Shoto isn't eager to converse, but he does his part as prince and answers their questions and occasionally offers up one of his own. They spoke of trade between the kingdoms and the benefits their people might have if they worked closely together.

The Alshanun kingdom had bountiful amounts of herbal medicine, spices, and pastures full of cattle, while Todoroki’s kingdom had less greenlands. But where it lacked in greenery, it was full of libraries, a strong army to defend from invaders, gold deposits, and waterfalls that held water so clear you could see all the way to the bottom of their lakes.

A partnership could keep both of their people comfortable for years to come.

Night fell, and soon the group was off to their chambers.

“Todoroki?” Midoriya asks from behind him, his hand on the doorknob of his own room. “Where did you go? You know, earlier.”

Shoto remains quiet, his eyes shifting to his door. A phantom breeze brushes against his arm, eerily reminding him of a hand. “Nowhere.”

It wasn't in his place to question a prince, but it was in his place to question a friend. So Midoriya asks once more. “Are you sure?”

Shoto looks at his friend, his eyes roving over his face. He was worried, and it warmed his heart to know he had a friend who truly cared. But he didn't have answers yet. He couldn't reassure his friend without any information. All he had was the memory of a girl.

“I’m sure.” The corners of his lips tug upward. “Goodnight.”

Entering his room, Shoto looks at the wallpaper lining the walls and the stumpy candles lining the window sill. With a flick of his hand, he lights them, watching as the wax begins to melt at their center. The warm smell of vanilla fills the room as he changes and soon he is in bed, drifting off to sleep.

When he wakes, the sunlight is weakly filtering in, not yet a deep gold but a pale yellow that engulfs his room. He sits up slowly and looks at the window to where the candles had long been extinguished in their own wax.

He listens for the sounds of life outside his door, but all there is is silence. Not even the servants were up yet.

Shoto sits up and pulls the sheets away from himself. He had half a mind to stay in bed and wait until the others were awake, maybe travel around the nearby towns and meet its lords. But he didn't listen to that half.

Slipping out of his room, he quietly makes his way out of the mansion after dressing in simple black clothing. It wasn't what he was accustomed to wearing, not when it was the color of mourning. But it helped him blend in with the early risers already setting up shop, helped him not feel a fool when they waved good morning to him.

Wending his way to the fountain from the day before, he sits at its edge, looking into its waters. Vaguely he could sense it, feel the way it would turn to ice beneath his touch. How its side would frost.

He doesn't notice you as you look over his shoulder at the water. Doesn't see your reflection until you're smiling at him.

“Hello again princeling.” You step back just as the stranger in front of you whips his head back. His eyes widen before they narrow, his lips a flat line.

“Hello.” He says warily, his eyes flickering to your orange and saffron clothing. “Why are you dressed like that?”

You sit next to him, undisturbed by how he looks at you. As if you were doing something out of line. He truly was a prince, one who obviously wasn't very social. “That’s the wrong question. I’ll grant you one answer.”

“Why do you speak like this? What are you hiding?”

“Wrong again princeling.”

Small ice crystals prick at his skin as a small pout forms on his face, a crease building between his brows. You hold in a smile as you see the gears turning in his head. You rarely got to have fun, and it was amusing seeing him so confused.

“Who are you?”

You let your smile show. Finally, he got it right. “I am the Alshanun Iraziz. The Sun Saint.”

“Were you always this way?”

Now he was asking the right questions, you muse as you inspect his hands that had folded themselves neatly on his lap, hiding the frost that was forming on his fingers. You could feel the power thrumming in his veins. The ice and the fire. If you were alive, you would have been concerned at how easily he might set you alight or freeze the blood in your veins. But you were an Iraziz, a Saint, and his gifts held no sway over you.

“No. I used to be just like you. Alive with a beating heart. I used to wear black, just like you. Now, all I ever wear is this.” You look at your silk slippers and the folds of your skirts embroidered with gold string. It was the most expensive thing you ever had in life. A gift from the High Priest that had ended your life, giving you this life in its place.

“What is your name?”

So much for one answer, you think to yourself. But it had been so long since you've spoken with anyone.

“I’ve forgotten my true one.” You dip your hand in the waters of the fountain, the cool waters soothing your warm skin. It was always so warm around this time of year, even when the sun was at its weakest. “I didn't know to hold it close, the day I became the Alshanun Iraziz was the same day I lost my name. I don't suppose I’ll ever get it back now.” It had been too long. Your people were long gone and replaced with their descendants. The faces you looked at now were watered down versions of your kin.

“What is your name?” You ask him, looking at his face to find him staring at your hand and the waters that didn't shift with your touch.

“Todoroki Shoto.”

You hum. “Todoroki. I’ve heard of it before. When your family was still only lords, not kings and queens.”

Todoroki’s face turns considering. “You've been alive a long time.”

“Alive is one way of putting it.”

“Then how did you come to be? Is your gift to be an undead? A shadow?”

“I’m glad you still believe I’m some form of alive, but I assure you, my life was snuffed ages ago.” There was no bitterness in your voice, you had long ago come to accept your fate. “I was sacrificed to become the new Iraziz, my people decided my fate long before your kingdom was unified.”

You feel his ice before it crawls into the water, freezing the fountain as a look of diluted horror crosses his face. “Your own people let you die?”

You chuckle. “It’s not unlike parting your meal for your gods, or offering them a glass of wine. Or how you dedicate a moment of your day in prayer for good fortune. My people gave me to the Sun, praying for a miracle. When my life was taken, a new one was given.”

“Were you.. the first?” The ice behind you slowly melts, a hiss of steam telling you the prince was undoing his work.

Now you can feel the old ache. The ghostly touch of your mothers hands as she fixed your hair, the feeling of your fathers fingers curling around your own.

“No. I wasn't.”

So many girls had gone through the same ritual. So many had their lives ripped away like pins in the hair. “I am, however, the last. After me, no other girls have been sacrificed.”

“Why?” What stopped them? You can see the unspoken question in his eyes.

“Each year, my spirit withers and turns weak, which is why they replaced the Iraziz each year with a new girl, a fresh spirit. But I’ve held onto this life, I’ve preformed miracles to show I’m still here. So no other girl has to die.”

The bubbling of the water fountain speaks for the both of you as you watch the people in their shops, readying their wares. No matter what their ancestors did to you, you held no hate for them in your heart. You could feel the remnants of rage that the girls before you held, but you had no such reservations.

Todoroki watches your people with you, his eyes distant and unfeeling. You didn't understand what he was thinking, but you could feel. Feeling wasn't your gift, not like how his gift was ice and fire, but you were always open to others feelings. So susceptible. It was heightened now in death.

“What is it you're thinking of princeling?” You ask.

“You said something when we meant yesterday. That I needed you.”

“I did.”

“Why do you think I need you?”

“You're lonely. You feel lost, like a ghost in a living body. Something is holding you prisoner.”

He glances at you from the side. “I’m not lost.”

“Then why do you have this look in your eyes, like you wish to be somewhere else. I felt a kindred spirit in you when I first crossed paths with you. Can you say you didn't feel the same?”

He doesn’t agree, but he doesn't disagree either. He simply stands up and begins to pace around the fountain, his hands clasped together behind him.

You lay down on the stones of the fountain, watching his pacing. As a saint, you couldn't help but feel pulled to the needy. It was strange knowing he needed you. That a prince could be so deeply wounded that he needed a saint’s help. But you couldn't rest until he was happy, until that dark ache inside of him was soothed.

“I.. I do not need you.” He says aloud, stopping across from you, the water fountain blocking your view of him. “I’ve already let go.”

“We both know that isn’t true.” You whisper, “I can feel you calling out. But I will be here for when you need me.”

“I don't-”

But you were already gone, and the sun was looming gold over the land.

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baodurs · 4 years ago

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i filled out this super cool button character profile by @extraordinarymage for sabrina! thank you for making this, it was a lot of fun to fill out <3 the bulk of it is under a cut and oh boy is it long !!!

Short, Quick Reference

Name: Sabrina Wiseman

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Love Interest: Kent

Main personality trait: Confidence

Secondary personality trait: Morbidity

Relationship with Nick: Full of love, haunted by unaddressed guilt and frustration. But mostly full of love.

Nickname for Nick: Saint Nick (used sparingly)

Resentful or accepting?: Slightly resentful

Main strategy (interpersonal, insightful, innovative?): Insightful

Ethical or expedient?: Expedient

GENERAL

Name: Sabrina Larkspur Wiseman

Nickname(s): Sab, used by anyone; Sabby, only Nick and Sally; and, of course, Button for Nick.

Birthday: I think I made her an October Libra for the purpose of a template I did months ago, but I’m not sure! No concrete birthday yet, I’m always very slow to nail down details like this.

Age: 20

Pronouns: She/her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Hair color + style: Blonde. A little past shoulder length, sometimes wavy. Usually a middle part. For Aeon, tied back in a bun.

Eye color: Blue, entirely because of the section of Frank O’Hara’s “Meditations in an Emergency” that goes, “My eyes are vague blue, like the sky...”

Height: 5′5

Piercings: Multiple in each ear, but a couple have started to close.

Tattoos: None yet! Sab likes the idea of a tattoo but is worried about finding the perfect design, whether she’d end up hating it, that the pain might be greater than she expects and she’ll look like a baby in front of her tattoo artist. I’d like to think she eventually consults Sally and/or Glitch to come up with an idea that she falls in love with, but I haven’t come up with what that would be!

Clothing style: Mostly solid colors, not a lot of patterns. Nothing super bright, but a fairly varied mix of pastels, neutrals, dark colors, black. Partial to denim skirts and sweater tops. Ankle boots. Likes a good turtleneck. She’s bolder when it comes to formal wear, and especially loves suits. Big fan of silk and satin.

Since she has a pretty accurate face claim, I’ll link some gifsets I’ve rb’d for appearance ref if you are so inclined.

STATS

I’m always adjusting minor things and swapping scenes around, but these are from my most recent Sab run! Most scores hover somewhere around these values.

Personality:

Confidence: 53%

Humor: 5%

Morbidity: 22%

Resentful: 57% | Accepting: 43%

Strategy:

Interpersonal: 12%

Insightful: 50%

Innovative: 10%

Ethical: 43% | Expedient: 57%

KEY DECISIONS:

What is Nick’s nickname and why?: Saint Nick, used very rarely. It’s a joking reference to the time she thought Santa was an evil Ment out to ruin Christmas, and a point about Nick overdoing it with the cheer. “Saint Nick” is usually code for “I know you mean well, but please mind your own business.” Otherwise, she just calls him Nick.

What is their favorite type of cookie (and its name and why?): Salted caramel chocolate chip! No special name.

What was their initial reaction to Sally hugging them, as kids?: She just froze. That could just be me projecting adult Sabrina onto her childhood self; I don’t imagine that she was as uncomfortable around strangers or quite as cautious back then. But that’s what I’ll stick with.

How did they ace the ASE test?: The in-game option she takes is “My entire life has revolved around strategic avoidance,” but the one about being just plain smart also sounds like her. If Sab has the chance to thoroughly (over)prepare for something, she will do it. Her mind blindness also has her constantly (over)analyzing situations. So, hard work and relentless anxiety!

Did they manage to win their first assignment? How?: Yes, by having Sally block the door. I’ve headcanoned some slight differences in how it plays out, which I wrote about in-depth here. To summarize, Sab thinks of blocking the door as a desperate last resort, not a clever loophole, and she pushes back against Rosy’s praise because she wishes she could have done it the “real” way. Rosy goes from being impressed to being annoyed that she’s willfully missing the point.

What was the primary emotion Button felt during the Aeon bombing (love, gratitude, etc?): Guilt. She feels very guilty about how much Nick has given up for her in general, but I think that in the moment, it’s on a smaller scale. The fact that Nick was on the phone with her when it happened, coming to her rescue like always, becomes emblematic of their whole relationship for her, and she really fixates on that.

Who drove them home from the hospital from and why?: Glitch. Sab responds to her initial text with “Are you sure?”, and is relieved when Glitch takes that as “Yes, please.” She doesn’t relish the idea of being around someone more connected to her family or Nick at that point.

How do they feel about Nick riding around in their mind?: Worried, at first. Just because it’s so unknown and absolutely insane. After seeing Doctor Amari, she’s excited! Sab is thrilled to be a Pollard Five and intends to take full advantage of it. I am not looking forward to seeing how she reacts when that’s taken away from her.

Why did Button agree to do the undercover mission?: To prove she still deserves to be an MIV. Sabrina feels stupid and reckless for putting herself, Nick, and Aeon in this position, but she knows she’s smart, and she hasn’t worked this hard for nothing. She wants to prove what she could do with a normal Pollard Score and make herself too valuable to give up even when she’s back to Zero.

Told Glitch about your mind blindness?: Depends on the playthrough. I’m constantly going back and forth on whether Sab meets Glitch for coffee or wanders the city with Nick in her second chapter 5 slot (after trying to track down Kent). If she does meet Glitch, though, she absolutely tells her; with how touchy Sab is about privacy, she couldn’t stomach not warning Glitch that Nick could hear everything they said.

Figured out K’s secret?: Nope. She finds enough of the clues to be given the “I knew it!” option in-game, but she didn’t actually put it together. Sab is too angry and embarrassed by learning that Kent is an AMO to find any reason to interrogate it. “The random guy I met before school just happens to be a jerk” is a perfectly sound explanation to her.

Found Noh’s clues?: Not at the metro station. Sometimes she sees the Vengeance brooms in chapter 5 (again, depending on the playthrough), but that’s it.

ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP:

Love Interest: Kent

Why them?: Sab feels an immediate kinship with Kent after learning about the NPO program. It’s kind of funny how quickly he moves from the least sympathetic position in her eyes (Ment who got past me and read my mind without my knowledge) to the most sympathetic (non-powered child of a prominent family aiming a league above where he “belongs”). A lot of new respect for his competence. Her fate is sealed when she realizes that his kindness at the hospital wasn’t him trying to make up for some wrongdoing, but just him being very sweet. (She had scoffed over “You needed help.” But now she’s like, “Oh. He meant that?! Fuck.”)

