#went in on my day off because they were short staffed again yesterday

[autonomousxselves]

//I keep trying to write but I'm going to be busy almost all week with work and family, got scheduled all day July 4th and as proof of yesterday it's not going to be easy working on the interstate during a holiday week so I need to catch up on my sleep more than anything rn. If you're waiting on a reply I'm sorry I will try to get it out this weekend or next week 🙏

[fuck-customers]

So I guess my GM thinks I'm going crazy and I might not get the promotion or respect I'm due because of it.

Backstory: I've worked in and out of fast food for close to ten years now. I've worked at this specific Wacdonalds for four with a year and a half gap in between where I found a better job, then lost it during covid. The reason I left the first time was because I had a mental breakdown. I had to go to a psych ward for a week where the psychiatrist and therapist stressed to me that my job was such a huge stressor on my life that I needed to find a new one for my own safety and agreeing to do that was part of my evaluation for them feeling comfortable releasing me. I did go back after that for a few months but on a limited basis. I didn't do service, I dropped down from being a manager in training back to normal crew, my hours were reduced, and I started seeing a therapist. Unfortunately I was still owed money where I hadn't been properly paid for six months and my supervisor said Wacdonalds didn't do backpay. That was the final push I needed to go elsewhere.

Of course, it's always something going wrong and I lost my new job during covid. I tried finding something else and ended up jobless doing a very, very low paying babysitting gig for six months ($30 a day for a 7 to 8 hour day). Well, recently I ended up needing to get an apartment and needed an actual job. Only fast food was hiring and Wacdonalds was just the easiest thing,  especially when it's all the same in my experience. The company who owned the franchise had changed but the same bitch supervisor was there. The GM was on maternity leave.

The first couple months were a STRUGGLE. Short staffed, poorly organized, no AC, managers were quitting without notice, closers were just not showing up. I felt so bad for the assistant gm who was running the show because she worked about every day and every day she walked into bad news. She did her best but the other gms who were supposed to be helping her were making it very obvious how much they didn't want to help and how big an inconvenience every little thing was. Still, she wasn't bad and she did her best to do right by the employees and that was refreshing.

The GM came back from maternity leave at the beginning of the month. People told me some stories about how she was kind of heartless, like telling a crying teenager who had just been called a bitch in drive thru to get over it. I wanted to give her a fair shake but tbh, I'm really done trying to outlast the horrible managers. I've been doing it for years and it's a part of the reason my stress was so bad. I came from a very abusive home and I've always been they'd put  protector, so it's ingrained in me, but I just don't want to anymore and decided if that GM was going to treat me poorly, I'd put my foot down.

I work nights so I've only had two interactions with her. The first was when I had tried to reduce my availability to not include closing. We just came off of weeks without any closers and I covered every single night. We also are now closing at 11 and I don't have a car but I do have a two mile walk, so I don't want to do that. I was pulled aside and told my pay would be cut for it and that was the policy. I know that, but having been told it again felt more like a threat and I had just finished helping everyone out of a tough spot, so it felt really insulting. Especially since it's the third time I've tried to do something for my own health and have had my pay threatened. Again, I was an MIT, I'm certified in food safety, and I've been expected to train people in the few months I came back but I'm being paid the same rate as a teenager who joined yesterday.

So I went to the GM and explained this. She kept interrupting me and assuming what I was saying then responding with the typical cookie cutter bs. "Well that's what the owners want." And "This is a policy decided on by blah blah blah." She clearly wasn't listening and she clearly was not going to go out of her way to help an employee. So I just shrugged my shoulders and concluded she was a dead end. This was confirmed when the assistant came to me about the conversation and told me that the GM walked about with not only a different idea about what I had said, but straight up lied about some of the contents. I told her I didn't think I could talk to the GM after that at all.

Recently a sign was out up asking for people to sign up if they wanted a promotion. I signed up as a trainer because it's something I already get asked to do, I'm one of the few people who still know proper procedures, and frankly I'm overqualified. I want the raise and I don't want to be used as a trainer without being paid to be one. 

Well, last night the assistant closed with us and we got into a conversation about the GM. She admitted to telling the GM what I said about not thinking I could talk to her and the GM allegedly said it was because I had just repeated the same thing. Now I get it, I ramble at times, but this was clearly not the case when the only thing she got out of the conversation wasn't what I had talked to her about. It's hard to stay on track when you're A) supposed to be working on table and B) keep getting interrupted by the person who is supposed to be listening. I said that felt like an excuse to not take what I said seriously. The assistant then told me that the GM didn't want to promote me to trainer because she thought I was "going crazy" and the assistant went to bat for me. The GM told her if I failed it was on the assistant... which again feels like an excuse to not take accountability. 

At the time I made a joke that I was going crazy clearly we had just had a half hour discussion on how to hide a body, but a few minutes later admitted how upset the comment made me. My mental health battle has been uphill. I try to be as open as possible with it because I don't want it to be this shameful secret. I got help I needed. I know if I don't talk about it when it comes up, I will feel ashamed because I'm not the person who fully appreciates help or can easily ask for it. I know a lot of people in my job NEED to have similar help but don't say anything. Sometimes I play it up, being a little unhinged but mostly in times of stress because jokes are how I cope. It's clearly a joke. When I'm not joking I'm serious and quiet. I do jokes and act like a dork because that's how I help people feel comfortable around me. I want people to laugh, even when I haven't felt all that happy in some time. When people take it for granted, mostly because they have spent five minutes to get to know me, then it hurts. I try really hard to not let me convince myself that I'm actually just irreparably broken and going crazy. 

I don't want to fail my assistant who is being convinced she's putting her neck out for me, but I also think it's a sign to go elsewhere. 

[stellarboystyles]

Make a Move

Harry’s a bartender and she’s a waitress, a match made in heaven. That is, if they weren’t constantly pining over each other like idiots.

4.2k !

She and Harry closed almost every weekend.

Why? Because there wasn’t really anyone else that was willing, so they’re always picking up slack. They were even more short staffed before Y/N came along, and given that she was the only waitress who actually gave a shit about her job, she was always the first choice whenever someone called in sick or quit unexpectedly, which, unfortunately for her, was quite often. Not that she’s complaining, because she and Harry always work the same shifts so it’s always fun. She was so kind to every customer but as soon as any of them were crossing a line she’d be the first one to tell them to back off. Harry was the best bartender on the strip, and everyone local knows it, too. Word travels fast, and his drinks speak for themselves. They make a great team. The rest of their co workers claim that the pair always get better tips, and even though they aren’t wrong, Harry and y/n like to indulge in the private joke that maybe if everyone else didn’t do their job half ass then maybe they’d get the tips that they get every night. Their boss is lucky to have both of them working for him. 

But Harry was just as lucky to be working there. 

That’s exactly what it was. Pure luck. 

When Harry’s mum Anne told her husband that she was pregnant with him, he promised her that he was going to change and be home more often, for them. And he kept his promise, for a while. Harry was such an easy baby, easy going and hardly ever cried. However, three months later things swiftly took a turn when she quickly realised that he was going to be a colicky baby. Seeing her little baby boy in pain, screaming and inconsolable just simply broke her heart, but it just meant that he needed a little more attention. She’d quickly learned his favorite remedy was a warm bath and a comfy swaddle, followed by some cuddles and he’d be right back off to sleep. She still thinks the reason that they’re still so close now is because of that extra bonding time. 

Harry’s dad had always been distant from him. He was never home, And when he was, he wanted Anne’s full attention, and when he wasn’t getting that anymore, because, you know, she was busy raising an infant by herself, he grew selfishly jealous of the child that he created. When he hit her in front of her son, that was it. She made the split decision that she didn’t want this life for Harry, or for her. She waited until he fell asleep that night, packed what she could, took her baby and left. Moved to London and never saw or heard from him again.

Harry was six years old when his mum first got sick. It started out as headaches and a fever that would come and go, but it got worse. To be specific, an autoimmune disease that was attacking her muscles and joints. It got so bad that she couldn’t even brush her hair, let alone take proper care of a six year old. Long story short, Harry learned quickly and at a young age how to take care of himself. when Harry wasn’t in school all he wanted to do was take care of her. He’d always wake up early on the weekends and make her second favorite breakfast...waffles. Her first favorite was pancakes, but he couldn’t make those, only because he knew that his mummy said the stove wasn’t safe and that he couldn’t use it by himself, because he could burn his fingers. 

Three years go by and things are really tough. Anne could no longer work, so without her knowledge, Harry began to improvise. He started selling some of his toys to his friends at school during playtime. By the time almost all of his toys were gone he’d managed to gain thirty five dollars, and he was so proud of himself. But when he saw one of the medical bills totals on the kitchen counter, he knew he was going to have to try something else. Every monday his mum gave him five dollars to pay for lunch at school for the whole week. So instead of eating lunch, he kept it in his backpack with the other thirty five. His friends always shared their lunch with him so that he wouldn’t go hungry all day, and no one ever found out. Week by week the amount seemed to add up quickly. Before he knew it it was the end of the school year he had one hundred and ninety five dollars. He counted it twice just to be sure, but it didn’t matter because it still wasn’t enough.

He was sad, extremely sad and angry. Three more years go by and his mum is in the hospital recovering from surgery. He couldn’t help feeling so many things all at once. His mum was his best friend, why on earth was this happening to her, to him? 