As they spend more time together, Sab realizes how weirdly similar they are in other ways, too. And she starts to feel safe/secure around him in a way that she’s extremely not used to. Growing up surrounded by Ments, Sab has a lot of issues about being too much, too difficult, needing to “be worthy” of love. So someone like Kent who is not a Ment, who has no “obligation” to care about her, and whose judgement she trusts implicitly? Being around him and being loved by him mean a lot, and I think will go a long way towards helping her reflect on her other relationships!

What are their first impressions of each other?: Okay, there are like 3 first impressions with Kent. First: he’s tall and handsome and secretly adorable, and they have similar career goals, so she’s drafting a five-month plan to woo him and get his number. Second: he’s a lying, self-obsessed loser who owes her many explanations. Third: oh no, the first impression was true! And he’s been continually, selflessly kind to her in spite of her overt hostility. Scratch the five-month plan, because the crush was only fun when it was entirely superficial; now she really, really likes him and that just sucks.

We know that Button makes a good impression on K by stopping for their dogs, but apart from that... I mean, the “we confused each other” from chapter 7 is very apt. Sab has lots of shifting personas, and Kent sees pretty much every one within 24 hours. The prevailing impression before everything gets cleared up is probably just that she cares a lot? About everything? Her stopping for the dogs, how seriously she takes the first assignment, the way she seems so deeply affected by something he said or did that morning. It’s a rare side of her to meet first because she usually pretends to be above everything.

What feature does your Button find most attractive in their RO (ex. appearance, personality, etc.)?: Probably his composure. And his... steadfastness? The way he seems unruffled by anything, his soothing presence. She really admires that about him and finds the calm contagious.

What do they do to spend time together?: Going on drives together! Kent driving while Sab plays songs she thinks he’ll like, talking or not talking. Cuddling on the couch while reading their own separate books. Museum dates. Walking the dogs together.

Do they argue? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? How do they make up?: I imagine that the first month or so of their relationship would be difficult, just because they’re both bad at expressing themselves and not used to relying on other people. Kent kind of negates a lot of Sab’s impulses to get defensive or hostile, so instead of arguments, I think there are more likely to be awkward periods where she’s just stewing in something without addressing it. Most of their fights would be, like, one of them becoming really distant for a concerning number of days until the other tries to awkwardly check in on them.

What does their future look like?: Uhh some random lore: I think eventually they do get married, despite neither of them caring that much about it. Sabrina would be excited to have something to plan, and she knows it would make the people around her happy. They have a long engagement; there’s never really an “official” proposal, just an acknowledgement that yeah, they’ll get married one day, and then eventually they get rings. The engagement is almost Sab’s favorite part, honestly. She likes planning and showing off her ring and calling Kent her fiancé, a lot of fanfare on her part for a wedding that ends up being very modest and chill.

OTHER RELATIONSHIPS (Feel free to go in depth!)

Relationship with Nick: When I first started developing Sab, I thought that with as difficult/prickly as she can be, her relationship with Nick would be worse than it is. Never bad, but certainly strained, with more jealousy/resentment on her side. However, she rejected this. She is resentful, but never towards Nick—she internalizes the negative parts of their relationship so they manifest as guilt instead. And that’s the problem, not resentment. Sab thinks he’s overprotective, but that doesn’t make her angry; it just makes her sad. She wishes things were different and he didn’t feel so responsible for her, but she also doesn’t know how she could manage without him taking on so many of her burdens. So, guilt! So much love, but always looming guilt.

Having Nick in her head has helped. It’s added a new kind of guilt (“I’m a horrible person for being so giddy that people can’t hear my thoughts even though that requires my brother to be in a coma”), but getting inside Nick’s head for once and really feeling his love for her changes things. Makes her feel way more secure, I guess? It’s easier to see her brother as human person, a friend who loves her, rather than a perfect selfless paragon who sacrificed everything to raise her, which is an important shift.

There are also Things happening with self-presentation in the fact that they’re both models, and flirts, and pretend to be shallow. And the ways that they’ve responded to vastly different expectations. And selflessness versus selfishness. But I have no idea how to talk about that yet.

Relationship with Father: Strained and distant. Sabrina doesn’t necessarily blame him for leaving, but she hates how he’s handled it. She’s incredibly frustrated that John insists on keeping them in this miserable limbo of uncomfortable visits, even though moving away was (to her) a tacit acknowledgement that she and her parents are better off without each other. He’s trying to force a relationship that Sab thinks is ultimately harmful for everyone involved. For Nick’s sake, she’s willing to grin and bear the visits, but it never works because John can obviously tell it’s an act. He pushes her, she gets defensive, and so on to infinity.

Relationship with Mother: Like with John, Sab doesn’t resent Hope for the incident itself, or for leaving afterward. It was terrifying, and the idea of being around Hope makes her panic—but she thinks of that as just another irrational anxiety symptom, and she’s trying to work through it. What she does resent Hope for is letting it get to that point at all. Sab is incredibly bitter that Hope will suffer silently to the point of almost killing her (during the incident) and potentially herself (with the BRS), while Sab has no choice but to be completely open. Especially because they’re so similar in that way—she’s almost jealous. “Oh, so your silence is allowed to almost kill me and it’s ‘nobody’s fault’ but I can’t pretend to enjoy a single lunch with Dad without him calling me out for lying?”

And even though she doesn’t hold the incident itself against her, Sab is very hung up on “Why are you never quiet? Why are you always there?” She knows, on some level, that this was not a Personal Judgement against her. But because Hope keeps so much quiet, this is the only honest expression of her mother’s feelings that she can remember! It would take a lot for Sab to believe that Hope was really, genuinely interested in reconnecting with her, rather than just pretending to love her "enough” this time because to do otherwise would reflect poorly on Hope as a mother.

Relationship with Sally: Besties <3 Sally is the only member of the Wiseman inner circle that Sab doesn’t have complicated feelings about. They both have hidden morbid streaks that they bring out in each other, and can laugh about. They both have competitive streaks that work well together because they’re always on the same team. And their wants/needs from the relationship complement each other well, I think. Sally has always felt valued because she’s useful and not because she’s loved, while Sab has always felt smothered by love/care without feeling like she genuinely adds value to other people’s lives. So it means a lot to both of them that they’re able to help each other practically, while also genuinely loving and supporting each other outside of that.

Relationship with Gray: Full of trust and genuine care, but predicated on distance. Sab loves him a lot for being so careful not to cross any boundaries, physical or emotional, with her. She’s grateful that he’s there for Nick in a way that she doesn’t feel she can be. But "I like Gray because he doesn’t push me and is good to Nick” means that any hand he extend makes her defensive, because she’ll either view him as an emissary of Nick or start to panic because their normal routine is being disrupted (she doesn’t tell him about Hope in ch 3, for example).

They get along very well in a friend-of-a-friend sort of way, and bond over being cautious counterparts to Nick. Also, Sab never had a crush on Gray, but she is not immune to tall superhero and thinks it’s fun to fake flirt with him. (You know Isabela’s “You have pretty eyes” routine from DA2? Sab does that to Gray when conversations steer towards things she’d rather not talk about.)

Relationship with Glitch: I’m really excited about these two! They click from the start, and Sabrina feels immediately comfortable around Glitch, which makes her feel distinctly uncomfortable whenever she catches herself. Externally, they have pretty different personalities, but they’re both perceptive and... socially manipulative? aware of their self-presentation?... in ways that they both pick up on right away. So it’s a lot of conversational maneuvering and trying to figure out what the other’s game is, while also genuinely enjoying each other’s company.

Relationship with Kent/Kenna: I could go truly insane here. See the romance section above instead.

Relationship with Kim: Sab wants him to like her sooooo bad. He’s one of the only people to ever really get through to her, re: my headcanon conversation after the first assignment. Authority figures tend to treat her as special, whether that’s negatively because of her mind blindness or positively because she’s such an overachiever. She had no idea how to respond to that not being the case (and didn’t handle it well at first), but chapter 6 solidifies her respect for him.

It also turns Rosy’s opinion of Sab around; he was impressed by her in class but left his office thinking she was self-absorbed and naive. But the bombing is a reality check, and her response is very measured and practical in a way that surprises him.

Relationship with Lev: She doesn’t mind the comparisons to Nick or the “maybe one day they’ll fix you” comments as much as you might think. They aren’t her favorite, but she prefers that sort of thing to the inspirational platitudes belied by coddling that she got from her family growing up. Sab has fond memories of Lev and is grateful that he’s always been kind to her, but doesn’t have any particular feelings apart from that.

Relationship with Clarence: Holds a grudge against him for causing a scene, making her late, and generally being a jerk. But she can’t fault him for being right, after what happened! Mostly she just wants to avoid him, but she’ll be thrilled to lord her success over him if/when she proves herself.

Relationship with Dean Branham: Like Rosy, another authority figure that Sab desperately wants to impress. But without the personal investment she has in Rosy’s validation, more “Oh, this person is in charge, so I should make her like me!” Despite Nick’s and Rosy’s reservations, Sabrina doesn’t really have a problem with being “strongarmed” or manipulated into cooperating; for now, she figures Branham was just doing her job and respects her tactics.

Relationship/attitude towards Ments in general: Mostly just uncomfortable and wary around them. Sab doesn’t want her mind read, and she figures that no Ment wants to be forced to read it either. So she has a pretty strict “no Ments” rule for close personal relationships (excluding Nick, Sally, and Gray, of course. But only Nick really counts because he’s the only one who can hear her thoughts whenever she’s nearby). Not out of hatred or resentment, just because she knows it will be easier for everyone in the long run.

Do they have any other important relationships, past or present? (Relatives, friends, etc.?): Not many, but yes! Sab dated around a lot in the 2 years before Aeon (more like year and a half, because she completely shut it down once she was more focused on preparing for the MIV program), but there are 2 relationships that were formative/important for her. A high school sweetheart, and someone Sab met through modeling. She doesn’t keep up with her high school ex, but the model is her best friend outside of Sally and Nick, and they still keep in touch! I’m still developing them/the relationships, and I’ll probably post more about them someday. They’re fun!

PERSONAL BIO

Describe their personality: Confusing and contradictory. She has two main modes that confuse people who meet both (e.g., Kent). She’s either cold, stuck-up, and sometimes hostile, OR she’s charming, frivolous, and sometimes flirty. Mode 1 is tense but stoic and inexpressive; mode 2 is seemingly relaxed but very posed and insincere. Mode 1 is for when she feels uncertain or has no agenda apart from “get to point B”; mode 2 is for when she’s more comfortable or trying to manipulate someone. Her actual personality is a bit closer to the second, but she doesn’t pretend not take things seriously or hide when she’s annoyed.

Strengths: Analytical, methodical, detail-oriented. Very driven and hardworking. May not always act like it, but does have social skills/charisma; a great liar, if you can’t read her mind. Unfailingly loyal and loving to her favorite people, so so so warm and affectionate and supportive if she really loves you. Very perceptive.

Weaknesses: Way too proud. Can be petty and vindictive. Self-absorbed (she doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s hard for her to see past herself sometimes). Stubborn, hates being wrong. And... emotional isn’t the word, but strong negative emotions can really cloud her judgement. It ties into her being proud, petty, and stubborn; if she’s really upset about something, she can cling to that emotion instead of re-evaluating it or moving forward.

Phobias: From this ask about the phobias that are planned to show up in-game, there are a few that I could see fitting Sab, but I want to wait to see how they’re implemented before I fully commit. Which is very metagame-y, I know (and I am very metagame-y about IF), but “fear of X” is so broad that it really does depend on when/how it manifests in the text.

That being said, agoraphobia is almost a lock; crowds do make Sab very anxious if she can’t keep track of everyone within a certain distance, and if she can’t leave when she starts feeling antsy. Claustrophobia is a maybe. The choice that triggers it (in chapter 4, about hating MRI machines) suits Sab, but I’m not sure if she hates MRI machines because she hates tight spaces, or if it’s more related to her general anxiety about hospitals, medical tests, etc. Which she definitely has!

What activities/club did they do in school?: She avoided anything group-oriented as far as possible. She took piano (maybe violin?) lessons and did recitals, but wasn’t in orchestra. The one exception was maybe National Honor Society or some equivalent, which she would have joined for her resume’s sake. And I think she would have tutored!

Where do they escape to when they need space?: A little used library corner, where she can people watch without being seen/heard.

How do they feel about/cope with their mind blindness?: Sab hates it but tries not to dwell on it. She knows that it’s no one’s fault, and she mainly just tries to... minimize it? Drown out her thoughts, limit her contact with Ments. And, least healthily, very rigidly managing herself. Because there’s so much of her that exists outside of herself, without her control, she tries to either filter or completely suppress everything else. Part of why she got into modeling, she can perform and be perfect and have total control over the final product of her body in the photographs for whatever campaign. Some Day This Will Be Better. But definitely not where she is in current canon.

How has your Button changed since the Incident with Hope?: Developed many new anxieties and disorders and syndromes :) She also became way more self-conscious, as in literally conscious of and way more tightly monitoring herself, what she’s thinking, what she’s expressing, how she’s sitting, etc. Less emotive face, more rigid posture.

If they weren’t an Aeon student, what would they be doing?: Sab would have beaten herself up forever if she “proved everyone right” by avoiding Unity/Ments entirely, so she’d want to stay in the family business somehow. She probably would have ended up doing scientific research on mental agility. Maybe even working for Mirrortech or some other biotech company, which I imagine would have been an interesting conversation to have with the family.

RANDOM FACTS:

Zodiac sign: Like I said, I assigned her Libra months ago for the sake of a template. But I don’t know enough about astrology to commit. Libra or Leo, probably.

Hobbies: Music, reading poetry, “cooking” (i.e., sitting on the counter and not helping while Nick makes dinner)

Likes: Watching other people (Nick) play video games, dressing up, taking long showers/baths, dark chocolate with caramel, back hugs

Dislikes: Being patronized, hot weather, going to the doctor, driving, doing anything she is not good at

Type of bedsheets: Bamboo.

Drink of choice: Cucumber mint lemonade! For hot drinks, some kind of caramel coffee. For alcohol, she refuses to get drunk because she’s terrified of having even less control of her mental broadcast, but at home/around people she trusts she’ll have a glass or two of wine. Doesn’t know enough to be picky, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

Favorite food: Probably some pasta dish Nick makes with asparagus and tomatoes and a lot of garlic.

Favorite color: Like a light turquoise!