One afternoon Harry was walking home from school. It was gloomy and dreary, typical London weather. He wanted to get home faster so he could get to the hospital to see her, so he chose to make a quick shortcut down an alley to his left. As he walked he noticed a group of boys older than him, maybe fourteen or fifteen, on the side of the alley. Before he could turn around or walk past them, of course, they surrounded him. It felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

He was getting jumped.

“I-I haven’t got anything.”

One of them held his arms in a tight grasp whilst another one yanked the backpack off his shoulders, dumping the contents, including the wads of cash, onto the asphalt.

“Ooh, what do we have here?”

Harry’s eyes instantly widened, struggling with all the strength in his body, desperately trying to get free. He couldn’t let them do this.

“No! Please, please don’t. I’ll do anything you want, but I need that money!”

“So do we.”

A fist landed against his cheek and before he knew it he was on the ground being beaten senseless.

“It’s not for me!” he tried, throwing his hands up in front of his face in an attempt to defend himself. “It’s for my mum, she’s sick.”

“Hey! How many times have I told you to quit causin’ trouble back ‘ere?!”

Harry was wide eyed as he saw a man, probably a store owner since he came around the back corner. They quickly ran off empty handed. The man’s face changed from angry to bewildered as he saw Harry’s face.

And as if on fucking cue, it started to rain. Pour, actually.

“No, no, no…”

Harry scrambles to his knees and crawls forward, trying to salvage the dampened green paper, shoving it back into his backpack.

“Are you alright?!”

That was the moment that Harry’s life changed forever. 

The man, who Harry quickly learned was named Joe, did more than just clean up the young boy’s bloody face. They started talking and Harry told him everything. About his father, the piling medical bills, everything—and in that moment Joe knew he had to help him. 

Every day after that, after school Harry would go to Joe’s bar and work for him. Small jobs—sweep the floor, clean the tables, things like that. He took Harry in, looked after him when his mum couldn’t and gave him advice like the father he’d never had. 

The day Harry turned seventeen was the day his mum was officially in remission. Harry had been saving every single penny he’d made over the last five years, which was enough to really help out with their situation until his mum could go back to work. He was over the moon, he didn’t think he’d ever see the day that she’d be feeling like herself again. 

Harry didn’t really plan on going to college because even if his mum was better, he always wanted to be able to visit and check on her. After he graduated, he moved into the apartment upstairs above the bar, and the rest is history.

And that leads us to now. Four years later at twenty one Harry is everyone’s favorite bartender, who's crushing hard on this truly one of a kind girl that walked into his life only a few months ago, and he can’t remember what life was like without her in it. 

Despite how the job sounds, they both loved every second of it. Especially when they worked together. When they weren’t busy, they were constantly messing with each other, usually it was him teasing her whenever she tripped over her own feet, almost spilling a plate or glass and when she’d come back behind the bar he’d be smirking “y’not drunk are yeh?” and she’d mumble a “shut up.” making him chuckle. 

But they were incredibly soft for each other, there was no way around it. 

One time, Harry called in sick, and if he would’ve seen the look of disappointment mixed with sadness on her face, he might have just said fuck it and came in to work just to make her happy or at least see her smile, despite the food posioning. 

That’s what she did to him. All rationale was lost, even if it was just for a moment. 

When he came back, his co-workers filled him in, telling him that she was all sad and pouting through the whole shift. It made his heart ache, made him want to kiss the pout right off her lips, 

because her lips were so pretty. 

But it also made his heart beat a little faster. 

He caught himself staring more and more as the months went by, their friendship torturing him day by day. It was truly a sick joke—being her friend but not being able to feel her soft skin under his touch, kiss her anywhere, anytime he wanted. 

Was this karma? What did he do to deserve this?

He’s never been a day dreamer, until now. She’s in his head all the time and he can’t stop thinking about what his life would be like if he could just muster up enough confidence to tell her that he loves the way she pushes her hair behind her ears, or how he’s been dying to kiss her since she walked in the door on her first day. 

He remembers that day like it was yesterday. 

***

Harry was wiping down the bar, cell phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he listened to his boss tell him about his newest hire being a new waitress.

“Hope this one sticks.” he mumbled, a small smirk appearing on his face as he dried off the inside of one of the glasses. “M’not gettin’ paid to wait tables, Joe.”

“Oh piss off, I’m payin’ you more than that.” a laugh was shared between the two before he continued.

“She’s already been trained, but it’s her first day by herself, so be nice.”

“M’always nice. It’s those other vultures you’ve got to worry about.” 

Harry wasn’t exaggerating. The other waitresses were like wild animals, they’d either attack you or try to have sex with you. 

“Just look out for her, will you? Don’t want her bein’ eaten alive on her first day and then she’s too scared to come back.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, I’ll keep y’updated. Have fun on your holiday.”

“Thanks again for taking care of everything, I really appreciate it.”

“S’the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” the humor in his voice slowly faded, his tone becoming more serious.

Don’t get soft on me now.” his response to Harry’s sentiment makes him chuckle.

“Okay, okay. But m’serious, don’ know where I’d be without your help.”

When he hung up the phone, as if on fucking cue, he hears the front door open. 

***

Everything about her was perfect. Her hair looked like silk, even if it was tied back while she was working with some baby hairs falling around her face. Her skin was flawless—he loves it when she doesn’t wear any makeup, like today. He found her rosy cheeks and naturally long eyelashes to be undeniably adorable. 

“H?” 

His head snapped up at her voice. It was sweet, like the sugar he always puts on the rim of her glass when he makes her mojitos some nights after they close up. Harry thinks he’d do anything she wanted if she asked him nicely.

“Earth to Harry.” she jokingly waves her hand in front of his face. “It’s almost two.”

“Oh, shit. Wasn’t even lookin’ a’ the time.” he chuckled. “Thanks, love.”

“No problem.” Her cheeks were splashed with pink, looking at her shoes before turning to walk away. 

To this day, Harry doesn’t know what on earth possessed him to do this. But for some reason, three words popped into his head.

Make a move.

“Hey.” he stops her from walking away by taking her hand and pulling her towards him.

“What?” she giggles as she turns her head to look at him. 

“C’mere.”

The look on his face was giving her butterflies. He blinked slowly, a small smile curved across his lips.

“Got a new drink idea, can I try it out on ya?”

She lets out a nervous giggle before nodding her head. 

She felt like an idiot because she really thought that he was going to kiss her. She wanted to feel his lips on her lips, her skin. And god, did he want to kiss her. He felt like an idiot because that wasn’t really a move. He wanted to kiss her, so fucking bad but he got nervous. How couldn’t he? She was his friend, and so, so beautiful. What if she didn’t want to be more than friends? It was a scary thought, rejection. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin their friendship, he cared about her too much to ruin that. Wouldn’t it be awkward, if things didn’t work out, or she didn’t want him in the first place, and they still had to work together? Harry just might have to crawl under a rock.

But she wore her heart on her sleeve, so she couldn’t really hide the sadness in her eyes as her gaze fell to her hands as he was mixing the contents that were going to go in the lowball glass. It pained him to see her anything but her usual bubbly, sweet self. 

“S’wrong?” Harry frowned, but she shook her head. 

“Nothin’. Just waiting on you, like always.”

His mouth fell open at your accusation. 

“Since when?” he scoffs. “M’always waitin’ on you.”

“When?” she challenges, eyebrows furrowing.

Harry playfully rolls his eyes. “When we were goin’ t’that festival, or anytime we do somethin’ outside of work, yeh always take forever to get ready.”

Because she wanted to look super cute for you, you idiot. 

“I messed up my makeup, okay? Gimme a break.”

She’s sitting on the bar stool and he’s behind the bar, leaning onto his elbows and stopping what he’s doing to look at her.

“Y’dont need tha’ stuff.” 

She gives him a sheepish smile, but Harry’s not having any of it. 

Here goes nothing. 

“Hey.” he reaches over and puts a hand under her chin, finger brushing the skin of her jaw and his touch gives her butterflies. “Look a’ me?”

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, earning a smile on his pink lips. 

“S’true. You’re beautiful and you don’t need it, okay?”

A soft smile graced her lips, making his small smile wider. “Okay, okay.”

“Alright, here.” he slid the glass across the bar top towards her. She takes a sip and her eyes light up, making his do the same.

“Mmm, it’s so good!” she looks up at him, eyes widening, making him laugh. 

She loved his laugh. 

“Know you like to start off with the fruity stuff.” 

“Careful.” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “I know how much you love those cranberry vodkas.”

“And they’re delicious. Especially mine.”

“Definitely yours.” her comment makes Harry giggle, looking at his hands and you’re positive it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He looks at her, flicking his head.

“C’mere, I’ll show yeh how t’make one.”

Her whole face lights up. “Really?” and her excitement is so adorable he can’t help but mirror her expression with a laugh.

“Mhm, c’mon.”

She’s standing behind the bar and Harry’s standing behind her, showing her the ropes, as he called it. But when she felt his chest pressed against her back as he went through the steps, she could no longer focus on anything he was saying, which worked in his favor because he stumbled across his words quite a bit at the feeling. They were physically closer than they’ve ever been and she smelled so fucking good. He rests his head on her left shoulder, gripping the bar top in front of her. 

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and he finally speaks up. 

“Wanna try?”

He picks up the lowball glass, bringing it up to her lips. He moves his hand, tilting the drink to meet your lips. The interaction was so intimate, and you could feel his breath on your ear.

“Good?”