Favorite music: Music to her was another mind-shielding tactic before anything else, so she tends to like upbeat-ish electronic/pop stuff. Catchy and repetitive, and/or with lots of personality to drown out her own thoughts. On the other end of the spectrum, she does have a soft spot for crackly, lo-fi, old or old-sounding slow songs—something about fuzzy recordings simulating a weak telepathic signal.

Favorite season: Hmm, spring and autumn are both good. She likes either side of winter.

Anything else you’d like to share: My heart and a long, fulfilling marriage, with anyone who reads all this 💍

#wow this is so long. insanity luv lit ral insanity #this was super helpful for articulating certain things about sab's character so it's already done its job #pls do not feel pressured to read Thousands of words about sabrina my beloved. but if you read all or even some of this <333 a kiss for you #why am i embarrassed to overshare about my own ocs on my own blog. i live here #oc: sabrina wiseman #also this was very much a stream of consciousness deal but i tried to go back and make it comprehensible. good luck all ye who enter here

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josieandthepussycatsofficial · 7 years ago

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one of the most annoying and stupid things that ever happened to me last year was when i was debating capitalism/communism with this mit guy at a frat party and it was a pretty productive conversation actually but like every time i spoke/made a point, one of my friends (who im not in touch with now really) who’s white, would go like “OOHHHH SHIT” “GET IT!” and dab. it was like... i was embarrassed for her and also annoyed at how silly she was making the discussion which was pretty mature

#reminds me of like all of hs middle school and probably even a little bit of grammar school #where whenever i would ask a question that like vaguely challenged the knowledge or perspective that was being taught to us #(but in a respectful way)#everyone in class would go OOOOOOOOHH and then it would become really uncomfortable #because the teacher was prepared to answer my question like two mature people engaging in a disagreement #and now they felt threatened so they would choose to either like #be dismissive and rude #or weirdly jokingly acknowledge my questioning of authority #and label me down as a feisty no good

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ejzah · 4 years ago

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A/N: Here is another story about Deeks attending FLETC. A couple people had requested Deeks being somewhat known or famous for the Sidorov case. I already wrote one fic on that theme, but why not have more.

In some ways, this is highly indulgent on my part. There is mention of some vaguely graphic things given the subject matter. And some angst, as usual.

***

Request

“Marty Deeks!” Deeks paused in the middle of the hallway, turning to find Special Instructor Daniel Flores with his head sticking out of his office. Flores taught, among other things, a series of trainings dealing with mental health and the psychological aspects that came with law enforcement. Deeks already had a class on counseling victims with him the week before.

“Deeks, can I speak with you for a minute?” Flores asked, waiting expectantly.

“Uh, sure,” Deeks said, trying not to show his reluctance. He’d been hoping to grab some lunch before his next class, but he was still leery of rocking the boat too much. He was two weeks in and the last thing he needed was to piss off one of the instructors who seemed to like him.

He switched directions and jogged over to Flores, who was waiting just inside the doorway with his Sam-esque arms crossed over his chest. His gray hair was buzzed short, adding to the overall no nonsense attitude. From Deeks’ brief experience, he was tough but usually fair.

“Good afternoon, sir, what can I do for you?” Deeks asked politely. He could just imagine Kensi laughing her head off at his deference.

“Have a seat.” Flores gestured to one of the metal seats in front of his desk. He didn’t sit in the more comfortable looking desk chair, but instead stood in front of Deeks, scrutinizing him several long, uncomfortable moments. “You nervous?”

“Actually, I’m having flashbacks to being called down to the principal’s office.” Flores barked out a laugh at that, nodding in apparent appreciation.

“I like your sense of humor, Deeks,” he said. “Most of the kids in here are so tense they look like they’re about to have an aneurysm.”

“It probably helps that I’ve had some experience,” Deeks said with a shrug and Flores snorted loudly, leaning with his back against the front of his desk.

“Some? Kid, you worked on an NCIS team for what, 10-12 years? You probably could be teaching some of these classes.”

Deeks smiled a little. He tried to keep his connection with NCIS to himself as much as possible. Given the rules that were waived to get him into FLETC in the first place, it seemed in his best interest to try and keep a low profile. He never knew when someone who has a grudge against Hetty, him, or just their team in general might decide to act on those feelings. And he only had one shot at this.

“That’s right, Sir.” When Flores continued to look at him expectantly, he added, “I started out as a detective with the LAPD and then was brought in as a liaison between the two agencies.”

“That’s what I read,” Flores said, his expression speculative. “You were employed by LAPD until earlier this year when they cut your position due to restructuring.”

“You’ve been looking into my history?” Deeks asked, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice. In his experience, it was never a good thing when people started searching without due cause.

“Don’t look so worried, I’ve only heard good things about you. Well, there were an awful lot of comments about your hair, but that’s the least of my problems.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at Deeks with an expression he couldn’t identify. If he was pressed he might say it was something like respect. “I actually knew about you before you came here. It took me a minute to place you when I read your name in the lineup, but as soon as I saw you, I knew.”

“Knew what, Sir?” Instead of answering, Flores grabbed a booklet with the FLETC logo on it and flipped to a dog-eared page.

“Did you know that we use real-life cases for many of training scenarios?” he asked.

“Yes,” Deeks answered slowly not really following the non-sequitur. “I’m not sure where this is leading, Sir.” Flores handed him the book, nodding to the page he’d turned to.

“You’re featured in one of them.” Only years of practice and conditioning kept Deeks from flinching as he glanced down at the page.

There was a full color picture, in nauseating detail, of him post fun times with Sidorov and his drill. God, he’d forgotten about all the blood, how swollen his jaw was. His hand was halfway to his mouth before he caught himself and hastily dropped it to his knee.

He stared at the picture for several moments, the words surrounding the image blurring together. It must have been taken immediately after the paramedics arrived. He didn’t remember anyone having a camera. Then again, parts of that day were entirely missing from his memory, some horribly vivid and forever burned into his psyche.

His hand trembled a little as he flipped to the next page, which fortunately didn’t have any more pictures of him. Deeks caught the words “dental” and “trauma” and forced himself not to clench his jaw.

“I, uh, I had no idea I was so famous,” he muttered flatly. “Why are you showing me this?” Deeks finally glanced up at Flores, who looked sympathetic, but also strangely eager.

“I was already an instructor here when this happened. One of my buddies worked with your team on the case and I’ll never forget how he sounded when he described the torture you and Agent Hanna survived. He quit after that,” Flores explained. His tone was casual, almost conversational, and Deeks was suddenly angry.

“Well, I’m really enjoying this, but I have another class in 30 minutes and I haven’t eaten lunch yet.” Actually, he felt fairly nauseous, but he needed to leave before he embarrassed himself or said something he couldn’t take back. He tossed the booklet to Flores, not caring when it smacked against the desk and crumpled to the floor.

“Deeks, I didn’t do this to bring back bad memories for you,” Flores said, grabbing for his arm. Deeks jerked away before he made contact and he dropped his hand, seeming to realize the foolishness of the action.

“Then why did you? You had to know this wouldn’t go down well.”

“I started teaching this course about six years ago. I pushed to have this case, to have you, included as once of the studies. It is horrific. And that’s why I knew I needed to show it to incoming agents. Nothing is as effective at showing what is possible as cases like this.”

Deeks was still not happy with him, but he understood the point he was making.

“And this was the best way you could think of to break it to me?” he asked. Flores actually looked a little embarrassed at that.

“I’ve never had a student with your experience before and I wanted to make sure you weren’t thrown off guard in class,” he said.

“Yeah, you, uh, might want to work on your technique a little. Cause this leaves something to be desired.”

“Point taken.” Flores paused, seeming weirdly hesitant to add whatever else he wanted to say. “I also had an ulterior motive for showing you this.” He held up the wrinkled book. “Sometimes I have guest speakers present and if you’re up to it, I’d like you to talk about your experience with Siderov.”

Deeks stared at him in disbelief for a moment and then started laughing at the absurdity of it all.

“No offense, Sir, but most people try and keep me far away from any type of recruit,” Deeks said, figuring they were past the point of tiptoeing around each other. Flores had certainly crossed that line. “I think it’s something to do with the hair and a failure to properly respect authority figures”

“And I bet neither of those things mattered much when you were letting that guy drill holes in your mouth to protect a colleague,” Flores observed. This time Deeks didn’t wince, but he still didn’t appreciate the images bouncing around in his head.

“I was tied down with two guys holding my head and some kind of torture device-and I mean that literally-in my mouth. I wasn’t in a position to “let” anyone do anything.”

He saw Flores grimace, but he didn’t seem shocked by Deeks’ description.

“You could have talked. You could have given in, but you didn’t and I admire that.” He stepped forward, holding out his hand and Deeks shook it robotically. “I’ll give you a couple days to decide what you want to do. Either way, know that I respect you, Deeks.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Deeks muttered, shaking his head a final time before he escaped from the room.

***

A/N: I probably shouldn’t offer, but should I do another part?

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #Deeks at fletc #tw: trauma #angst #ejzah fanfiction

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lambourngb · 4 years ago

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This Hard Truth

Fic prompt: “Are you drunk?”

THIS HARD TRUTH picks up immediately after THIS HARD LIE, an AU that explores the changes to Roswell and Michael if Alex had decided to tell the Air Force to go pound sand. It’s not all roses. Also folks, not sure if I’ve said, but I’ve been writing these each day literally from scratch off an old vague outline I abandoned a year ago, and today’s the first one that I’ve struggled with, so there’s your warning. Once Michael Guerin Week is over, this is going to a beta and will find a home on AO3. Thank you for loving the raw story.

****

The solid black Range Rover parked in front of his Airstream didn’t surprise Michael in the least.

It had been three days since Jesse Manes had succumbed to his terminal cancer diagnosis, those final days silent under a steady morphine drip. The doctors were correct with their less than a month pronouncement which had left Michael with the uncomfortable position of hoping that Jesse was going to defy those odds. It was a win-win of extended suffering for a man who had earned that and it would have kept Alex in Roswell longer.

He had seen Alex exactly seven times since that first night at the Wild Pony, all of them casual spontaneous encounters that became less spontaneous after he’d learned the nursing rotation of Manes brothers and home care staff. He’d shuffled his jobs at the garage to leave openings in schedule and stopped eating at home during the nights he knew Alex would be free, emptying out his dining out jar.

This was a species thing, he had reminded himself as a curl of guilt had started to squirm inside him at the level of low-key stalking he had done to see his ex. Between Max’s somber admission that he still could remember in crystal-clear detail the day Liz Ortecho touched his lip almost eight years ago in high school and the reaction one of Michael’s attempts at dating had to his story of showing up on Alex’s doorstep two years after a breakup with no warning, well he was aware this wasn’t a normal intensity. The date with wide eyes picking up their phone, even though it hadn’t made a noise, saying, “You seem like a nice guy, but I need to take this call, it’s probably work, we can try again some other time-”

That was the proper reaction to his story he learned, not nodding sagely like Max had and encouraging him to go in the first place.

Humans couldn’t calculate within a minute the amount of time they had recently spent with someone the way Michael could. It was a full commitment of energy to stay carefully friendly with Alex, to keep his alien focus under wraps even though he probably tipped his cards that day in Nashville. On his good days he told himself that Alex hadn’t called the cops on him because he’d been happy to see Michael and on his bad days, it was because he didn’t want the press.

With Jesse Manes dead, Alex’s reasons for staying in Roswell were over. It was time to say goodbye to this small interlude of where Michael felt completely himself, brimming in mitochondrial buoyancy with every cell alive and sparking. Back to the cards of Hallmark blandness and the short notes of congratulations after a song does well.

Alex looked up from his casual sprawl in the lawn chair, his phone in hand, and smiled at Michael’s approach, “thought I might return the favor, and show up at your door unannounced. I gotta say, an Airstream at Sanders’ was not what I was expecting as Casa de Guerin.”

Suddenly aware of the dark stain of dirt staining his cuticles, Michael shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled up to him. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of the divide, from the shiny Range Rover Sport to the smooth manicure and high-end clothing that wrapped Alex’s frame. “What did you expect then, bedroll in my truck again?”

“Whoa,” Alex stood up, pocketing his phone to hold his hands up harmlessly. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean, I was referring to the doctor boyfriend you’ve got. Most doctors I’ve met are about the trappings, it looks like you found a good one that likes you as you.” Alex’s smile wavered, “I’m happy for you.”

Now even more off-balanced, Michael sputtered, “wait, I don’t-”

“I’m less happy it’s Kyle Valenti, but I guess it’s possible he’s changed, or received a personality transplant-”

“Holy shit who have you been talking to?” He finally cut in, looking over his shoulder back to the office at the auto yard, half expecting to see Isobel being helpful. She had never quite forgiven Alex for finding happiness in Nashville, and it would be just like her to spin a version of events to make Alex jealous. As if that was possible, even in a universe where Michael was capable of being a Stepford boyfriend worthy of a doctor, nothing compares to the life Alex has built without him. Not even zero-percent body fat doctors who did know quite a bit of anatomy. The mention of Kyle did remind Michael that he hadn’t heard very much from him since that last night shortly before Alex had rolled into town. “We’ve seen each other a few times now, Alex, I would have told you if I had a boyfriend. Anyway, Kyle has changed, but he’s not- we’re weirdly enough friends.”

A pang of longing shot through him at seeing Alex arch his eyebrow at him in judgment. “That is not what Maria says, or Arturo, or Old Man Sanders for that matter.”

“Well, they are wrong.” Michael said firmly, stepping around Alex leaving a careful amount of space as he flipped open the lid of his cooler for a beer. “It’s not like that okay? I don’t have a Dennis and a dog in my life, it’s casual and fun but nothing more.”

“I wish I was sad about hearing that, but I’m not.”

Michael paused in the middle of popping the cap off his bottle, “Wow, thank you.” That stung more than he was expecting to hear that Alex was happy he was alone. Fame and fortune really did change people. Swallowing the lump in his throat, “Listen, I’ve loved seeing you Alex, and the less said about your dad the better, so thanks for coming by to say goodbye and eh, enjoy Nashville,” he grabbed the knob on his Airstream door to flee.

A hand covered his, keeping the door firmly closed against the frame. Michael cursed his species for the thousandth time as the touch sent waves of weakness through him. Alex leaned in close, too close for just friendly words, “Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

“Yes,” Alex stated firmly. He held onto Michael’s hand, stepping into the space between them to block the retreat into the Airstream. This was the closest they had been to one another in four years, not since that last fight the morning before Alex’s flight east that ended with fucking on a bare mattress after Michael had packed their sheets for Alex to take. “Coming back here, seeing everyone, um, seeing you, it reminded me of who I was before I became this guy,” he gestured at his clothes and back toward the expensive car vaguely. “I’ve got all these things now, useless things, that when I look in the mirror, I see my dad, a guy who cared more about a uniform than he did his own kids.”

“Alex, you could never be him, I don’t care if you become more famous than McCartney, it’s just not possible.”

Whatever Alex saw on his face made him shake his head gently in response, “I don’t get it, you still look at me like you did when we were dumb kids surviving on ramen, like nothing’s changed at all.”

“Nothing has changed for me,” Michael insisted firmly, bringing the open and almost forgotten beer to his lips. A merger shield to employ. It was pretty clear that nothing ever would and that was his reality. It was as true now as it was when he had borrowed a guitar from the music room at seventeen. “But you knew that already, that’s why we broke up, remember? Things were changin’ for you, you were goin’ to bigger places than Roswell, and that’s a good thing. A great thing even.”

“I know. You should know that I’m not going back to Tennessee right now, Michael.”

“What?”

“There’s no Dennis, I mean, not anymore. That kinda fizzled out after your visit, and the dog was his,” Alex kept his hand over Michael’s, slowly moving it up to circle his fingers around his wrist, “I do miss the dog, she was sweet.”

“Your house-” Michael started, his pulse back to pounding senselessly in his ears.

“That was mine but I sublet it to a guy I know who’s doing session work at the studio while I was here. I just let him convert the sublet into a lease.”

“And your agent?”

“Dealing with the fact I’m taking my first sabbatical in four years,” Alex finished smoothly, an answer ready for every disbelieving question that Michael could muster about his house and life. He took a step back, as if he was suddenly aware of how he had crowded him against the warm metal door of the Airstream.

There was just one question left to ask though, as Michael studied Alex’s face intently. The transparent way his eyes kept flickering from the beer bottle against Michael’s mouth and then away. “If you’re not here to say goodbye to me, then why are you here?” he asked challengingly, raising his beer back to his mouth to finish with a full lipped suggestive swallow.

Gauntlet dropped and accepted as Alex surged forward to press Michael against the door and kiss him. The glass bottle dropped uselessly to the ground, glancing off the metal steps as Michael reached behind him to turn the knob quickly. He stepped backward, letting Alex crowd him through the doorway, chasing his mouth hungrily.

The metal door slapped hard against the door jamb, as Michael fell back on his mattress.

Alex gulped audibly for air from the break, pulling back to tug off his v-neck shirt over his head and then stilled as he took in the state of Michael’s small bed. His eyes widened, scrutinizing the setup and Michael had to look away in embarrassment, knowing exactly what Alex had just recognized. “You goddamn liar! When I said I didn’t want our sheets to take with me, you said you were going to burn them!”

“Yeah, well, it seemed wasteful.”

Michael leaned back on the thin mattress, ripping his own shirt off to toss carelessly on the floor. He watched as Alex reached down to unbutton his pants. The yellow light from the trailer window brushed a gold glow of Alex’s half naked torso. He drank in the small, subtle changes in Alex’s body, like the corded strength in his torso that spoke of some sort of workout. Probably yoga or dancing maybe. The playful outrage on Alex’s face slowly changed over to a dawning realization as he took in the details of the small and cramped surroundings.

This was why Michael never brought anyone back here. All around were the skeleton remains of that first apartment together. The same dishes in the tiny sink. The same cheap poster advertising Warp Tour was taped to the back of the wooden built-in dresser. The same stupid classic car clock that Alex had brought home, after Maria had bought the Wild Pony and upgraded the decor, all because the cars reminded him of Michael.

Everywhere in the Airstream was some piece of memorabilia from those three years together. It was as close to a shrine to their relationship that Michael could build without setting out candles and a full altar.

“Holy shit, you really do love me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Michael rubbed at the back of his head ruefully, before laying back to accept Alex’s warm weight over him. He closed his eyes as Alex kissed him, turning his head upward as those long, musician fingers tangled in his hair. Gasping softly, he confessed, “Never did figure out how to stop.”

“My dad was wrong, I mean, I knew he was- but he was so convinced that your species weren’t capable of it-” Alex stopped abruptly, aware almost immediately that Michael had gone rigid under him.

Dimly Michael realized that Alex was still talking but nothing registered after ‘your kind’. It was subterfuge earlier, when Alex joked that first night about his father being a lunatic lost in the ravages of a brain tumor. He believed Jesse, worse he seemed to know that Jesse was right, that Michael was different.

Cool palms cupped Michael’s face, pulling him away from his spiraling thoughts. Any hope of laughing off the response was gone with the serious look in Alex’s eyes. “Hey. I don’t care, okay? You are still the first person, hell the only person, I’ve ever loved completely. Where you came from doesn’t matter to me. I know who you are-”

“And you know what I am.”

“Yes.”

***

Michael stared up at the ceiling of his trailer not daring to look sideways at Alex, who was pressed as close he could get against Michael on the narrow bunk. After a soft acknowledgment that he knew that Michael wasn’t alone, that he’d figured out that Max and Isobel had to be the same even though his father had died believing only Michael was an alien, Michael told him everything.

The crash, the pod, the years in the system, the knowledge that he was different and the fear that came with that knowledge. The fact he has powers, that they all do. The joy he had in finding Max and Isobel again at eleven even though he didn’t trust why he felt that way toward them. Then the vow they had made for absolute secrecy. “Not even Noah knows about Isobel, and they’ve been married four years now.”

“And Max? He never told anyone either?”

“His partner knows Jenna Cameron but that wasn’t planned. They were driving back to the station after a long circuit patrol for speeders and got caught up rescuing some people from a flash flood. The Berrendo. Cam got hit by a tree branch, femoral artery, and yeah, Max healed her. No one saw him because it was a dark night, but healing leaves a handprint. Impossible to deny it.”

Alex ran his hand absently through Michael’s chest hair, soothing them both. “It was a relief when my dad had Flint show me the evidence.”

“A relief?” Michael joked weakly, his mouth twitching upward in the effort. “Low key worried now that learning I’m an alien was a relief to you.”

“I thought the novelty of being with me had worn off. I mean, my choice after telling the Air Force to fuck off was starving to death or splitting expenses with you for rent. I figured after 3 years, you were ready to move on, so you let me go.” Alex reached up to cover Michael’s mouth with his palm briefly. “I know how that sounds, but you have to understand, before you? No one had ever loved me. My mom left when I was eight. I mean, maybe my older brothers did for a bit when I was little and cute? At least until I was thirteen and my dad started singling me out. He would kick my ass in front of them, daring them to protest, and they didn’t. I didn’t even love me.”

“Alex,” Heartbreak was in every syllable. “I never wanted to let you go-”

“I know, I’m just saying, I could finally believe it when Flint handed me a piece of a 70-year-old spaceship.”

“Dropping in on you with no warning a couple of years ago wasn’t a clue?”

Alex pursed his lips together, and laid his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Honestly I had spent two years telling myself that you didn’t give a shit, and then when you showed up, I thought it was because I was making a name. All sorts of people come out of the woodwork when the first taste of fame comes along. Then you confused me, because you left and started sending me these terribly boring greeting cards.”

“Fuck off, I spent forever picking out those cards,” Michael protested with a laugh. “I was trying to show you that I had chill, that I wouldn’t boil a bunny or stalk your social media.”

“Well you succeeded, I did keep all your cards though. It might have been a factor for Dennis moving out,” Alex joked in return before sobering with a tired sigh, “but little did you know, the real stalkers here were my family. Ever since 1947, a Manes man has been tasked in protecting humanity from your kind, starting with my great-grandfather Harlan, and ending with my brother Flint.”

Michael echoed the sigh, tucking Alex closer to him. The idea of the government, especially the United States Military, believing in aliens was enough to send his pulse rattling upward with fear. Every fear made real.

“On the bright side, my dad is dead, so that’s one less Manes hunting you.”

“What’s the other side?”

“I thought my brother was in Germany except he’s been stateside for the last five years working with my dad. He’s a weapons expert, and he’s so important to the project that the military forwarded his mail to Germany for the proper postmarks.”

“Well fuck.”

***

The next day, Michael took a rare sick day from work and guided Alex out to the desert to the cave to show him the pods, where his story had begun according to his memory. Then it was Alex’s turn for show and tell, as he directed Michael to the abandoned air base.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get in, but Flint calls it Project Shepherd. It was Dad’s center of operations in Roswell. He tapped into all the traffic cameras and even planted one on the gate to Sanders’ Auto,” Alex explained as he stepped out of his Range Rover. “You fixing cars must have bored the shit out of him.”

Weeds and scrub grass covered the broken pavement of the air base, lending to the air of disuse. The huge metal hangers covered the expanse, the domed tin roofs punctuated the horizon like a scattered group of D’s. Michael scanned the surroundings, a feeling of disquiet and dread filling his veins. It was probably the height of foolishness to visit a top secret bunker with only the company of a musician as back up, even if he did have the last name of Manes.

A dark shadow caught his eye, and frowned as he realized that they weren’t the only ones on sight. A familiar dark blue BMW was parked off to the side, mostly hidden by a building named B unimaginatively. As he crossed the parking lot with Alex a step behind, skipping over the broken slabs of paving markers, he drew to a halt in front of an open door.

Michael started forward, but Alex slapped his hand over his arm to halt him, “you should let me go first-”

“What, no!”

“I’m human, what if there’s some sort of anti-alien trap down there?”

“And you’re human, so what makes you think you’ll trip it?” Michael shot back reasonably, shaking off Alex’s hold. “If there’s a trap, I’m the one with the lock pick in my brain, besides, I think I know who’s down there.”

“This is like every bad horror movie, Michael.”

But outside of that pronouncement, Alex let him take the lead down the stairs of the open bunker into the cool shadows of the underground facility. As expected, he made it down uneventfully and found exactly who he expected at the bottom, spinning around in a slow circle in a leather covered office chair.

“Did you know they’re selling a shirt at Planet 7 that says ‘I’ve been probed by an alien’? I should buy it, because I can wear it unironically,” Kyle greeted as Michael made it to the bottom of the staircase. He shut his mouth comically as he realized that Michael wasn’t alone, “Whoops, did I just blow your secret like I’ve blown you?”

In Michael’s experience with Kyle, working the almost-friends and all-benefits angle, he had seen him in a lot of states. Worn out from a long shift at the hospital, solemn because he’d lost a patient, giggly because of Michael’s tendency toward wild bedhead, horny strangely because of a good football game, and finally tipsy after a pair of IPAs. He had never seen Kyle in this state.

“Are you drunk?” Michael asked, disbelievingly even though there was a mostly empty bottle of bourbon on the long conference table, stretching along the width of the room under the fluorescent lights.

“I am very drunk. That is the only sane response to my dad, I mean my day, actually I had that right the first time, my dad.” Kyle nodded vigorously before looking over Michael’s shoulder, “Hi Alex Manes. I’m sorry I was a homophobic jackass in high school. I have really changed. Ask your ex. Or is it current? Am I the ex now? Are we both Michael’s ex? Exes? Fuck is that plural or possessive-”

“You are definitely an ex now,” Alex answered firmly.

“Holy shit you are wasted,” Michael shook his head, slightly amused in spite of the deep alarm he felt in finding Kyle Valenti deep in the command center of an alien hunting operation. It was hard to feel too afraid considering the words pouring from Kyle’s mouth unedited.

“Listen I changed myself okay? I did the hard work examining my privilege and my toxic masculinity. I did it because I like sucking dick, but also because my dad is a good person and I wanted to make him proud. But I was fucking wrong. Not about sucking dick, that’s great, but my dad, he’s not good, Michael, he is really not who I thought he was.” Kyle pronounced seriously with the heavy emphasis of the inebriated. He staggered over to a computer system to press a key, pulling up a surveillance camera of a nondescript building on the set of command monitors. “He runs an alien GITMO,” the outside image clicked over, showing a line of cells, including an image of an all-too familiar man, “And he had Jesse Manes killed by an alien.”

#mguerin20 #guerinweek20 #malex fic #michael guerin #malex #roswell new mexico #au after the shed #the lost decade #oh yeah still got a bit of plot to wrap up #alex manes

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inkdemonapologist · 5 years ago

Note

Okay but I do actually want to know both the things you love and the things you could rant about from DCTL?

OH BOY UHHHHHH okay lets see, I'm gonna see if I can do the "add a readmore after you post it" thing and see if that'll keep it stable.......

But also, much like Sammy, I am incapable of shutting up unless you strike me in the head with a blunt object, so uh, forgive my wordiness:

THINGS I ENJOY:

- DCTL gave us Sammy's ink addiction and like, if you had asked me before all this "what would you most like to see in a franchise?" I would not have answered "one of the characters drinks ink accidentally and then discovers that he can't stop" but boy that sure is my favourite concept that I LOVE to see handled literally any other way than how the book handled it!!!

- I like what it added to Tom and Allison and Norman!! Like, it's not big twists on their characters or anything -- we already knew Tom felt he was doing the wrong thing, so getting to see his CRUSHING GUILT over creating the machine isn't New Information, but it's nice to see and understand more of him; for all of them I feel a lot more attached to them after getting to see more of them as people.

- Like 90% of the "I LOVE IT" category for me is how the book handled Joey, and Buddy's relationship with Joey. The way Joey isn't a Sinister Mastermind Who’s Just Screwing With Everyone but just manipulative in a more mundane way -- someone who thinks of himself as just the guy with the vision to call the shots; he wants what he wants and this is how he's learned to get it; he exploits people not through devious schemes, but just by offering them something that they want or need and asking too much in return, expecting their loyalty for his favours. And the way he interacts with Buddy, making Buddy complicit with him and keeping Buddy off-balance and insecure while making him a favourite and treating him as Special is just PERFECT -- gives a lot of content to kind of extrapolate off of when pondering what must've drawn the others in and convinced them to ignore the red flags. I was initially frustrated with the idea of Buddy not being an artist and jUST DECIDING TO LEARN TO ANIMATE ON THE SPOT ("I've never done this before but I'm sure I can just do an artist's job" is a weirdly common throwaway thing in media and as an artist iTS A PET PEEVE) but actually the way they use his plagiarism to make him trapped in a lie in ways Joey doesn't even realise ends up being a neat echo of other employees (coughTOMcough), who were involved in much graver sins but suddenly felt they couldn't object or they'd lose their one chance, just like Buddy. There's a lot here that I think is really great.