His voice was deeper, sending shivers down her spinal cord. She nods and he moves beside her, (much to her disappointment) and leans one of his elbows onto the surface beside him. She turns to him, and takes the glass out of his grasp as he’s taking a sip. 

“S’not nice!” he laughs as she takes a drink, giggling as he gets in her face.

“S’your turn to make me a drink now.”

One hour later and she was three drinks in, which meant that she was on the verge of drunk. She made him two replicas of the cocktail he’d helped her make just before, and he claimed that hers were just as good, but she still wasn’t too sure if he was letting her win or not. She wasn’t drunk, though. 

“Promise me.” 

“I promise.” the smirk sliding up his lips told a different story. 

“Liar!” she giggled, and she tries to walk towards him but her legs betray her as she trips over her own sneakers and falls into his chest. 

“Okay, you’re drunk.” he confirms with a chuckle, catching her by her forearms helping her to stand again. 

“M’not drunk, shoelace is untied.” she tries to lift up her leg to show him the definitely loose laces, but she loses her balance and nearly falls onto the wood floor, and if Harry hadn’t grabbed her hand when he did she would’ve definitely had a sore backside. 

“Maybe I am drunk.” she mumbles, pouting when she hears his chuckle. “Not funny, H.”

His stomach drops when he sees that she’s looking right at him with tears threatening to spill onto her soft cheeks. 

“No, m’sorry love. Didn’t mean it, okay? Promise.” He uses his thumb to brush the skin just under her eye. “Please, don’t cry.”

The rest of the tears subside at Harry’s comforting gesture. They stood like that for a while, eye contact refusing to break before she spoke up. 

“Do you like me?”

Did she really just say that? Was he that drunk? He was definitely more than tipsy, but did she really just say that?! Was he dreaming? Please let this not be a dream. 

His heart thumped in his chest when her fingers started playing with his. 

“Now what’s not to like about you, darlin’?”

That’s sweet, but not what I asked, she thinks to herself.

She could not believe the level of bravery in her blood right now. She wasn’t even that drunk and words that she thought she would never say were spilling out. 

As she was about to respond, she lets out a yawn, her previous thoughts quickly slipping her mind.

“Tired?’ he questions as he cocks his head to the side, a grin sliding up his lips.

“Mhm. Still need to walk home.” she frowns and his eyes go wide.

“Can’t let y’walk home alone-”

“I do it every other night.” she protests, clearly getting frustrated.

The thought of her walking back to her apartment alone at 3 am, sober or not, made his stomach turn. He ignores her attempt at convincing him that she’s fine, because there is no way he’s letting this happen.

“ Y’can stay with me? S’just upstairs.” 

His voice was quiet and it took a moment for her to register what he’d said. 

“Wait, what d’you mean upstairs?”

“There’s a flat upstairs, s’mine.”

The confusion on her face made his heart want to melt.

“C’mon, I’ll carry you.” 

She feels another yawn coming and he picks her up—one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he’s so warm—she can’t help but nuzzle her face into his neck and he thinks he could very well pass out, but he won’t, because he’s holding her, obviously. 

He sets her down onto his bed, and tells her she can pick whatever looks comfy from his dresser to wear as pj’s. 

“M’gonna go get some water, okay? Be right back, love.”

She picks out a stones t-shirt and changes into that because honestly, it’s one of the first things she sees and it smells like him and she’s tired.

He comes back upstairs and she’s laying down on his dark sheets, her back to him with her hair fanned out on his pillow. He walks around to the other side and sits down next to her. She feels the bed dip, opens one eye and pouts when she sees the water bottle in his hand.

“I know love, just drink some for me? Y’know it’ll make you feel better tomorrow.”

He encourages her to sit up and he doesn’t let her lay back down until she’s had at least half, and then covers her up with his blanket before 

“I’ll just be on the sofa. If y’need anything in the middle of the night let me know, alright?”

“No, stay.”

His breath hitched inside his throat. He swallowed thickly before replying.

“You want me to stay?”

She nods. “Don’t leave me.”  

She wants him to stay.

“I won’t, s’alright.”

After a small freak out episode in the bathroom while he changed, he gets into bed next to you.

Harry always had trouble falling asleep, but tonight it only took a few minutes and he was softly snoring into his pillow.

The light peeking through the curtains was what slowly pulled her out of sleep. 

“G’mornin’ sleepyhead.”

She couldn’t help the lazy smile across her lips, letting out a giggle as she stretched.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. Do you want somethin’ to eat?”

“Can I have some waffles?”

So, he made her some waffles. Some for him too. Harry didn’t have a dining table so he insisted she stay put while he make them breakfast in bed. He watches her take her first bite and he swears that this is the moment when he truly fell in love with her.

“Mmmm.” she hums, eyes closed with a dopey, syrupy smile across her lips. “So good.”

The reaction made him quite literally crack up laughing, because those waffles were from his bloody freezer and she was acting like Harry had just ordered room service to their hotel room in Paris. 

He’d take her to Paris.

“So, how’d you end up living here?” she wondered out loud, breaking Harry out of his daydream.

He proceeded to tell her everything. About his piece of shit dad, his mum getting sick, getting jumped, and how Joe took Harry in and was the father he’d never had. When he’s finished, her hand is on the back of his neck pulling him into a protective hug, lightly toying with his hair.

“I’m so sorry, H.”

Her voice is just above a whisper and it makes Harry’s eyelashes flutter.

She pulls away and they instantly find each other’s eyes. He gives her a small smile, as if to say, it’s okay.

She looks at him with doe eyes and he can’t help but reach over and pushes her hair behind one of her ears, the space in between their faces becoming smaller and smaller, until his nose brushes hers. 

“Can I kiss you?”

She gives him a small nod.

He cautiously presses his lips to hers. The kiss is everything both of them have ever dreamed of and so much more. Her hand is still on the back of his neck and he’s moved to cradle her cheeks in his hands, and they fit perfectly.

Neither of you want the kiss to end, both of them breathless as Harry’s forehead is pressed against hers.

“I really, really like you, had feelings for you for a long time.” you heart flutters in your chest at his sweet words. He felt like he couldn’t breathe as he waited for you to say something, anything.

“I really, really like you too.”

This is my baby, be nice to her. I’ve pulled many all nighters to make this as close to perfect as it can be so I hope you love it <3

Thank you to @oh-honey-styles​ , @for-fucks-sake-h​ and @andwhenshesays​ for putting this Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge together, I’m so glad I could be a part of it!

BIG THANKS to my babies @goldenfeelin​ , @bfharry​ and @avhrodite​ for truly hyping me up and being so supportive, I love you. <3

[amylillian22]

Doggie Door

Summary: Y/N moves in next door to Chris Evans. One night she gets called into work and asks Chris if he can dog sit her beagle, Phoebe. Knowing how crazy her work is, Chris hires someone to build a fence with a doggy door for both Dodger and Phoebe. 

Word Count: 1,784

Warnings: None. Cutness. Puppy love, pun intended, lol.

Author’s Note: I can’t remember, but someone gave me the idea to write something similar to this. Also, I couldn’t find a gif that worked with the story. Instead, I picked this cute one of both Chris and Dodger.

[My Chris Evans Master List]

Moving from Texas to Boston was slightly overwhelming for Y/N as she had never left her home state before. However, she knew it was the right decision to do when she landed her dream job at Mass General as the Chief of Pediatric Surgery. Within a week, she packed everything in boxes, drove across the country with her fur baby, Phoebe.

It’s her third day in her new home. The movers had arrived yesterday and managed to help her set up and place all the heavy furniture where she wanted. All that was left to do was unpack her boxes and turn the house into her new home.

She grabbed a box labeled dishes from the garage and brought it to the kitchen. She turned around and noticed Phoebe’s dog tags on her collar weren't clinging as she walked. Phoebe wasn’t a lazy beagle. She was active and always on Y/N’s heels.

“Phoebe?!” She looked around the half empty house and couldn’t find her. “Baby, now is not the time to play games. Where are you?” She called out again before she noticed she didn’t properly close the door that led to the garage, which was also open.

“Damn it!” She ran outside to the middle of the street. “Phoebe?!” She yelled. She jogged down the street calling out her name until she reached the deadend at the end of the street. Her eyes began to well up at the thought she lost her fur baby of 5 years.

“Phoebe?” She called out once more in front of her house.

“Excuse me?” Y/N turned around to see a handsome man walking towards her with Phoebe trailing behind him and another dog. Y/N rushed towards Phoebe and immediately kneeled down to hug her.

“I’m guessing this is your Phoebe?” Her neighbor chuckled as Phoebe licked Y/N’s face.

“Yes, thank you so much,” she stood up. “I got worried. I’m not familiar with the neighborhood just yet and neither is Phoebe.”

“I was washing my car and she came on over and started playing with Dodger,” she looked down to see his dog smelling and sniffing Phoebe. Phoebe licked his face before they started running around in the front yard. “I guess they like each other,” he smiled at the two dogs in front of him before he turned to look at her.

His smile was gorgeous. Infectious. She couldn’t help but smile back at him as she responded, “I guess so.”

“I’m Chris,” he extended her hand for a handshake.

“Yes, I know who you are. You’re Captain America. I’m Y/N,” she smiled as she took his hand in hers. “It’s hard not to know who you are when you work with a bunch of kids.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “So, you’re a teacher.”

“Actually, no. I just got the job as the Chief of Pediatric Surgery at Mass General.”

“Oh, wow. That’s amazing. It’s funny,” he chuckled.

“What is?”

“I work with a charity that helps with the kids and family at Mass Gen,” he explained.

“Really? I’d love to hear more about it.” She hoped he took the bait. She knew he was attractive. The guy was practically a Greek God. She only hoped he was open to the possibility of getting to know her just as much as she wanted to get to know him.

“How about over dinner sometime?” He asked with a sly grin.

YES! She mentally screamed.

“I’d like that. Well, you know where I live,” she pointed at her house. She mentally face palm at herself knowing she probably looked like an idiot pointing out with her thumb like she’s hitchhiking.

He chuckled, “I gotta get back to my car.”

“I’ll see you soon.” “Hopefully sooner than later,” he flirted back.

She smiled at him once more before she called out for Phoebe. Phoebe licked Dodger’s face once more before she ran back to her owner. Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle when she heard Chris tell Dodger, “I think you have a girlfriend now.”

***

During the past week, Y/N and Chris hadn’t had their dinner date yet. It’s not that they decided not to do it or one changed their mind. Y/N’s first week at her new job was hectic. She barely had time to cook or get a good night’s sleep. Chris has also been busy filming a new show for AppleTV in Boston.

However, in between their crazy and busy lives, they still saw each other in passing. They had small conversations when getting the newspaper or the mail. They’d say hi or bye when one caught the other on their way out.

But today was different.

“Ugh,” Y/N groaned as she quickly grabbed whatever clean clothes she could find. Phoebe whined in her bed, clearly annoyed she’s being disturbed during her sleep. “What the hell am I gonna do with you?” She asked Phoebe.

She quickly tied her shoes and glanced at the time. It was nearly 3AM and she was on call. Unfortunately, she was needed for emergency surgery as one of her patients took a turn for the worst. Given the horrible situation, Y/N was already worried and stressed about Phoebe. The surgery would take over 12 hours. The doggy daycare was closed to have Phoebe with her new furfriends for the night. She had no other choice but to ask her new neighbor.

She made a ‘tsk-tsk’ noise, signaling Phoebe to follow her. She took a second before she happily followed her owner. Y/N grabbed the pink leash and hooked it on Phoebe’s collar.

“Come on, baby,” She opened the front door and grabbed her work backpack. Y/N crossed her yard and into Chris’. Phoebe’s tail wagged with excitement as she realized she was going to visit Dodger.

“Please don’t get mad,” she mumbled to herself as she rang the doorbell and looked at the dark house.

She waited and hoped Chris would answer the door. Dodger immediately barked as the doorbell echoed throughout the house. Within seconds he was at the front door, barking and jumping up and down with excitement as he saw Phoebe outside the other side of the door.

After a couple of seconds later, Chris opened the door. Y/N tried her best not to drool as he was shirtless and his dark gray sweatpants hung low on his hips. He rubbed his tired and sleepy eyes, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m so sorry to wake you, but I have a huge favor to ask,” she started. “I got called into a long surgery. Too long I can’t leave Phoebe home alone. I’m wondering if you can watch her while I’m gone?” She continued without giving Chris a chance to answer. “The guys were supposed to built a fence earlier this week because I knew this was gonna happen, but somehow they were double booked and short staffed at the same time and-”

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled as he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Relax. I got this. I can take care of Phoebe and I can keep her for a few more hours than needed so you can get some sleep afterwards. I got this. Go! A kid needs you right now. Go be the awesome superhero that you are,” He said as he grabbed Phoebe’s leash.

“Thank you so much,” she leaned and kissed his cheek. “I owe you.”

“I’ll be sure to collect,” he smiled as he waved goodbye to her.

***

Y/N groaned and turned around to lay on her back. She looked at the clock and noticed she had slept 12 hours straight once she finished her 14 hour surgery. Although there was some complications, she still had a successful surgery. The kid would have a long and hard recovery, but he was going to be able to live life to the fullest.

“I need to get Phoebe,” she mumbled to herself before she got up from her bed.

Phoebe had been next door for over 24 hours and she couldn’t have been more appreciative and thankful for Chris’ help. She already had mind to cook dinner on her night off for the both of them as a thank you.

She opened the back door and her eyebrows immediately furrowed as she saw a wooden fence around her backyard. On the left side, there was a big square hole on the fence and as if on cue, Phoebe and Dodger ran through their new opened doggie door. Phoebe ran and jump on Y/N, excited to see her owner after what seemed like forever ago.

“Hi, baby girl,” Y/N cooed as she scratched behind Phoebe's ears. Dodger started barking, wanting the same love and attention Phoebe was getting.

“Hi, Dodger,” Y/N chuckled as both dogs started licking her face.

“Howdy, neighbor!” Chris called from over the fence. Y/N stood up and walked over to see Chris’ head. She knew he was tall, but not that tall. She assumed he was standing on his picnic table.

She chuckled, “is that going to be a thing? Howdy neighbor? Because if so, I need to pull out my overalls and cowboy hat from my summer box.”

Chris laughed, his smile reaching the corner of his eyes. “So what do you think?” He lifted his arms up, showcasing the new fence.

“Chris, you really didn’t need to do this,” she started, only to be interrupted by him.

“I already had the guys coming in yesterday and I asked them to build you a fence since they were already here.”

“Let me get my check book,” she was about to walk away.

“No. It’s okay. It’s all taken care of.”

“I insist.”

“It was nothing. Just a few selfies and videos with them and they started building right away,” he smiled. “Wanna know the best part of it?”

“I saw it. The doggy door between the fences,” she smiled. “Smart idea.”

“Oh, it definitely is, but that’s not the best part,” he hopped off the picnic table. The doggy door hole was attached to a regular size door for them to cross over any time. Chris opened it and grinned as he entered her backyard, “I got us a big doggy door. Wait, that sounded wrong,” he chuckled nervously.

Y/N’s heart swelled knowing he went above and beyond to make things as easy for her the next time she got called into work in the middle of the night for surgery.

“I really don’t know how I can ever thank you,” she walked over towards him. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

He cupped her cheeks and pulled her in for a kiss. It was gentle yet so passionate. Y/N couldn’t help but wrap her arms around his neck. Chris’ fingertips dug into her hips, fighting the urge to bring her body flushed against his. She pulled back first, her lips ghosting his.

“You’re very welcome,” he whispered. Then, his lips formed a huge smile and started chuckling.

“What?” She laughed with him.

“I’d told you I’d collect.”

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

In Your Father’s Eyes - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Lois Lane, Alfred Pennyworth, little bit of Clark Kent and Tim Drake and literally everyone Pairing: jondami Summary: Of all the things and all the experiences they thought Jon and Damian would have, it certainly wasn’t this. But they’re all better for it anyway.  A/N: A commission for the lovely @heraldofsong! I hope you enjoy it. :) They asked for a bittersweety fluffy story about the Batfam’s reactions/reminiscing to Jon and Damian having a baby. I chose the middle name ‘Charlotte’ because according to the internet it meant ‘freedom’ or ‘free’ and I felt that described an adult Jon and Damian very well. Barry went with Lois downstairs in case Jon and Damian emerged while she was gone, he could rush her back up. Also, it goes without saying, the Flashes brought Steph, Cass and Kara back from the gift shop the same way. Jon is petrified of holding or even touching the baby sometimes. He eventually gets over that. Some vibes for this fic are ‘Mango Dream’ by Afternoon Bike Ride. 

~~

It was a quiet afternoon at the manor. The warm sun peeking through the curtains. Birds chirping outside. The contented crackle of flame in the fireplace as he and Alfred each sat in a recliner reading a book.

Then Tim called.

“Conner and I are on our way to the hospital. Just about there, actually.” He said urgently. “Damian and Jon were taken there by a group of Green Lanterns.”

“What happened?” Bruce demanded, jumping from his chair as quickly as his old bones would allow him. Alfred glanced up from his novel, closing it immediately.

“That’s the thing…I…I’m not sure.” Tim offered. “I’ve already talked to Damian. He said neither of them were really hurt at all. Just that he needs us there. All of us.”

That was enough for Bruce.

Tim said he’d already called the others, and was in the process of sending Bruce the hospital coordinates. As Bruce and Alfred gathered their coats and head to the car, Bruce’s phone pinged again with a text.

I think you might want to bring your credit card.

Bruce rolled his eyes at Tim’s instruction, but checked his wallet anyway.

The hospital wasn’t in Gotham, or Metropolis, but a smaller city in between. A medium-sized research hospital that the League used often. Out of the way, but staffed with the most skilled in the world, and able to keep a secret or two.

Bruce could already see the gaggle of Green Lanterns on the roof as they pulled in to the parking lot. But judging by their relaxed body language, just like Tim had said, there was no emergency.

So what…?

Lois and Barry were in the lobby waiting for them. She smirked when she saw them, crossing her arms.

“What’s happening?” Bruce demanded. “Are the boys alright?”

“Perfect.” Lois let her smirk become a wide grin. There was a giddy shriek from nearby, and Bruce glanced over. It came from the gift shop, where he could see Stephanie holding something up, showing a confused Cass and judgmental Kara. “We were just waiting here for you to take you to the right ward.”

“Well, I must say, judging by everyone’s attitude, I can’t imagine it’s the ICU.” Alfred quipped. Barry laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Nope.” Lois spun away, all but skipping as she led the way. “Barry, you ready to catch him?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “We’re heading to the maternity ward.”

Bruce froze.

“���What?”

Barry was instantly at his shoulder, an arm hovering against his back.