OKAY THATS THE GOOD STUFF, LET'S COMPLAIN ABOUT SAMMY:

- Uncomfortable Bigotry Vagueness that we all knew was gonna be in this list -- I dunno man, a guy committing a microaggression and getting startled and defensive when he's called out for it doesn't necessarily completely ruin his character I GUESS, but the way this was handled is just SO WEIRD AND VAGUE that it's uncomfortable and it doesn't seem to serve any real purpose. "Is Tom black?" is a question I actually have to ask because the text sort of implies he is while also dancing around it and apparently Word of God said he's not??? which makes Buddy's comment nonsensical???? And I mean, you could go that route, since Buddy wonders to himself if Sammy talks to everyone like this -- HE ACTUALLY DOES!! Even within the text of the novel, he uses "Joey" instead of Mr. Drew, which is consistent with his audiologs in the game -- but that makes the writing suggest "this character THINKS this guy might be racist but actually they're reading too much into it and it wasn't racially motivated at all, he's just a jerk!!" wHICH IS SOMEHOW EVEN MORE ICKY??? Anyway like yeah I guess it's not inconsistent with his character that while Sammy Lawrence may not have any specific grudge against minorities he has probably not checked his privilege or done the work to challenge his own internal biases, but “Your Fav Probably Contributes To Systemic Racism In Ways He Hasn’t Considered, As Do We All When Our Assumptions Go Unchecked” is still a wild thing to wade through in a fun story about demonic cartoons

- but yknow so is T H E H O L O C A U S T

- Sammy's voice is wrong. I'm actually okay with him being a weird awkward asshole, I already kind of assumed he was and that's part of why I like him!! but there's so many places he doesn't quite... talk like himself? And not just in terms of word choice, like -- so in his monologue at the end, he's described as talking so quickly that his words are "tumbling out faster than he can speak them," which initially seems fine; like yeah, that's a Standard Scene we're familiar with, the person who's been Driven Mad With Insight becoming more and more manic as they try to convey it -- until I tried to imagine it and realised that Sammy doesn't talk like this. That's a really consistent quality I always notice about his voice; whether he's almost giddily excited in prophet mode, or he’s his irritated and overworked human self, or he's violently angry and his voice has that echo effect -- he always speaks very deliberately. He enunciates carefully. There's some circumstances where I'd buy this as showing that he's Not Himself, but I feel like those would kind of need to be in the middle of his transformation, not at the end of it.

- In fact a lot of the scenes with Sammy kind of have this feeling -- that it's not necessarily an exploration of Sammy as a character, but that he is filling a trope or archetype role here. Once he's fully transformed he excitedly describes the process as more of a mental compulsion, which is in contrast to his weird yeerk-infected behaviour when trying to get ink from Miss Lambert. Both of those scenes don't seem wrong on their own because they fit tropes we know -- but they feel weird when you try to fit them together.

- I also just in general am not a fan of the ink acting like a weird yeerk. It can be a parasite I guess but when it starts overwriting and puppeting people and crawling around to enter their body that's just a completely DIFFERENT kind of supernatural story and it’s not what im here for!!!

- THE FREAKIN!!! HE WILL SET US FREE!!!! WHY????????? SAMUEL LAWRENCE WHAT IS HE SETTING YOU FREE FROM??????? Sammy has No Motive for any of what he's doing, other than just Ink Made Me Do It. The whole thing that was INTERESTING about Sammy as a character is the contrast between this frustrated, ornery musician with no specific love for the cartoons he works on, and the manically devoted cultist he becomes. What happened in the middle there? What made him desperate enough to shift his mindset so much? "Something supernatural made him do things that don't benefit him in any way" is a very boring answer to this question!!! Susie was a victim who implies that her transformation has forced her to do things she didn't want to do, but we can still see her motive -- she wanted to be Alice, so she took a sketchy offer to try to get what she wanted. Even now, her violence echoes that goal -- to be a more perfect Alice. What did Sammy want? WHO KNOWS. Even in his ink-addled state at the end, we don't understand what he hopes the Ink Demon will even do for him, and in fact he seems to be responsible for creating the very scenario he's begging Bendy to reverse in the game.

- [sighs loudly into my hands]

- Overall I'm left wondering if the author just..... didn't like Sammy Lawrence? And I don't mean that in the sense of him being a rude jerk -- like, Joey is not a good person, but the author seems to be interested in him and in what makes him tick. There doesn't seem to be that same interest in Sammy. Sammy's role in the story is that of a monster, transformed into something murderous, unable to prevent or choose it. He's not a victim of anyone but the ink, no one had to manipulate him or figure out how his brain worked or what he wanted or what he feared or give him any reason to do the things he does -- ink got in his mouth and overwrote his personality. And we don't even get to see that change, not really. He starts out angry and defensive and continues being angry and defensive up until his very last scene, denying his ink-stealing but not really much else. We see all his prophetic sketches but we never see hints of this in him, we never see him start to act more excited and hopeful, we never see him seek out the demon he desires to please. Why do we never see Sammy struggling between his dismissive angry front and a building religious fervour he can't quite suppress? We don't get to see any of the in-between. There's no interest at all in why or even what it looked like as Sammy became what he became, when, to be honest, I suspect interest in precisely that is one reason he's such a big fav.

- It's funny, in a "cries into my hands" kind of way, when Sammy is just knocked in the head while monologuing and immediately removed from the story without further mention, like...... that sure is the pattern with him, isn't it, he just tries very very hard and never actually gets to matter, but it also fits right in here, too, in this book that doesn't want to think about his motives -- he rambles nonsensically, explaining nothing, gets one trademark phrase, and then is hastily removed so the story doesn't have to think about him anymore.

...................I think that's most of it.

...

Y'all............ I'm not ready for Sent From Above.......... I'm just not.... I'm not emotionally ready...... like..... Sammy has to be in that right..... he’s Susie’s boss and she has that big crush on him..................................... I’m not ready

#i know you have questions you always do #we all write on the walls #hopefully I have not gotten completely confused on any of these points but LMAO ITS POSSIBLE

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spaceskam · 5 years ago

Text

there’s no use trying, it’s like denying the sun

ao3

warning for temporary character death, blood/gore all over the place, being drugged, guns, invasion of someone’s mind, and vague mentions of The Event in 2x06 (ps this isn’t intended to be anti-maria or anything, I did my best to be fair to her, but she isn’t portrayed in the BEST light. I like to think it was more of a human-error in the context of this fic, but also just a warning)

“Closing time.”

Maria smiled as she looked up at Michael who strolled a bit closer to her, locking the front door with his mind. She would forever find that impressive and yet she didn’t have the right words to express that. So, instead, she rolled her eyes.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked. She took a deep and cocked her head to the side.

“Well, you could wipe down tables for me.”

“I got you,” he said boldly.

And it should’ve just been that, but Maria gasped and her mind warped. Suddenly, she wasn’t in her bar. She was somewhere else entirely. She didn’t know where, but she was there.

In front of her, Michael was on his knees and holding someone while he cried.

“I got you,” Michael said, sniffling harshly as he rocked that person back and forth, “I got you. It’s okay, I got you.”

Maria hesitantly moved closer, curious to see who he was holding. She was suddenly in front of him now and it was plain as day as he cradled Alex in his arms in a pool of blood. His hand was pressed over Alex’s chest, but it didn’t seem to stop the bleeding. Alex wasn’t conscious anymore, he wasn’t breathing. The sight was horrific.

“It’s gonna work, I promise,” Michael said, voice breaking as he sobbed and pressed down a little harder on Alex's chest, “Any second now, I’m gonna fix it. I’m gonna heal you, just gotta hold on ‘til then. I got you.”

Maria’s entire body ached and she didn’t know how to tell him that Alex was dead. There was no healing. He was too late. He wasn’t strong enough to heal, much less a full blown resurrection.

But then she was back in the Wild Pony, bracing herself against the bar as she tried to breathe. Michael was staring at her, worry etched on his face.

“What just happened?” he asked, “Did you see you something?”

Maria steadied her breath and stared at him, more than a little lost. Should she tell him? Would that make it worse? Kyle’s thing was different and so were the few other bad things she’d seen. She saw signs, she knew where they were. Alex, though... She had no fucking idea how they’d get in that situation. She couldn’t just tell him that Alex was going to die in his arms when she couldn’t prevent it.

She shook her head, swallowing hard and trying to manage a smile.

“Yeah, it was just, uh, it was just Alex getting a package,” she lied. Michael furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, like, was it a bomb or something? Don’t you usually see bad stuff?”

Maria scoffed, trying her best to act normal, “I don’t always have to see bad stuff.”

“I mean, okay, but maybe you should text him to be careful just in case,” Michael said.

Maria forced a laugh and nodded. Now what?

“Liz. Liz, I did something bad.”

Liz looked up from where she stood behind the counter at the Crashdown. Maria hadn’t been able to sleep the entire night before, tossing and turning beside Michael as she tried to rationalize the lie that she couldn’t go back on. If she told him, he’d hate her.

“What happened?” Liz asked softly. Maria just looked at her as urgently as possible, chewing on her thumb nail like she hadn’t done since she was a kid. Liz seemed to notice and she quickly flagged down the other waitress, telling her she’d be right back before she led Maria to the back of the house and then into the stairwell that led to the apartment. Once they got there, Maria couldn’t hold back her tears anymore.

“I had another vision when I was with Michael last night and I lied about it and I shouldn’t have lied because something bad is gonna happen and I know and I can’t stop it and I don’t know what to do,” she rambled. Liz instantly moved in, grabbing her arms to steady her. Maria latched on.

“Well, what was it? I can fix it, just tell me,” Liz said. Maria shook her head. The words were too horrible to say. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s Alex,” Maria whispered, bowing her head as she thought about it. Liz clutched her a little tighter.

“What about Alex?” Maria whimpered softly, shaking her head. “Maria, you’re scaring me. What’s going to happen to Alex?”

“I should’ve just told him, he’s going to hate me,” she said, gasping for a breath through her tears, “I just got him to myself.”

“Maria, forget about him, what did you see happen to Alex?” Liz said, chasing Maria’s gaze.

Maria put her hand to her mouth as she choked on a sob, shaking her head.

“Someone’s going to kill him.”

“Alex!”

Alex turned to the sound of his name, seeing Liz running towards him still in uniform. He gave a confused smile and gave her his full attention as she ran up to him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked playfully. Except, as she came to a stop in front of him, he realized she wasn’t playful at all. In fact, she looked terrified. “What happened?”

“What are you planning on doing in the next two days?” she asked. He tilted his head.

“Um... Nothing? Why?”

“What do you mean nothing? Like, details on nothing,” Liz told him. Alex just stared at her like she’d lost it. “Just humor me.”

“I don’t know, Liz. Work, home, work, home. That’s it, same old, same old. Research in the middle probably. Why?” he said. She let out a big sigh, her shoulders dropping.

“You don’t happen to have any plans to go anywhere alone with Michael, do you?” Liz asked.

Alex felt discomfort brew in his stomach at the man’s name. He hadn’t seen him in nearly three weeks, both of them avoiding each other like the plague as they tried to move past everything. However, it was definitely hard to move past when every time he slept, he got a new, better version of that stupid night. His subconscious seemed determined to erase Maria from the equation and, honestly, he found it hard to try to fight that.

“No, why would I?” Alex asked, trying not to show how uncomfortable he felt at the mention of him. Last night’s version included him getting stabbed and Michael immediately appearing and punching the guy in the face before carrying Alex off, patching him up in a way that was straight out of a raunchy erotica. Definitely hard to feel comfortable with that on the brain.

“No reason,” she said, shifting as she clearly debated something in her mind, “Just, um, stay away from him for awhile, okay?”

“Have been,” Alex said, feeling more confused by the second, “What’s going on, Liz? Is something wrong?”

She stared at him, eyes betraying her guilt. Worry slowly but surely started to fill his entire system. Was he hurt?

“No,” she said, “Just... stay away from him, please?”

“Okay,” Alex agreed. She stared at him for a few seconds longer before coming close and hugging him. He froze for a moment before slowly hugging her back. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yeah,” she promised, slowly letting him go, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, of course,” he promised. Liz nodded and slowly backed away.

The whole thing was weird and, by the time he made it to his truck, his worry had sky rocketed. Had something happened to Michael and they didn’t want him to know? Did something happen between him and Maria and they were saving Alex from the heartbreak? That was unlikely.

As he turned the key, Alex decided that stopping by the junkyard couldn’t hurt. He could make up a lie about his truck and just see for himself that Michael was okay. He just... he needed to make sure.

Sure enough, as Alex pulled up, Michael was leaned over an engine and talking on the phone. He looked fine. That gave him a little bit of solace, but Alex couldn't help himself. He just needed to be sure that he was okay. And maybe on an embarrassing level, he just wanted to hear his voice again.

Alex got out of the truck and slowly made his way to him, reciting his excuse in his mind while Michael seemed to get increasingly irritated with whoever was on the other end of the line. He did his best not to eavesdrop, but, well, he was talking loud.

“No, I haven’t been practicing... Who the hell would I practice on? Do you know someone who likes to get hurt repeatedly for my own personal power trip?... No, Maria, I’m not mad at you, but–... Okay, fine, I’ll try to work on it, Jesus, you don’t have to lecture me.... Not mad!... Sorry, fuck, I’m working... Yeah, bye,” Michael sighed. Was it petty of Alex to find joy in his irritation?

“Hey,” Alex called. Michael looked over at him, back straightening as they locked eyes.

“Hey,” Michael said, voice uncharacteristically kind, “Um, how are you?”

Alex furrowed his eyebrows and he gave a soft laugh, overwhelmed with confusion at Michael’s body language and tone. He didn’t act like that literally ever. It seemed like Alex’s renewed presence had drained him of all his cocky behavior.

“Uh, fine,” Alex said awkwardly, “How are you?”

Michael looked him over and licked his lips, seeming like he was trying to find his words. Which was, again, uncharacteristic. What the hell had happened since he saw him last?

“I’ve missed you,” Michael admitted bluntly. Alex blinked and his eyes went wide, feeling thrown even further off course. Was he in the wrong universe? Was this why Liz didn’t want him to go anywhere near him? “I kinda got used to you being around–platonically, of course–and I didn’t realize how much I would miss you when you weren’t bothering me every day. I’m sorry I fucked things up so badly. Again.”

“I think that was a compliment and an apology?” Alex said, laughing slightly as he shifted. This was weird. What exactly did Liz give him? “Um, are you okay? You’re being weirdly honest.”

“I just... You ever feel like something bad is gonna happen and you have no basis for why you feel that way, but it doesn’t stop you from feeling like it? Because I keep feeling like something bad is gonna happen to you with no basis and it’s really fucking annoying and then you just showed up, so it felt like a sign,” he rambled. Alex gave a soft smile as it clicked that Liz didn’t give him anything. This was him just being human for once.

“Anxiety,” Alex filled in. Michael licked his lips and shrugged.

“I guess...” he said. He shook off the weirdness. “Anyway, what brings you ‘round here if it’s not life threatening?”

“Um,” Alex started, considering using the excuse he’d concocted on the way here, but decided against it. Michael was being honest, why shouldn’t he? “Anxiety, too, I guess. Liz told me to leave you alone and I was worried.”

Michael’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion, genuinely taken aback by that statement.

“She told you to leave me alone? What the fuck?” he asked. Alex shrugged. “Man, first Maria’s acting weird, now Liz.”

“And you,” Alex teased. Michael rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, maybe the planets are aligned in some type of way.” Michael huffed a laugh.

“I don’t know, just seems weird.”

“Yeah,” Alex sighed, looking around and trying to find an excuse to stay. Liz said to leave him alone, but if it was just because he was feeling anxious, then he wasn’t about to do that. He missed him too. “So, I heard you need someone to practice healing on.” Michael tilted his head.

“You eavesdropping now, Private?” Michael asked. Alex shrugged and took a step closer, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Alex said, “Why not help a friend? Platonically, of course.”

Michael’s face split into a smile. “Okay.”

Which is how Alex found himself sitting outside the airstream and cutting open his palm with a sterilized knife like he was in Supernatural and planning to activate some kind of sigil. Michael looked at him hesitantly as he scooted closer, taking Alex’s hand between his.

“Have you ever done this before?” Alex asked.

“Uh,” he laughed awkwardly, “No. So, sorry if this takes a minute.”

“Take your time, I’ll be fine, just focus,” Alex encouraged. He nodded and licked his lips, his eyes closing as he focused really hard.

In fact, it might’ve been too hard because his face was going red instead of his hands.

“Are you breathing?” Alex asked, trying not to laugh. Michael groaned and separated their hands for a second, wiping his bloody and sweaty ones on his jeans. Alex didn’t do that if only because his hand was still bleeding. “Breathe and focus. Just imagine it healing.”

“I am.”

“Don’t imagine your hands glowing,” Alex told him, not having to even get confirmation that’s what he was doing. He knew Michael well enough for that. “Imagine my skin coming together.”

“Right,” Michael said, nodding and grasping Alex’s hand between his own again. They sat there, palm to palm, and waited. After a couple minutes, Michael sighed. “You’re still bleeding and it’s not working, let me get a–“

“Hey,” Alex said, mindlessly reaching out to touch his chin gently with his non-bloody hand. He wasn’t quite sure why he did that, but he would blame it on the fact that they’d been holding hand for ten minutes. But he still immediately dropped it when it effectively got Michael’s attention. “I’m okay, it’s not gushing blood or anything. You can heal it, you just need to focus.”

Michael stared at him in the eyes like he’d just told him the most confusing thing in the world. There had to be something going on because this was weird. Alex loved it, but it was weird. Michael didn’t just look at him like that for no reason.

“Hey, are you okay? For real, like, is something going on?” he asked.

“I mean, no,” Michael laughed weakly, “Just... you sound like you believe I can actually do it.”

“I do believe that,” Alex said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re literally biologically capable of it,” Alex stated simply, “You just need a little bit of positive reinforcement.”

“Positive reinforcement?”

“Yes,” Alex confirmed, layering his other hand on top of Michael’s, “You can do this. I believe in you.”

Michael huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he turned his focus onto their hands. “Gonna make a man melt, Manes.”

Alex smiled easily, shaking his head. Sometimes he wished he could know exactly what he was thinking. This was one of those times. He didn’t exactly know how to read what he was saying or the way he was acting. Yes, he was being uncharacteristically nice, but how long would that last? Was this simply self-sabotage? Was this just another way for Alex to get his hopes up before Michael went back to Maria?

But, more importantly, how much more touching did Michael want to green-light before that happened?

They sat there for awhile, Alex trying to hype him up while Michael tried his best to focus. Eventually, though, the sun went down and the blood was starting to dry and their palms were sticking together in a way that burned a little bit. Alex hissed slightly when Michael pulled away a little and it stung.

“Let’s take a break,” Alex suggested and Michael nodded easily. He pursed his lips as he checked Alex’s cut, holding his hand closer to his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Realized I didn’t wash my hands after handling that engine, making sure there’s no dirt or oil in your cut. Don’t want it getting infected if I can’t heal it,” he mumbled more to himself than than to Alex. He eventually dropped his hand though. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Alex agreed, watching him in an almost mesmerized fashion as he got up and went into the airstream. What the hell had happened over the last three weeks that made him so nice? Is that really what Maria was doing for him? Maybe she was good for him. The idea hurt him a lot more than he was willing to admit.

But Michael came back with two beers, a small flask, and a wet rag. Alex watched as he plopped down in the old chair and pulled his hand back into his grasp. Then he opened the flask and poured it directly onto Alex’s wound.

“Oh my g–What the fuck, Guerin?!” Alex snapped, yanking his hand away as it started burning.

“Vodka,” Michael said, flashing a teasing little grin, “To sterilize it. Give me your hand, here’s your beer.”

“You don’t use vodka to sterilize someone’s hand,” Alex scolded, but he still gave him his hand back. Michael started carefully wiping away the dried blood with the rag.

“Didn’t have any rubbing alcohol.”

“Everclear’s close enough, I guess,” Alex said dryly. Michael flashed a smile and popped the caps off the beers with a simple nod of his head. Alex laughed and reached for one. “Alright, show-off, we get it, you’re cool.”

Michael looked up at him through his eyelashes. “You think I’m cool?”

“I mean, you’re a telekinetic alien, that’s a given,” Alex told him before taking a sip. Michael smiled and continued cleaning his hand. “So... you and Maria.”

“What about it?” Michael asked. Alex licked his lips. This wasn’t exactly his favorite topic, but he was trying to figure out where he stood. He’d missed him for three weeks and now suddenly he’d gone to see him and it was basically something out of a dream. Something had to have changed.

“You seem... happy,” Alex noted, “Together.”

“I guess,” Michael said, shrugging as he gave Alex’s hand one last look before letting him take it for himself, “We’re not really together though.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked, his eyebrows furrowed. Michael sighed and took a sip of his own beer.

“We’re not dating, not her boyfriend or anything.” That didn’t confuse Alex any less. If that was the case, then what the hell had been going on? Why did he choose Maria if they weren’t even going to date? “I’m doing my best, though, to be a good whatever. I’m looking through files to try to help her and her mom, try to communicate, try to fix all my stupid mistakes I’ve made.”

Alex nodded, swallowing even though his mouth was dry. He knew it made sense and he was happy that Michael was aware of his mistakes and was trying to fix them, but he couldn’t help but feel a little burned by that. Wasn’t it cliche for a woman to swoop in a fix all the damage?

“Well, I’m glad she’s good to you,” Alex said. Michael shrugged, picking at the label of the beer.

“Can I be honest?” Michael asked softly, “And you not take it personally?”

“Yeah, of course,” Alex agreed, shifting in his seat.

“Sometimes I think she feels like this is as good as I get. Like, no matter what I do, the bar is so low for me that she expects nothing of me and so I always meet it. Which, which is cool, I like not being pressured and stuff, but... I don’t know, I kinda like the way you always thought I could be cool and smart. Miss the way you challenge me,” Michael admitted, huffing a laugh, “I feel more useful than I’ve felt in weeks and I didn’t even fucking heal you.”

“Ah, so you missed my Drill Sargent mouth, not me,” Alex teased. Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Nah, I missed you,” he said sincerely. Alex smiled a little sadly and nodded. Why couldn’t they admit that when they still had a chance?

“I missed you too.”

“Hey, uh, you got a package lately?” Michael asked. Alex’s eyebrows met in the middle.

“What? Why?”

“Nothing,” Michael said, putting the beer to his lips. Alex stared at him in confusion for awhile, but slowly let it go.

They sat there for awhile in silence, just drinking and enjoying each other’s company. It was easy to slip back into this despite all the bullshit from before. Because, at the end of the day, spending so much time away from someone you love while knowing they were right there was harder than it seemed. Alex wasn’t quite sure where Michael stood, but he liked to think the feeling was mutual still. Why else would they be sitting here like this?

“You still feel anxious?” Alex asked after awhile, using his good leg to reach out and kick him. Michael scrunched up his nose, shrugging his shoulders.

“I got eyes on you, so it’s easier to remind myself you’re not gonna die,” Michael said with a soft laugh. Alex smiled at him and nodded.

“I feel that.”

Easy silence came back over them and Alex knew, logically, he’d have to leave soon. He couldn’t stay all night even wanted to. They couldn’t fall back into old habits now matter how appealing it was. However, he could make excuses to stay longer.

“Wanna try to heal me again?” Alex asked as he finished his second beer, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers. Michael smiled and nodded, scooting to the edge of the seat.

“You know, if this works, you’re gonna have a hand print on you, right?” Michael said.

“I’ve got gloves.”

“No, I mean... You’ll be able to feel my feelings and I’ll be able to feel yours,” Michael said, glancing at him hesitantly, “And I’ve never done it before so I don’t know if I’ll be able to, like, respect your privacy.”

“Michael,” Alex said, “I know. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?” he clarified.

“No. I mean, you already know everything about me. Maybe it’ll actually click how I feel about you too,” Alex said. He meant it to be a little teasing and it was definitely influenced by the lighter feeling the alcohol gave him, but Michael just stared at him with a blank expression for a concerningly long time. “Scared?”

“No,” Michael said. He almost sounded like a determined little boy and, for a moment, Alex got nervous that he would react badly to feeling the way he felt. But Alex had already hit rock bottom when it came to Michael Guerin, he’d already ripped himself open for this man over and over, so, honestly, he wasn’t scared to get a little clarification on his end. Maybe Guerin was right, he needed to really make it feel over. “No, I can do it.”

“Mhm,” Alex said, holding out the hand with the cut. Michael took it into his own carefully, grazing his fingertips over his sore skin before pressing his palm against his again. It was warm and still stung a little, but Alex didn’t flinch.

Alex wasn’t sure what changed from the first dozen times they’d tried that afternoon. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the fact that it wasn’t bleeding anymore or the fact that the sun had gone down or maybe it was just that Alex had assured him that he didn’t mind the mental invasion, but that low glow started to emit from his hand as it shook with concentration.

Alex opened his mouth to praise him for it, but was immediately just hit with a wave of pleasure. His jaw dropped even more than intended and he clutched the stupid lawn chair with his free hand so tight he knew it would be sore later. His breathing got heavier and his eyes closed, a strained moan vibrating low in his throat without warning as that euphoric feeling only seemed to get stronger and reach every inch of his mind and body.

But then everything went black.

“He’s not answering his phone.”

“Neither is Alex.”

“Fuck.”

Maria found herself crying all over again, guilt pooling in her stomach. She should’ve just warned them. Even if it meant losing Michael, she should’ve just been honest. This was karma at its finest.

“Maria,” Liz instructed sternly, grabbing her arms again, “Calm down. I’m gonna call Max and Isobel and Kyle and we’re gonna find them.”

“Alex is going to die and it’s my fault,” Maria said, bowing her head as she cried harder. It was hard to just calm down when her not-quite-boyfriend and her best friend were in danger. It didn’t seem to matter that Alex had stayed away from Michael, maybe this was supposed to happen all along and she just didn’t know.

God, why was she so stupid?

“Maria, stop,” Liz said, “We’re going to find them and it’s going to be okay, but we can’t do that if you don’t keep it together. You’re the only one who has seen the building they were in, even if it was only for a second, we need you.”

Maria sniffled, swallowing harshly as she nodded. She took a few grounding breaths and raised her head. She needed to focus and remember. She refused to let Alex die.

“Alex, hey, wake up.”

Alex groaned, his head throbbing. A pair of hands were on his shoulders and shaking him awake, not letting him sleep even though he wanted to. When he reluctantly opened his eyes, Michael was above him with wild, panicked eyes. Alex looked around the small room.

“Where are we?” he asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Michael helped him sit up. He stayed ridiculously close, his hands never leaving his arms.

“I don’t know,” Michael whispered like he was scared someone was listening. They might’ve been. “Last thing I remember was I was healing you and then something hit me and I woke up here. Didn’t even get to finish and you’re still all hurt.”

Alex lethargically looked down to his hand to see the cut was indeed still there, but he could feel Michael more than he normally could and it made it clear that he’d gotten at least partially done. He didn’t know they could actually do half-way things like that. Still, he didn’t have time to dwell on that, so he looked around to try and figure out where they were.

“Whoever they are, they know who we are,” Alex noted, his hand going up to rub the back of his head. The room was small and didn’t seem to have a door, just four walls Michael could probably reach across both ways if he laid down and stretched. It was empty except for them. “They waited until we were distracted and then they knocked me out first so I couldn’t fight.”

“Oh,” Michael breathed. He scooted a little closer even though he was already nearly on top of him, reaching out to feel the back of his head. “Are you okay? There’s a knot, but it’s pretty small. Are you nauseous? Dizzy? Your responses are a little delayed, but I can’t tell if that’s because you just woke up or because you have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

“Irritability is a symptom of a concussion, are you–“

“Michael,” Alex said, putting a hand over his and looking at him with a gaze that seemed to fix him in place, “I’m fine. I don’t have a concussion. Do you?”