“Ms. Lane…” Alfred said slowly. Laughter from the gift shop again, and now Bruce could see what Stephanie was showing the others – baby clothes.

“Wild, right?” She nodded, urging them both to follow. “But it’s true.”

“Apparently the boys were on a mission with a few of the Lanterns, on some planet.” Barry explained as he gently pushed them along. “This planet has way more advanced in vitro fertilization technology than on Earth. Than in the whole damn Milky Way. But apparently a major part of the fight was in a science lab. And I don’t know if it was from blood from injuries or sweat from exertion or what, but somehow both their DNA got into one of the machines, and literally hours later, a baby was being born.”

“An…alien child?” Alfred asked.

“You’d think that, but no. One-hundred percent Damian and Jon. So, only twenty-five percent alien, Kryptonian, from Jon’s side.” Barry hummed. “It wasn’t like their DNA was being added to an already incubating organism. Its creation came about because their DNA got combined.”

“At least,” Lois interrupted. “As far as we know. That’s why we’re here. They’re getting the baby checked out.”

Suddenly, Tim’s text made sense. “We have…nothing for a baby at the manor. Do…you and Clark have anything from when Jon was born?”

Lois’s grin softened. “Not enough to have everything they’ll need. But enough for the first day or so. Clothes-wise, anyway.”

“They’ll…they’ll have to come stay at the manor.” Bruce turned to Alfred, mind already in hyper drive. “Their…their apartment isn’t big enough. Right?”

“They live in a penthouse, sir, not an apartment.” Alfred smiled. “But I’m sure if you asked they wouldn’t mind coming home for a while. Especially with all the foot traffic of new aunts and uncles that they can surely expect.”

“You already know which room Clark and I are staying in, right, Alfred?” Lois teased.

“Of course, Ms. Lane.” Alfred chuckled. Barry suddenly dashed forward, holding the door open for the three of them. “I’m already devising the floor plans for everyone in my head as we speak.”

And even with the three women in the gift shop, the maternity ward was a madhouse of Supers, Bats and Leaguers alike. Tim was talking with Dinah and Ollie, showing them cribs and mobiles on his phone. Conner was talking with Diana, Donna and the two Wally Wests. Lois was already rejoining Clark, who was speaking with J’onn. Jason had already grabbed Alfred and was gently pulling him towards Koriand’r and Roy.

Barry was stepping up behind him. “Has Dick been…?”

Barry pointed, but it was useless, since Bruce had just spotted him. He was away from the crowds, further down the hall, staring into one of the closed doors, his arms folded across his chest.

Bruce nodded and gave Barry a short grin. Barry gently squeezed his shoulder before disappearing into their friends. Bruce inhaled and slowly walked forward. Everyone immediately gave him passing congratulations, and he smiled softly to each of them in return.

Dick didn’t look at him as he approached, kept just staring into the door. Bruce silently stood next to him, and glanced inside himself.

Damian and Jon stood there, next to a plastic crib. They were in matching teal scrubs that barely hid the few bandages they each had across their bodies. Nothing serious, like everyone had told him so far, but still enough that made his heart beat a little faster.

Jon’s wrist hung over the crib, and Bruce could see tiny fingers clinging to his middle one. His other hand was around Damian’s waist, rubbing calming circles against his hip. His head was up, nodding at whatever the doctor standing across from them and the crib was saying.

Damian, surprisingly, was opposite. His head was down, watching the child. His hand was cupping the baby’s head, stroking gently across its tuft of dark hair.

Bruce couldn’t see any other features on the baby. Its face was blocked by its fat belly and gleefully kicking feet. The hand not latched on to Jon’s waved every so often, where he could see a tube connected.

God, he couldn’t even see it and he adored this child already.

“Can you believe it?” Dick suddenly whispered. Bruce turned his head towards him, but kept his eyes on the door. He heard the baby give a loud squeal. Watched as Jon glanced down and grinned, shaking his captured finger. “Damian’s a dad.”

“So it appears.” Bruce smiled.

“He wasn’t one yesterday. There was no plan for him to be one, yesterday.” Dick continued, practically in awe. “This is…incredible.”

“The universe is an incredible place.” Bruce agreed. “…How long have you been here?”

“About an hour.” Dick admitted. “Damian called me when they hit Earth’s stratosphere.”

“Did you get to see the baby at all?” Bruce asked. In his periphery he saw Dick shake his head.

“They were already in there by the time I got here. Jon came out for a hot second to ask me to bring Lois to the ward when she arrived. But otherwise I haven’t talked to them.” Dick sighed. He shifted nervously from foot to foot. “…It’s almost laughable.”

“What is?”

“Damian’s the first of us to be a dad.” Dick smiled wistfully. “Mr. ‘I-Don’t-Need-Anybody’, Mr. ‘I’m-Not-A-Family-Person’, Mr. ‘Jonathan-and-I-Are-Too-Busy-To-Raise-Children’…and he’s the first of us to have a kid. A biological kid.”

“A biological child conceived and born in hours, from what I was told.” Bruce murmured. He chuckled. “Quite a…peculiar birth. Just like him.”

They lapsed into a silence then, as they continued to watch through the door. They could see both Damian and Jon conversing with the doctor, and suddenly, said doctor was lifting the baby from the crib, taking it out of view. The baby clung to Jon’s finger for as long as it could, even pulling a little as it was pulled away.

Almost immediately, Jon turned to Damian, and the two began to speak softly to each other. Damian’s face looked tired, nervous. Jon’s looked similar, but he smiled anyway, cupping Damian’s face in his hands. Damian clung to his wrists, closing his eyes as he leaned into one of the hands.

“…Do you remember when he was little?” Dick asked softly. “So tough and angry. I’d ruffle his hair and he’d try to cut my arm off.”

“He was a little…prickly.” Bruce smiled warmly. “Focused on nothing but Batman’s mission, and being the best. But you freed him from that viciousness.”

“I had help.” Dick laughed, watching as Jon leaned down and kissed Damian, before the two engulfed each other in an embrace. “Don’t sell yourself so short, old man.”

“Don’t sell yourself short either, Dick.” Bruce bumped his elbow into Dick’s side. “For as much as I loved him at the time anyway, much of his growth was because of you.”

“…Look at him, B.” Dick whispered after a moment. Bruce actually glanced at him now, and saw tears in his eyes. “Look how much he’s grown.”

Bruce put a hand on Dick’s shoulder, gave a squeeze as he glanced back towards the door. Damian was twenty-seven now, Jon twenty-four. Both tall and muscular, though Jon slightly more so, and both perfect mixtures of their parents. Each with their own lives, their own identities, creating their own legacies, their own destinies.

But right now all Bruce could see was the children they were. The friends forced together by their fathers, but almost instantly inseparable. The kids who were stronger than any man, and whose favorite game was to climb a life-sized replica of a tyrannosaurs rex that was nestled in a cave, and eat lunch in its mouth.

Damian said something and Jon laughed. Damian’s eyes lit up and his cheeks turned red as Jon kissed his forehead.

Bruce smiled too.

Friends from childhood. Lovers in adulthood.

And now, fathers.

Clark’s baby was a father. His baby was a father.

“I’m so proud of him.” Dick murmured, voice trembling in joy. “He’s just so happy, Bruce.”

Dick turned away, embarrassingly wiping at his eyes.

“God, don’t let him see me like this.” Dick laughed weakly. “It’ll ruin my chances of being the baby’s godfather.”

“It’s endearing.” Bruce promised, turning to look at him. “If nothing else, it’ll heighten your chances. Besides, you’ll still be its uncle no matter what.” A smirk. “And grandpa, depending on who you ask.”

“Oh god, Bruce no.” Dick laughed, wiping faster at his eyes. “I’m too young to be a grandpa.”

“How do you think I feel?” Bruce asked incredulously. “I just got told by Superman’s wife twenty minutes ago that I’m a grandfather!”

Dick looked over at him, eyes soft, the crinkles around his eyes more noticeable with his smile. “You’ll be a great one, Bruce. The very bes-”

There was the sound of a doorknob turning, a latch unhooking. Dick and Bruce both spun back around towards the door to the exam room to find it opening.

Suddenly, the whole hallway was silent, save for a light whooshing, electric noise. Clark was there instantly, Lois in his arms. Conner appeared with Tim, Jason was just finishing pushing his and Alfred’s way through the Justice Leaguers, and the Flashes were each dutifully helping Stephanie, Cassandra and Kara to their feet.

They all waited with baited breath.

It was Jon who was opening the door, and held it open for Damian to walk through. Damian, who had a swaddled bundle tight in his arms, stepped tentatively into the hallway. As soon as he was through the threshold, Jon was at his side, a protective arm around his back.

When Damian glanced up with his wide, shocked eyes – he looked at Bruce first. Then Clark, then Lois, then finally landed on Dick.

“I…” He croaked. Closed his mouth, cleared his throat. Let himself smile slightly as he returned his gaze to Bruce. “We…we have a daughter.”

He turned the baby outwards slightly. Her eyes were closed, but skin was the perfect mixture of Damian’s tan tones, and Jon’s pale colors. She had Jon’s wild curls, but very clearly Damian’s nose and eyebrows. There were immediately a few gasps and coos among the nearby Leaguers.

“Healthy?” Clark asked. “She checked out okay?”

“Completely perfect.” Jon exhaled in excitement. “Doc said she looks like every other baby he’s ever seen, all the way down to the DNA.”

“Anything about…powers?” Clark pushed.