“No, but I knew something shitty was going to happen. I knew it and I let my guard down and now you’re in pain,” he said. Alex shook his head, grabbing his wrist gently.

“Not your fault. But we gotta get out of here, so I need you to stay calm and use that brain of yours, okay?” Alex instructed softly.

The hand print, as dull as it was, still had him feeling all that secondhand anxiety that seemed to be filling Michael to the brim. He wondered if they were just feeding off of each other’s negative emotions and making shit worse. He pushed his bad feelings down as far as he could just in case, sending all the supportive ones through the connection instead.

“Do your powers still work or are they dulled?”

Michael looked around for something to fuck with as a test, but considering there was nothing to move, he focused on Alex. With a little clever wiggle of the nose, Alex’s hair smoothed itself out in a very detailed manner. He smiled and squeezed his hand.

“Thank you, you’re incredible,” Alex said, knowing that the extra little compliment would help them out in the long run. For the first time, though, he could feel how Michael took that little word to heart and cherished it. He gave a small smile to make it that much more meaningful.

“I can feel you,” Michael told him, eyes still wide and a voice hardly making a noise at all. He almost looked like he did when he got a little too high and that worried Alex, but he decided not to question if they’d been drugged on top of kidnapped.

If he was on drugs and still ached the way he did, well, he had bigger problems.

Michael leaned closer, his nose pressing into Alex’s cheek before he slowly rubbed against his face like kitten. “You’re in so much pain, I hate it. You think about pain too much. Pain and math, too much pain and math.”

Well. At least he knew for sure that Michael had definitely been drugged.

“Alex’s truck is at the junkyard.”

“What?” Maria asked, more than a little horrified at the information Kyle was giving them. “Liz, I thought you told Alex not to go to him.”

“You act like that wouldn’t make Alex immediately go to check on him,” Kyle scoffed from the other side of the phone. Both women pressed their hands into their face, stressed to hell over this ridiculous revelation. What the hell were they going to do? “Listen, Isobel is on her way. When she gets there, try and see if you can stir up any triggers that’ll tell us where they might be.”

“Okay,” Liz agreed, looking over to Maria who nodded in agreement.

“If you think of anything, call me. Max and I are gonna scope the place out, see if there’s any clues. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

The call ended too quickly and they sat in silence for a moment. Maria had a billion thoughts running through her mind, but the main one that stood out was Michael sobbing as he tried to heal a lifeless Alex. It was horrible and she was terrified that it was going to come true if they didn’t find them fast enough.

“Who would take them?” Liz scoffed, shaking her head, “I don’t understand.”

“Alex’s dad, maybe?” Maria suggested, “He’s all evil and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, but this feels weird even for him. Why would he specifically try to get just Michael and Alex out of the picture, not the rest of the aliens?” Liz asked. Maria shrugged.

In that moment, Isobel strutted in like she was in a TV show that no one else had been informed of. She took off her sunglasses with a dramatic flare and set her sight on the two women.

“Alright, DeLuca, let’s find my brother.”

Before Maria could even agree, she was warped into her mindscape.

“You remember how you said you thought it was gonna be us?”

Alex sighed, stroking Michael’s hair as he laid against his chest. It became very clear that whatever was in his bloodstream had made him weirdly touchy for the time being and Alex just had to ride it out with him. Besides, Alex had already scoped every inch of the room over and over and couldn’t figure out where a door might even be. For right now, there was nothing he could do but try to make sure they’d both be aware enough whenever they got the chance to escape.

“Yeah, I remember,” Alex said, trying not to get too accustomed to the way Michael was rubbing his chest. As soon as they were out of this situation, things would go back to normal. That meant no more I miss you’s and no more cuddling.

“I’m still kinda scared it’s not,” he whispered. Alex sighed, his head still aching. This felt extremely unfair. Not only was Michael drugged and he wasn’t, but now he had to listen to him talk about them as if it was an option. And, while Alex could feel that he still loved him, he could also feel the complete fear Michael had when it came to them. Alex didn’t know if he could ever be with him in good conscious knowing that.

“It’s probably not,” Alex admitted, “But that’s okay. You and Maria are good together.” Michael made a wounded noise and pressed into him even more. It made his back ache, but Alex didn’t say anything. Michael just pushed his head into his chest more, the movement more akin to an angry cat than a human being. “Hey now, you’re the one who fully admitted to being more mature and communicating more. That’s good.”

“It’s easy to be honest when you don’t care what they think about you. I care what you think,” he grumbled, the heel of his palm pressing down as his hand slid down. Alex stopped it before it got too low, sighing.

“You’re not in your right mind,” Alex told him, using his other hand to comb through his hair in a veiled attempted to soothe him a bit more. Michael just gave another whiny, sad noise. “Once we get out of here, we’re gonna go back to the way we have been which is okay.”

“No.” Michael moved in closer, his leg moving on top of Alex’s and his knee wedging between his thighs. Alex sighed as he let him invade his space completely and kissed his head. Yeah, this had to be a very specific brand of torture.

“What did they even give you?” he whispered against his hair, eyes scanning the room again.

Not only were there no signs of a door, there wasn’t really any sign of a camera either. However, there had to be something. It didn’t feel like they were losing oxygen, so it wasn’t sealed, and whoever put them there must’ve been watching them. What other benefit would they get from shoving Alex in a room with a drugged Michael? That’s when that very specific brand of torture sounded less like a joke and more like reality.

“Someone’s targeting me,” Alex noted, furrowing his eyebrows as he sat up a bit straight. Michael whined in protest, but Alex just kept his hand on the back of his head to keep him in place as he thought hard.

Whoever had done this had to have known Alex would only let his guard down enough to be captured when he was with Michael. Not only that, but they had to wait until he was in the middle of healing to do so. Then they chose to drug Michael, but not Alex. It left Alex feeling all of his pain, but also let him taking care of an emotional alien. What the fuck?

“Ow,” Michael whined, nearly kneeing Alex in the dick as he scrunched his whole body up, “You’re thinking too loud.”

“I’m thinking too–They amplified your powers,” Alex said. The fact that he could feel Alex more than Alex could feel him, him being able to do something as specific as flatten his hair in all different directions without even straining, him being able to hear his thoughts. He pulled Michael’s head away from his chest and looked into his eyes. His pupils were still blown. “Why the fuck would they amplify your powers? Wouldn’t they want to make you less of a threat?”

Michael stared at him instead of answering. It was very similar to the look he’d given him back in the junkyard, but far more open and admirable. He slowly started leaning forward, going in for a kiss that Alex dodged at the last second.

“I don’t understand,” Alex murmured as he held Michael’s head against his shoulder again, keeping him from doing anything stupid, “Why would they make you more powerful?”

“Maybe it’s a test,” Michael whispered against his neck, soft enough that even if the room was mic-ed they wouldn’t hear it, “Seeing what it takes to break you. Maybe they expected me to be mean.”

Alex’s jaw set as that seemed even more plausible than ever. It had him wondering what kind of drug they could’ve concocted that was intended to make Michael angry but instead made him emotional and clingy while still boosting his powers. The first thing that came to mind was a weird alien hormone that he’d been given an extra dose of. As dumb as that sounded, Alex couldn’t rule anything out. He took a deep breath to prepare himself.

“Thank you for that big brain of yours,” he said and kissed the side of Michael’s head for good measure. Michael gave a happy little hum and nuzzled closer. As much as Alex wanted him to keep holding him, though, he realized he needed to get on his feet so he wouldn’t be caught off guard. “I need to stand up.”

“Why?” Michael whined.

“I just do,” he repeated more firmly.

It took a moment, but he eventually got Michael to get up and to help him to his feet. He was a little unsteady for a moment from both not standing for long and also having his prosthetic on for so long. The moment he got stable, Michael looked over him and checked the bump on the back of his head, still gazing at him with a look that was far too overwhelming.

“How are you feeling?” Alex asked. Michael shrugged his shoulders.

A few seconds later, an alarm sounded one of the walls in it’s entirety started moving. Alex’s eyes widened in confusion and Michael placed himself firmly in front of him. This was the first time that Alex actually trusted him to be there. He was powerful right now, Alex could feel that, and he was protective. He knew damn well whoever was behind this couldn’t have predicted that.

A man slowly walked into view, so distinctly not his father that it actually shocked Alex. What the hell was going on?

“Hello, Captain,” he said.

“What do you want?” Alex demanded. The man grinned and took a step closer. Michael held his hand out in front him, locking the man in place. He still smirked.

“Come closer to him and I’ll kill you,” he said. Alex gently touched his hip and moved to stand to his side and a step closer to the man.

“Play nice for a minute,” he whispered. Michael’s jaw clenched, but he let the man go. His smirk got wider and he continued to saunter closer, not seeming phased by Michael’s power. What the fuck? “What do you want?”

“Where to start?” he asked, “Ah, I know where. I talked to your father. He said you had a peculiar attachment to a specific extraterrestrial. Who would I be if I didn’t quickly get you both to be apart of the experiment?”

“Experiment?” Alex repeated. He could feel the waves of irritation waft off of Michael. His switch from caring to angry had flipped so quick, Alex felt more sure than ever that it was hormones.

“We’ve had a very, very small group to work with when it comes to imprinting over the years. Four pairs in total, to be exact, and all have resulted in the same conclusions. It’s better than biological weaponry, I swear. The bond between one of these creatures and their masters can be incredible. You two, however, have one noticeable difference to the other sets we’ve tested on. Usually, they only have a few months, maybe a year, to form that bond and it’s already strong enough where the creature will just fold to their master’s will. But you two... over a decade. Incredible.”

“Is he saying I’m, like, your fucking Pokémon or something?” Michael asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Alex answered, stepping a little bit more in front of Michael.

“I can already tell this will be fun with the way you both act. I’ve never seen it look so organic before,” he stated, looking genuinely proud of the discovery. Alex didn’t share the sentiment. “He handled the pheromone dose well, I see.”

Pheromone dose. So they weren’t trying to make him angry, they were trying to make him love him more. Well, it fucking worked. And, honestly, Alex wouldn’t be surprised if they’d manage to give him a dose before he even made it to the junkyard earlier. What else could explain how eager he was to talk to him and admit that he missed him? Alex tilted his head and couldn’t help the grim look that overcame his face. They were so fucked.

“I’m excited to see if you’ll both survive. First time for everything, you know?” the man said, seeming to be genuinely giddy about the whole thing.

Things moved far too fast and he was gone, leaving them in what looked like a tiny arena. Slots opened in the walls and four mechanical arms slowly exited out of them. For a moment, Alex had hope that maybe they’d survive this and it was really just a dumb test. But then he realized they all had real weapons, throwing knives and guns. Three men, fully decked out in protective gear, walked in as well with their own deadly weapons. It was the fucking Tento di Cruciamentum.

“Alex,” Michael said warily. Alex licked his lips and firmly planted himself in between Michael and the things designed to kill them.

“Do you trust me?” Alex asked, reaching behind him to grab Michael’s hand. He squeezed it when it overlapped the dull hand print, feeling a rush of determination and loyalty.

“Yes,” Michael said. Alex brought Michael’s hand up and placed it on his shoulder with his palm facing outward. It was their own little weapon. They had to just play along.

“Then do as I say, alright?” he whispered, taking a deep breath as a buzzer sounded as if to signify the beginning of this sick test, “Keep the weapons off me and I’ll handle the hand-to-hand.”

Michael did as he said immediately, all four mechanical arms imploding on themselves enough to startle the men into trying to hide their own guns. Alex smiled in sheer pride.

“That’s my boy.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Heard it before, try something new.”

Maria glared at Isobel as they stood in the foggy mindscape that laid somewhere between them. Together, they had gotten better at the whole psychic thing. They were two very different kinds of psychic and it helped amplify each other in ways neither of them had thought possible. However, she still needed to fucking ask before she did that.

“I know you want to find your brother, but you can’t just invade my mind without asking,” Maria said. Isobel wasn’t amused, just giving her a tight smile.

“He’s been gone for hours and you haven’t done anything to help, so help.”

“I don’t know how. I only got a glimpse and it was just–“

“Show me.”

Maria frowned as she looked at her. The last thing she wanted to do was watch Alex die again, but she couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. Isobel had the power to replay the scene perfectly and that was the only way they could even kind of grasp the location.

“We need to help them, chop chop,” Isobel said.

As angry as Maria wanted to be, she knew it would just make things take longer and that was putting Alex’s life at risk. So, instead, she focused as hard as she could on that vision. Isobel grabbed her arm, giving her that extra little power boost to make it happen.

She knew she was there when she heard Michael’s sobbing.

Maria couldn’t help but look at the scene, holding back tears as she listening to Michael cry and promise to bring him back.

“Stop look at them, it makes it harder, focus on the room,” Isobel instructed. Maria reluctantly look away so she could take in the room, trying to ignore the sobbing.

There were three men laying unconscious on the ground, most of them seeming alive except for one who’s head was nearly on backward. On the wall, there were four open holes with destroyed, smoking machines in them. The walls were all covered in metal and the floor was dirt, but, when she looked up, the ceiling was high and wooden. It looked like someone had too much time on their hands.

“Is it a renovated barn?” Isobel said out loud.

“I think so,” Maria said, quickly looking around to try and see if there were any windows so she could see where it might be. Except the vision ended, warping back into the default mindscape. “Shit.”

“Do it again,” Isobel instructed. Maria looked at her a little helplessly. “We need to see more, that wasn’t enough information.”

“Can you really stand to hear Michael cry like that again?” Maria asked. Isobel looked at her with a hardened gaze.

“If it means saving his life, I’ll listen to it a thousand times.”

And they sadly did have to listen to it five more times, trying to look for an outside view. By the time they did find an outside view, Maria felt nearly desensitized to the sound.

“Are we good?” she asked as they got a good look of the farm space they’d been at. It looked like an old, abandoned farm. Maria didn’t know what to do with that information personally, but she assumed Max might know. It was apart of his job to know where she was in Roswell.

“I think so,” Isobel said. It was clear listening to Michael be so distressed actually had impacted her, but she kept it to herself. “Let’s go save them.”

“Finally.”

Michael hated this.

He knew Alex was a fighter and he knew it was strong and, had this not been a life-or-death situation, it might’ve been really hot to see him fight three men and use their protective gear against them. Right now, though, Michael felt like his skin was going to burn off. He wanted to get the fuck out of here and just tuck Alex up in his arms and keep him safe. That was the fucking goal, but god forbid these assholes let that happen.

When he had nightmares about being an experiment, this just wasn’t what he had in mind.

“Guerin!” Alex yelled. Michael responded by throwing the guy who’d managed to get in a cut on Alex’s arm across the room, slamming him so hard into the wall that it knocked him out.

He was trying his damnedest to get them all to fuck off, but they were trained fighters and he wasn’t used to anything more than a sloppy bar fight which mean he just had to stay back and use his brain. Which would be fine, but he could already feel his power dwindling. He needed acetone and a break soon or they were fucked.

He realized that, if he just put in the effort to knock the remaining to out, maybe they could get the fuck away. He watched as Alex dodged a punch and then landed another one, but it only did so much when they had protective gear. One of the men grabbed Alex’s arms and Alex used that as a brace to shove his prosthetic straight into the other guy’s face. It had him stumbling back and sent both Alex and the guy holding him to the floor. Anger pooled in Michael’s stomach and he used it to throw the guy who got the metal leg to the face like he’d thrown the first one, watching him fall too the floor and not move.

Then he focused on Alex and the other guy. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t sure he had enough gas to throw him when he and Alex were fighting on the floor. So, instead, he threw himself at the guy whenever he got on top of Alex, tackling him even though he knew he shouldn’t have.

“Fuck,” Alex cursed, but he didn’t seem to be angry at Michael for it and that’s all that mattered.

He wrestled with the guy, trying his best to try to free him of at least one piece of of the gear so he had a weak point. Alex was on it too, both of them using their body weight and Michael’s power to pin him to the floor. He looked panicked as they became successful and Alex took the headgear off before slamming his head into the ground, knocking him out for at least a second.

Michael and Alex locked eyes over him. His first thought was to kiss him, but that would be a little senseless so he didn’t. He wanted to though.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alex said and Michael agreed.

They used each other as leverage to get to their feet, both of them weak and needing to get the hell out of there. They won, but there was no telling if this was just round one or not. They looked around for an exit as quickly as they could, spotting a piece of the wall that looked a little different than the rest of it. Michael held out his hand, having to focus a little more than he’d like to admit to break it open and reveal the outside world. He needed acetone.

“You’re fucking brilliant,” Alex gushed, grabbing his hand and starting to pull him that way so that they could leave.

But then a shot rang through the air and Alex fell to the ground almost instantly.

Secondhand pain and straight devastation coursed through Michael as he tried to break his fall. He felt like his mind had completely short-circuited as he fell to his knees with Alex.

“No, no, Alex. Hey, no, stay with me,” Michael scrambled. His pretty face was morphed into shook, quick gasps falling from his lips as his body fought to breathe. Michael noticed the bullet had gone straight through him, straight through his lung. Wasn’t that just horrifying?

He looked up to spot the culprit, the second guy he’d thrown looking at him with sick joy and a gun in his hand despite the fact that he was still weak. Michael’s pain and hate brought tears to his eyes and, without so much as a second thought, he held his hand out and screamed, draining himself a little too much just so he could see his neck snap. He shot Alex. He shot Alex.

Michael pulled Alex closer into his lap, his hand pressing to his chest that just seemed to bleed so much faster than any person should and breathing slowing into something nonexistent. His hand was shaking and his mind wasn’t processing anything, everything in him just saying that Alex wasn’t allowed to die. He’d just fucking understood shit for once. He couldn’t. He needed him. Fuck, he needed him.

“I got you,” Michael said, sniffling harshly as he rocked Alex back and forth, “I got you. It’s okay, I got you.”

Alex’s eyes were wide, staring up at him still. He wasn’t gasping anymore for air, but Michael could still feel him and that was enough. If he could feel him, he could heal him. He’d healed him before, he could do it now when he knew that Alex loved him and trusted him. He could do it.

He closed his eyes, drawing on whatever was left to try and heal him. But, that was the problem. He felt like he was sucking on the straw in an empty juice box. There was nothing fucking there. He whined low and horrified, feeling so fucking useless as he tried over and over to find power that hadn’t been replenished yet.

“No, no, no,” Michael cried, choking on his sobs as blood started coming from his nose and his ears the more he tried. He didn’t even care. Not when Alex wasn’t breathing and hadn’t blinked. “Alex. Please, stay with me. Please. I just need a second.”

“Well, that was unexpected,” that stupid fucking man said again, coming out of nowhere. Michael glared up at him, still holding Alex and waiting for things to just work. This wasn’t real. This was fake. Fake, fake, fake. Alex was alive and well and this was a bad dream. “Usually the creature will jump in front of the master, sacrifice themselves. I’ve never seen a master die and the creature end up unharmed. You must be very manipulative.”

Michael cried harder, unable to even find words to bite back. He’d never felt a pain quite like this. He bowed his head to look at Alex, rocking him a little as he pressed on his chest. Heal, god damn it. He believes in you. Don’t let him down.

“No, seriously, I’m impressed. You’ll make a good soldier. You have very fine-tuned skills for a telekinetic.”

“Fuck you,” Michael managed, bending over even more to press his head against Alex’s. His eyes were still open, staring lifelessly right back. It was easily the worst thing Michael had ever seen. “Come back. I miss you.”

“Cute,” the man said.

“I miss you,” Michael told Alex again, his tears mixing with his blood that mixed with Alex’s blood. He pressed harder on Alex’s chest, trying to just get him to wake up. He could still feel that low hum of Alex in his veins, but it seemed to be stuck on his last set of emotions. Pride and then pain and then fear and then nothing. “Come back, please. I’ll do better, I promise. Please, Alex.”

“Police!”

Michael didn’t budge, not having it in him to care about anything that wasn’t bringing Alex back. He couldn’t even bring himself to stop staring at his eyes, just waiting for a sign of life. It had to come. It had to.

Things happened around him and he didn’t notice, trying so hard to find his strength to get him back. He had to come back.

“I miss you,” he repeated, “I don’t wanna miss you anymore.”

“Michael, buddy,” Max’s voice sounded as he touched his shoulder. Michael didn’t move. “You gotta let him go, okay?”

“No,” Michael argued, “No, I can fix this. He’s okay.”

“Michael,” Max said again.

“No.”

Faintly behind him, Michael could hear crying. He ignored it completely.

“Isobel, come here for a second,” Max urged softly. Michael felt another hand on his other shoulder.

“I’m not leaving, not until he wakes him, you can’t make me,” Michael snapped.

“We know,” Isobel assured.

Slowly, Michael felt her other hand layer on top of his that was covering Alex’s wound. Then Max’s layered both of theirs. Michael quickly realized what they were offering and he found himself crying even harder.

“You ready?” Isobel said. He took a deep breath and sniffled. “One...”

“Two...” Max added.

“Three.”

Michael woke up, his body aching from head to toe and an IV stuck in his arm.

The moment he did though, he scrambled to a seating position. Was that a dream? What the fuck happened? Where was Alex?

Sure enough, Alex was curled up in bed beside him, his own IV in his arm. He had bags under his eyes and he looked stressed despite the fact he was sleeping. Michael sighed in relief, scooting a little bit closer to him. That was when he realized that there was room to scoot closer and a quick look around told him he was in Max’s bedroom. The door was open and everything, giving them a way out of he wanted to. But, honestly, if Alex was alive, he didn’t want to.

He slowly laid down and ignored the way his back protested, facing Alex with unbridled guilt in his system. Whenever Alex woke up, he would hate him. He couldn’t even save him by himself. How pathetic was that? So much for a bond or whatever.

Still, he couldn’t help himself as he reached out to smooth his eyebrows out so he looked less distressed. Alex groaned at the touch and Michael snatched it away.

“Why did you touch my face?” Alex grumbled.

“Your eyebrows were all scrunched up.”

“What?” Alex asked, opening his eyes. They were tired, but alive and Michael couldn’t help but feel like that was the only thing that mattered.

“You know, they were like this,” Michael told him, mimicking the way his eyebrows were. Alex gave the smallest smile and huffed a laugh, letting his eyes close again.

“Okay, valid reason to touch my face.”

Michael hummed in response, hesitant to reach for him again despite how badly he wanted to. He almost lost him. Hell, he did lose him. He didn’t want to leave.

“Alex,” he whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Define okay,” he said, “‘Cause I’m alive so that’s something. But we were also kidnapped and put in a fucking test arena because of some stupid fucking theory and that’s fucked.”

Michael continued to stare and let himself wonder why the universe hated them so much. Why couldn’t they have good memories? Why did everything have to do bad for them?

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, “This wouldn’t have happened if I just–“

“Stop it,” Alex sighed, “This is literally in no way your fault. In fact, you saved me.”

“I didn’t though,” Michael whispered, tears pricking his eyes, “I tried and I failed. You died in my arms because I didn’t protect you and I couldn’t even bring you back. I lost you. That was the worst moment of my life.”

“Hey,” Alex said, moving as close as he could with the short IV line, “You helped me. That’s all I could’ve asked from you.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better, you’re the one who died,” Michael pointed out. Alex gave a grim look and reached out, grabbing Michael’s hand in his own. He pressed that dull hand print against his palm, effectively showing Michael just how much he still loved him and didn’t blame him. In fact, he loved him more than before. “I-I don’t understand.”

“Love doesn’t make sense, moron,” Alex sighed, pulling his hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to his palm.

Michael understood a lot more in that moment. In fact, he understood worship. Was this how Alex felt after every other traumatic fucking event they shared? Unbridled love and devotion? And, if he had, how the hell had Michael not felt it? More importantly, how had Alex survived being turned away?

“I love you,” Michael gushed, wishing that he was stronger so he could do something about it, “Holy fuck, I love you.”

Alex let out a soft little laugh, smiling as he kissed his hand again.

“That’s the first time you don’t feel scared of what that means,” Alex said.

“Because I’m not scared anymore,” Michael said, too many feelings rushing through him as things just made sense for once. Everything made sense. Everything had an answer. The answer was Alex. “Because I’ve already lived my biggest fear and you’re still here, you still love me.”

“And there’s no sign of stopping,” Alex hummed. Michael let out a heavy breath and pushed himself forward on a shaky arm, desperate for closeness more than ever before. Which was saying something.

“Hey, you’re up,” Maria’s voice said from the doorway, stopping them from getting any closer. They both looked to see basically everyone in the doorway, peering at them with matching concerned-mother looks. “Both of you.”

“Yeah,” they said. A hesitant silence filled the room, no one knowing what boundaries they could press.

“If you want to ask about why we got taken, can that wait? It’s confusing and long,” Alex said. Max was the first to respond, shaking his head.

“No, we found the files when we arrested that guy on drug and homicide charges,” he said, noticing their confusion and adding an explanation, “We couldn’t exactly charge him for kidnapping or anything without explaining the alien thing. Had to stage it as a drug deal gone wrong.”

“Oh,” Michael breathed, licking his lips as he remembered that guy he killed. He always thought he’d feel guilty about it, but it didn’t seem to effect him that way. He’d killed Alex, it seemed fair.

“But the files are interesting and, when you guys are feeling better, we’d like to go over them,” Kyle said. They both nodded. Michael wondered when they’d leave them alone.

“Okay,” Michael said, “So, uh, I don’t wanna be mean, but I’m tired.”

“Yeah, of course,” Liz said instantly, “But we wanted to say something real quick.” She and Maria shared a quick look before turning back to them, taking deep breaths.

“I saw you die before it happened, Alex,” Maria said softly, “And I told Liz instead of telling anyone else because I was scared and didn’t know where or when it was happening and I just got scared. I’m so sorry.”

Michael furrowed his eyebrows, feeling genuinely confused and hurt by that admission. Obviously, she couldn’t have predicted the context, but, fuck, a little more of a warning other than a phone call about practicing healing would’ve helped.

“You could’ve warned us,” Michael said, “Why the fuck wouldn’t you say something?”

“It’s okay,” Alex said. Michael immediately scoffed.

“No, it’s not okay,” he insisted.

“Okay, but I’m tired,” Alex sighed. Michael felt a little torn as he looked to him and then to Maria and Liz who looked extremely guilty. “Can I just yell at you when I feel better?”

“Yes,” Maria said, Liz nodding along, “You can yell at me or cut me off or whatever you want, I’m so sorry, Alex.”

“Can I steal my boyfriend back?” he asked instead of anything else. Michael huffed a shocked laugh, looking over at him.

“Yes,” Maria said again, though a little more sad about that one. Michael, as much as he liked her, wasn’t. Alex took a heavy breath, his eyes closing.

“Yay,” he breathed. Michael–and everyone else, honestly–watched him as he seemed to drift right back to sleep. He eventually looked back at the group.

“Is he gonna be okay?” he asked, his eyes directed to Kyle who nodded.

“Yes, he’s just going to need a bit more time than you. Turns out traumatic experiences can do one hell of a number on your physical health regardless of alien healing,” Kyle filled in, taking a step further into the room and going to check on their IV bags, “Yours is basically an acetone drip, that’s why.”

“Oh,” Micahel said, nodding slightly as he slid his attention back to the group in the doorway, “We’ll talk about this later?”

“Absolutely,” Liz said and Maria agreed.

“Okay, can I take a nap now?”

Soon enough, they all cleared the room, even Kyle who left him with a ‘you hurt Alex, I hurt you’ look that Michael wasn’t even mad about. Still, he used what little power he could muster to close the door and he scooted closer to Alex despite the IV in his arm.

“I love you,” he told him, “And I’m gonna do right by you, even if it’s because I accidentally imprinted on you.”

Alex smiled just a little bit or maybe Michael imagined it, but it didn’t matter either way. He meant it. He grabbed Alex’s hand again, weaving their fingers together.

“I’m gonna kiss you when you wake up,” he promised, “And it’s gonna be cosmic.”

Alex smiled obviously that time, peaking one eye open. Michael grinned at him.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Another pheromone dose?”

“Shut up,” Michael laughed and he moved forward, finally kissing him again having it mean something.

He was going to make this work this time, they had to. Not when they knew what they could and should be. They were bonded together in a way they’d never been before and it was obvious.

No more denying.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #how many ways can i say 'michael wants validation and alex is the only one giving it to him so he's super nice to him in return' in one fic #also did i REALLY write it if there's no praise kink?

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