“Dad.” Jon rolled his eyes. “She’s only a few hours old.”

“The doctor told us to monitor her as she grows, and go over your, Jon’s, Kara’s and even Conner’s personal histories.” Damian explained instead. “And if she does at any point present powers, it will likely follow the same timeline as the rest of you.”

Lois stepped forward, gently pressing her hand to the baby’s head. Like always, she asked the question everyone else was too nervous to.

“What’s her name?”

Jon and Damian glanced at each other, and Jon let out a light laugh.

“Martha.” Damian whispered, looking straight at Bruce, with a quick glance to Clark. “Martha Charlotte.”

“Hello Miss Martha Charlotte.” Lois cooed, leaning down to kiss the baby’s head. Martha just yawned, and curled back into Damian’s chest.

“Whose last name?” Dick asked gently, taking his turn to step forward. “Martha Charlotte Kent? Martha Charlotte Wayne? Hell, Martha Charlotte al Ghul?”

Damian smirked and Jon looked heavenward as he mumbled, “To be determined.”

Dick laughed as he looked between the two men. He let his laughter die out and asked, “You two nervous?”

“Is it that obvious?” Jon countered incredulously. “I mean…jeez, I’m still afraid to hold her!” He leaned into Damian’s back. “What if I…I don’t know, squish her, or something?”

“You won’t, Beloved. I promise.” Damian teased, leaning back to kiss at Jon’s cheek.

Dick smiled, and couldn’t help himself. He leaned forward and pressed his temple against Damian’s, looking down at Martha. She gave a contented sigh.

“I am so, so, so proud of you, Damian.” Dick whispered, squeezing Damian’s arm. Lois nodded in agreement as she ran a hand through Jon’s hair, before returning her attention to the baby. “”I am so proud of you both.”

Damian let himself smile, let himself exhale in what almost sounded like relief as he leaned into Dick. He stood there a moment, let Dick and Lois fawn over the baby, before glancing up again. Clark was watching with a bright smile, one almost too big for his face. Waiting excitedly for his own turn, but clearly quickly losing his patience.

Then he looked to Bruce. Bruce who had just been staring silently since they stepped into the hallway, eyes wide, lips parted. A faint, awed smile was etched gently into his face, and it made Damian’s own smile widen. He slowly stepped away from Jon, Lois and Dick and towards his father, angling towards Clark in the process to include him too. “…Father?”

Bruce looked up at his face, the adoration clear in his old blue eyes.

“…I have a daughter, Father.” Damian breathed, looking towards Martha. She smacked her lips sleepily, and Damian’s smile, impossibly, grew. Let himself smile wider than Bruce had ever seen. “And I just…she is already my whole world. I…I’ve never loved someone so quickly.”

“That’s what having a child does to you, son.” Clark smiled.

Damian’s grin faltered, just slightly. “I’m sure it was not this way when I arrived in your life.”

It was a self-depreciating joke, made to downplay Damian’s importance to every single person in this hallway. But Bruce didn’t take it. Bruce didn’t dare play into the darkness that still plagued his youngest’s mind.

“On the contrary.” Bruce hummed, taking hold of his elbow. “I might have loved you even quicker.”

Damian snorted and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he just kept looking at Martha, shifting his hand to run across her tiny cheek. His voice was barely a breath. “…I have a daughter.”

“And she looks like you.” Bruce noted, poking at Martha’s nose. She scrunched it up and shook her head. Damian laughed, and held her even closer. “…I’m so happy for you.”

Damian looked up then, almost in surprise.

“You’re going to be a great father.” Bruce whispered, squeezing Damian’s elbow. “The best of any of us.”

Damian turned back towards his husband just in time to see Dick grab Jon and wrap him in the biggest hug he could. As Dick released him, Jon glanced over at him. “…And he will be an even greater one.”

Jon, who of course heard the whole conversation with his powers, grinned sheepishly.

Damian giggled as Jon stepped towards him, and kissed his forehead, then leaned down to do the same to Martha. A moment later, he allowed himself a deep breath. “Well. You ready?”

Jon glanced over his shoulder, towards their waiting brothers and sisters, to the entirety of the Justice League waiting behind them. He exhaled sharply. “As I’ll ever be, today.”

Dick laughed as he and Lois helped pushed the new parents forward. As Clark stepped closer to Bruce and hugged him in quiet glee.

“Welcome to the family, Martha.” Dick grinned, gesturing out to everyone, before looking down at the sleeping newborn in Damian’s arms. Damian and Jon looked happily at each other. “We’re so happy you’re here.”

[skeletonsloverockcandy]

A Hitchhiker’s Guide For Androids

Summary: Logan the Android goes to his interview with Dr. Picani. Afterwards he meets some familiar faces from the day before.

Warnings: Lying, food tw, eating tw, Logan tricks out his rad robot bod, and it seems like it might be gorey, but he’s a robot so it’s fine.

Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides, Cartoon Therapy, TS Shorts

Characters: Logan/Logic Sanders, Patton/Morality Sanders, Roman/Creativity “Princey” Sanders, Virgil/Anxiety Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani, Remy/Sleep Sanders.

Pairings: Background Romantic Remile, Platonic LAMP/CALM

Word Count: 8,370

Chapter One Chapter Two Ao3 Link

Chapter Three: New Neighbors

The next morning Logan put on his blue button up shirt and solid color tie. He was preparing for his interview later that morning with Dr. Emile Picani, and he wanted to look presentable. He was also up unreasonably early. In part because he didn’t need to sleep, but also because he wanted to avoid his neighbors for the time being. Due to his actions saving Patton yesterday, they were sure to want to speak with him, and he’d rather avoid messy, complicated, emotional interactions for now. He slipped out of the café before they had the chance to approach him yesterday, and he would prefer to delay that interaction while he still could. He was unsure if his circuits could handle more than one person at a time. 

The application he filled out had the phone number of the Cartoon Café on it, and he had taken the liberty to text the number and ask when his interview had been scheduled. Dr. Picani had quickly texted back and informed him of the time, but also that the café was closed that day because of the attempted robbery the day before, and that he would be there personally to check up on the shop. He informed Logan that he was more than welcome to come by and conduct his interview though, that it wouldn’t be a problem at all.

Logan took that as permission to prepare himself for their meeting. Then, since he had some time, he ran through several scenarios focused on the interview. He figured if the typical interview questions were asked, assuming this job required few prerequisite skills, and if he maintained a pleasant demeanor, he had a decent chance of landing the job. A 82.6% chance to be more precise, but since certain things relied on the unpredictability of human behavior, he was willing to put some leeway on the odds depending on what came up.

Finally, he looked through the peephole of his apartment and did a thermal scan to locate the heat signatures of his new neighbors. He wanted to be certain they were not in the hallway when he left for his interview. From what he could tell, Patton seemed to be in his apartment, and Virgil and Roman did not appear to be in the building, so the two of them likely went to their respective workplaces while Logan was getting dressed.

Satisfied that he would not be seen, he set off to leave his apartment building. It would be close, but if he walked at the right pace, he’d only be an hour early to his interview instead of much much earlier. He walked very fast. However, he hoped that showing up early would ensure a good impression. Logan would say first impression if it weren’t for yesterday, and now that he thought of it, he’d rather avoid the possibility of the emotions that might come with them being in close quarters. Well, Patton said Dr. Picani had a PhD, Logan trusted he would remain professional.

*

“Wow, it’s really you!” the pink and brown clad psychologist practically squealed. “You saved Patton’s life yesterday, I cannot tell you how grateful I am. I was going to find you to thank you yesterday after I checked on my husband, Remy, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. Then next thing I know Patton’s telling me you applied to work here! Whaaaaaaaaaat?! Like, what are the chances?”

“Actually quite high, given that was my intended reason to enter the establishment in the first place.” Logan interrupted, “And, deepest apologies, but would you mind relinquishing me from your embrace? I’m not a very, what is the phrase? Ah yes, ‘touchy-feely’ person.”

“Oh yeah, sure. Anything for our hero over here, ey!” Dr. Picani stepped back and stopped hugging Logan. “I just want you to know grateful I am that you saved the lives, not only of my employee, but of everyone else in the cafe, including my husband. I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost any of them, and I have you to thank.” Emile pushed up his glasses and smiled warmly at Logan.

Ugh! These were the exact kind of emotional reactions Logan had been trying to avoid! Not that he didn’t appreciate the recognition, it was just something he didn’t understand that well, and thus, was unfamiliar dealing with, especially when such affections were directed towards himself. He had barely walked in the pink and blue building with the bell chiming over the door when Dr. Picani had stepped out of the back room and immediately came up to embrace him. How did humans deal with this attention?

“Urm, well, you are, uh, very kind. But if I may interject, I came here to interview for the open position?” Logan stumbled out awkwardly. He wished he could have more tact, but this was becoming a bit too much.

“Oh! Yeah, let’s go on ahead to the back room, I’ve already read over your application so you can come right in here.” Dr. Picani responded jubilantly.

After the introductions, they conducted the interview mostly professionally, though Dr. Picani kept making pop culture and cartoon references that Logan only barely got because of his general knowledge of human culture. It went fairly smoothly though. The position required no prerequisite skills, and the skills it did require, Logan could easily be taught. It was a sort of catch-all position because of how short-staffed Dr. Picani and Patton were. They were the only two employees, though they were occasionally helped out by Dr. Picani’s husband, Remy, who Logan gathered was the hipster-esque person in sunglasses from yesterday, if the photos of him and Dr. Picani on the desk in the back room were anything to go by. The back room appeared to be more of an office than anything else, though it did have doors to the food storage and break rooms, so ‘back room’ was the most accurate description from what Logan could tell.

Anyway, for the job, Logan would need to learn how to man the register, cook up the items on the menu, and clean the store. It seemed simple enough, though the job would require him to occasionally step outside his comfort zone. He understood he would have to acquire a “customer service” demeanor, which he figured he could manage. He was already lying to people as it was, what’s a little more? The thing he was looking forward to most was taking inventory and counting the money at the end of the day, most people’s least favorite parts of customer service jobs. It would really give Logan the opportunity to show his prowess with numbers, and, regardless, it was easier than dealing with large swarms of people.

At the end of the interview, Dr. Picani told Logan he did an excellent job and that he’d be happy to see him by the next work day. The general dress code seemed to be just a polo shirt (of which Logan already owned) and a name tag, which Dr. Picani said he would have made for Logan shortly, that he was so happy to have a new member on the team, especially someone who saved Patton’s life. It occurred to Logan that that incident might have helped his prospects of getting the job, but he wasn’t one to complain about fortunate circumstances.

He shook Dr. Picani’s hand at the end of the interview, “Thank you, Dr. Picani, I look forward to working with you.”

“Oh please, call me Emile, it’s the least I could do to conduct this interview after yesterday. Thank you again, truly.” Emile said, unable to keep the bright smile off his face. Logan smiled softly in return as a sign of gratitude.

“Yesterday was no problem, I was just trying to help how I could.” Logan responded. “I’ll see you at work.”

“You sure will!” Emile said warmly, “You’re gonna do great.”

*

Logan’s journey back to his apartment was pleasant. The sun was out and the buildings looked even more charming than the day before. It was if the world was rejoicing his new found income security. Now with a job position guaranteed, Logan felt he had become truly independent and separated from his previous terms of existence. He could exist for himself now, and do with his abilities what he wanted. It was...refreshing. Quite a relief from the idiotic frustrations of the scientists. For once, he was perfectly happy to go slow and enjoy his walk home.

*

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, and feeling quite relaxed from how positive the day was turning, Logan failed to run a diagnostic the potential threat of his neighbors being home. And this was brought to his attention by him turning the corner on the stairwell and running straight into Patton.

“Oof!” Patton exclaimed as they collided, his glasses getting knocked off his face and items he was holding now being strewn on the floor (some papers, an envelope, and a ceramic mug with paw-prints that thankfully didn’t break).

“Oh! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Patton said as he squinted at the floor. “...If I could just find my glasses,” he muttered, “then I’d be a real sight for sore eyes, because of my sore eye-sight, heyo!”. He laughed as he crouched to the ground searching for his glasses and the other dropped items. Logan stood incredibly still, torn between slipping up to his room while Patton couldn’t see his face, and bending down to help Patton with his things. It was a fight with his programming to evaluate the more pressing need. If he helped Patton, then the person he saved would know he was living in the same building as him. On the other hand, he desired to be helpful to humans, and Patton would likely discover his living situation eventually anyway. Deciding it was better to figuratively rip that band aid off sooner rather than later, Logan bent down and handed Patton his glasses from off the floor.

“Oh, thanks kiddo! Don’t know what I would have done if these had broken. Really sorry about running into- WOAH! Hey! It’s you!” Patton exclaimed as he placed his glasses on his face, beaming up at him. “What’re you doing here, Logan?”

“Ah, of course. Well, you should know that I live here now. I moved in yesterday, though I was unaware of the complex’s current inhabitants when I rented the apartment,” Logan explained in a monotonous tone, “I apologise for disrupting your stairway travel, I will get out of your way.”

“Woah, hey there kiddo. I wasn’t watching where I was going, so if anything, the blame is on me. And secondly, you live here now? My savior, in this apartment? Wow,” Patton said with an astonished half chuckle, “I can’t believe you live here! That’s awesome! Which apartment?”

“That would be apartment 4A on the fourth floor,” Logan answered. Patton gasped excitedly.

“Oh my goodness! That’s the same floor I live on! What a coincidence!” Oh, didn’t Logan know it. Patton inhaled sharply, “Do you know what this means?!” Logan resisted the urge to either roll his eyes or detail exactly what it did indeed mean in literal terms and settled for thinking: I can certainly guess.

“We’re Apartment Buddies! Yay!” Patton practically shouted as he jumped up excitedly, nearly knocking his glasses off yet again.

“Otherwise known as neighbors, I presume. But yes, we will be living on the same floor and in close proximity, though whether we become ‘buddies’ as you phrased it, will depend on the advancement of a mutual bond over time that some might call friendship. However, that has yet to be seen and will take time.” Logan rambled off.

As Logan was speaking, Patton slowly brought up his hands up in loose fists lightly squishing the sides of his face while his eyes squinted behind his glasses and seemed to sparkle with excitement in an almost universal ‘Aww’ gesture, before saying, “Dawww, Logan...Are you implying you want to be my friend?” One hand flew down to his chest and clutched his heart, “That is so sweet, aww..Logan. First you save my life, then you save my heart.”

Oh no, emotions, yet again, Logan thought. He just couldn’t seem to escape them today.

“You know what,” Patton continued, “Why don’t you come over to dinner tonight. It’ll be like a ‘thank you’ and a welcome party all rolled into one! And! I can introduce you to my best friends Virgil and Roman. They’re also our neighbors and they were at the café yesterday too!”

Oh I am all too familiar, Logan thought, and fantastic, more people expressing their emotions at me, this is utterly exhausting.

However, it would be incredibly rude to refuse a gesture of kindness such as this, and he would be living next to these people for who knew how long, so it was impractical to try to avoid interacting with them forever. Besides, this is what humans did. They interacted with other humans. How was Logan supposed to be a convincing human if he intentionally avoided interacting with them?

“That would be...lovely, Patton. I look forward to getting to know who I live next to. Though, I must tell you, I am not the best at dealing with multiple people. I...sometimes struggle to react appropriately to emotional...things, so I apologise in advance.” His only references for dealing with multiple people at once were the scientists after all, and they weren’t the best example despite his programming.

“Oh kiddo, that’s okay. Virgil and Roman are really great and super understanding of all sorts of things. And heck, yesterday, before we got home, Roman couldn’t stop talking about how impressed he was with your maneuvers and bravery. I even think he was a little starstruck, because he kept cursing himself for not saying anything to you after you pinned the guy on the floor. And while Virgil did say you were being a liiiiiittle bit stupid for putting yourself in danger, he did complement you on your quick thinking, and it’s tough for Virgil to complement strangers, so that really means something! I really think they’re grateful for you saving me kiddo, so I know they’ll be super nice about any sensitivities you have about being around them.”  Patton concluded.

“Well that is a relief to hear, Patton. I certainly do not want to leave a bad impression. I feel that would be unbecoming of a new neighbor, so it’s comforting to know I have your support.”

“Aw shucks Logan, after what you did for me, the least I can give is my support,” Patton said bashfully while adjusting his glasses.

“Ah, well in that case, I look forward to dinner. At what time would it be appropriate to come over?” Logan inquired.

“Oh! Well I’ll text Roman and Virgil and tell them we’re having a guest over for dinner, then..hmm, is five o’clock okay? I know they’ll both be home from work by then, so it’ll be the perfect time to introduce you,” Patton said thoughtfully.

“That sounds adequate, I will be at your apartment at five. Which apartment number is yours?”

“4C! And Roman’s is 4D and Virgil’s is 4B, just in case you wanted to know!” he said brightly, then he gasped, “I have to get everything ready!”

Logan looked on at him and determined that Patton’s heart rate spiked along with a touch of adrenaline being released into his veins as well as an influx in dopamine levels. He could tell Patton was genuinely excited about him coming over. Logan hoped it would go well given he had never actually eaten food before. It was within his capabilities to pass as a convincing human, but he had never done a trial run to see how he would actually react to having food in his false stomach. Could he even taste? He wasn’t sure. He escaped before they could troubleshoot that part of his programming. He knows that he’d be able to identify the exact components of whatever he was ingesting, but all he could assume he would be able to get out of eating food at his current level of advancement, would be the texture of it in his mouth, and the mess he’d to clean out of his chest cavity later. The thought of the uncleanliness made him internally cringe a bit, but he stayed in check on the outside, keeping his face impassive at his thoughts.

Patton was no longer paying much attention to him either way, instead mumbling excitedly under his breath all he would have to do to prepare while shuffling his picked-up items in his arms.

“Ah, uh, see you later Logan! Got to drop this paperwork off to Sandra, the landlady, then I have to prepare for guests! Ooooo this is going to be so fun! Buh-bye!” Patton said he stepped by Logan, turning to give him a half-wave with the hand holding the mug.

“Be careful going down the stairs, Patton. And I’m sure whatever you prepare will be adequate, see you then.” Logan called out as Patton turned the corner going down the stairs. He sighed to himself as he climbed the last few flights to his floor and entered apartment 4A. What had he gotten himself into?

Now, not only would he be interacting with multiple humans at once, he would also be expected to eat. He had never eaten before, not even in practice. He knew humans needed to do it to survive, but the thought of taking something and having to mash it into little slimy bits in his mouth, then swallow it? Not to mention, his experience with eating would be different than a normal human’s because he had to manually clean up whatever ended up in his false stomach tonight, and the experience couldn’t be made more enjoyable because he was pretty sure he didn’t have a sense of taste as of yet.

Wait, was he getting worked up? Is this what performance anxiety felt like? Regular lying was fine, but this felt like an entirely different ordeal. Snap out of it Logan! He was an android, he didn’t have feelings. So stop acting illogically and prepare for the dinner. He would get through it, further integrate and adapt to human customs, and survive. This was fine. Everything is fine.

Realizing he had just been standing in the entrance of his apartment while leaning against the closed door, Logan walked further into his apartment. This shouldn’t be bothering him. He was a highly advanced, incredibly valuable, and state of the art espionage machine, so something so trivial shouldn’t be bothering him. However, it was bothering him, and he couldn’t seem to get it to stop. So...he was a state of the art, highly advanced, incredibly valuable espionage machine, how could he change the situation so it was less bothersome to him so he could be at his optimum level of performance?

Well, the problem was his concern over the sensation of eating, and that it will be uncomfortable or disturbing to him. He would have to eat regardless, because he could not see a way out of that situation without being incredibly rude. So if he had to do it regardless, how could he make the instance more enjoyable, or at least bearable, to himself? The obvious answer would be to taste the food so he would at least get the same level of enjoyment out of it that the humans did, but that was unrealistic.

...Or was it?

Logan suddenly got an idea, and walked into the bathroom where he knew there was a mirror. Then he rolled up the sleeve on his left arm and peeled back some of the false skin again. Unlike his right arm that had a combination printer and data transferrer for forging necessary documentation and identification, his left arm had some minor tools and resources meant for repairs, as well as access to his wiring when feature updates and small performance tweaks needed to be done. Logan also rolled up his pant leg and opened the panel where his extension cord was, pulling it out and plugging it into the outlet by the sink so he would have a constant supply of power while he did this, should he accidentally make a mistake.

Then Logan reached with two fingers under his jawline and pressed three very particular spots while grasping one of the tools from his left arm, something slender and metal, and lightly pressing it to his temple. The next thing that occurred was a slight hissing noise of pressure being released as his jaw slowly popped open, causing as widening gap between the flesh of his lower face and upper face, revealing, besides his false teeth and cheeks and tongue, a mass of wiring and blinking lights now visible below the line of his top lip. Now with ample room, he slowly reached behind his jaw and grasped an exposed wire connected to his tongue, then reaching up with his tool, gently disconnecting it. He then lowered it to the wiring exposed on his left arm, and inserted it in a place where coding and tweaking that particular piece of hardware would be easier. Taste was simply the body analyzing different chemical compounds, something Logan could do via data analysis anyway, so changing some of his coding to associate a physical sensation along with that wasn’t too far of a reach, at least by his standards. Logan checked the time. Seven hours, seven hours until the dinner party. He would have to be quick, but it was doable. He’d better get to work.

*

At 4:48 P.M., Logan was finishing putting all of his parts back into place. His tongue felt strange and a little tingly, but he still didn’t know for sure if his tinkering had worked. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, sticking out his tongue and rolling it into a tube like a child might. Everything seemed to be functional and his motor skills seemed to be fine. He unplugged himself from the outlet, actually feeling somewhat rejuvenated from the extra power, and rolled down his pant leg. He assumed what he was wearing would be fine for the dinner, he would just brush some of the wrinkles out of his shirt sleeves and pants. He hoped tonight would go well, and even if his attempt to give himself the ability to taste did not work, it alleviated most of his anxieties and gave him something to do while he waited for the inevitable.

Looking over himself in the mirror one last time, he decided he looked suitable for however this dinner went. Checking the time, he had about 3 minutes until five o’clock, so it would be wise to head over to apartment 4C already.

*

Logan crossed the hall to Patton’s apartment and knocked on the door.

“Just a minute!” He heard from inside. He only had to wait a moment before the door was flung open and Patton was there grinning brightly up at him.

“Logan, you came! I’m so glad you made it. Virgil and Roman will be here in a sec, I haven’t told them it was you who was coming, only that we were entertaining a guest. They’re going to be so surprised! Come in! Come in!” Patton rambled off as he ushered Logan inside.

The walls of Patton’s apartment were a pleasant shade of light blue, though they could hardly be seen through the litany of photographs and crayon pictures both framed and taped to them. Apartment 4C was larger than 4A and had a small kitchen area that was visible from every angle of the main foyer. It had bar-style seating that separated it from the rest of the apartment and helped cement it in people’s minds as a separate space. The kitchen seemed well stocked for an apartment of its size, even if it was slightly larger than Logan’s, because it had an oven and stove-top combo, a dishwasher, a refrigerator, a toaster, and a countertop microwave. On the counter tops were several covered dishes wafting food-smells from underneath glass containers and aluminum foil, and in the sink were several gray, cat-themed silicone utensils covered in food stains—presumably what Patton had used to cook tonight’s dinner with.

Across from the kitchen area there was an L-shaped couch with the shorter side pushed against a wall and facing a small coffee table and T.V., both of which looked second hand but attributed to the cozy atmosphere. Next to the T.V. was a shelf stocked with DVD cases holding a variety of different shows and movies. And behind the couch and diagonal from the kitchen there was a round dining table already set out with plates, napkins, and silverware arranged in line with the four chairs about the table. And behind the table on the wall were two closed doors. One Logan assumed lead to the bedroom, and the other he assumed lead to the bathroom. Overall, it was a very friendly-looking, if a bit crowded, apartment.

“Welcome to my home! Make yourself comfortable, or should I say at home, wink,” Did he seriously just say ‘wink’ out loud? “And feel free to look at whatever you like! Me casa es su casa.” Patton said with an excited gesture, as if to point at the entire apartment.

“Thank you Patton, that is much appreciated. However, it does seem strange that you want me to ‘make myself at home’ when your home does not have adequate resources to make one such as me.” Patton stared at Logan for a second and blinked before his face split into a delighted grin.

“Oh my goodness Logan! You didn’t tell me you liked dad jokes?” he said with a half laugh.

“What? That wasn’t a joke, and I would hardly make a ‘dad joke’, as you called it, intentionally. I was simply bringing up the impracticality of trying to collect and then assemble all the components that make up my body in your apartment.” Perhaps if he conveyed a confused look his point would be understood. Patton held his mouth and tried to keep himself from snickering.

“Oh yeah, that would mean bringing a whole bunch of body parts here, but you don’t need me to ex-spleen it to you, get it?” Logan sighed deeply. Oh.

“What, you didn’t find that humerus?”

“Humorous? Oh goodness, do you mean the arm bone connected to the radius and ulna?”

“Sorry, am I getting ulna nerves? You might want to say ‘are ya kidney-ing me’. Ha ha!” Logan brought his hand up to his face and rubbed underneath his glasses.

“In fact Patton, the temptation right now is very strong to exclaim ‘are you kidding me’, but it’s fine. I would just prefer we kept the puns to a minimum, thank you.”

“Aw, sorry for teasing, Logan, but I start punning and I can’t stop punning, I was fed to the rules and I hit the ground running.” He laughed at the look Logan gave him before looking down more bashfully and slightly embarrassed, “But, uh, I’ll stop now. I do want to be a good host after all!” Logan adjusted his body language to express relief so his gratitude would be understood.

“I appreciate your considerate nature Patton, and thank you again for hosting me.”

“Aw, you’re welcome. Now you can sit down while I set the food out, Virgil and Roman should be here any second.” Patton said while grabbing a couple of the covered trays. “Roman likes to take his time getting ready and show up ‘fashionably late’, but Virgil is always anxious to be early, so with the two of them scrambling to get ready at a combined pace, they show up more or less on time.”

Logan pulled out a chair while he was listening and took a seat at the dining table.

“That’s very interesting, Patton.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh, that’ll be them now! Just a second guys!” Patton shouted as he put down the dishes he was holding on the table. He brushed off his hands on his pants and went to open the door.

Patton opened the door just enough for his head to poke through so that neither side could see beyond the doorway before speaking.

“Hey guys! So glad you showed up!”

“You know we wouldn’t miss your dinners for the world, Padre!” A dramatic voice proclaimed.

“Yeah, if Cinderella here didn’t spend so much time getting spend so much time getting ready.” A snide voice replied.

“Well if I had a fairy godmother, it wouldn’t take so long would it? We can’t all just ‘poof’ and look beautiful, it takes work to look this good!”

Patton interjected, “Kiddos, come on now. The important thing is that you’re here and we’re going to have a lovely dinner. And don’t forget! We have a guest! I think you’re really gonna be surprised.”

“Uh, yeah Pat, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. You know I’m not the best with meeting new people,” the softer voice said.

“Hey, it’s okay Virge, our guest has told me he doesn’t have the best people skills either, so I think you two will get along just fine.” Patton replied with a sympathetic smile. “Now it’s time to introduce all of you! Oh I’m so excited!”

With that Patton opened the door fully to let in the other two residents on the fourth floor, at the same time revealing Logan to be their mystery guest.

“Roman and Virgil meet—”

“It’s you!” the man wearing a white leather jacket and red T-shirt said, while the man with dyed purple hair just stared wide-eyed, looking at Logan with a shocked expression.

Logan stood up from his chair and walked toward the doorway.

“Hello, I am Logan, it’s nice to meet you.” He was nothing if not one for decorum.

“You’re the nerd who saved Patton yesterday!” the one he assumed to be Roman said delightedly before he was sharply elbowed in the side by the one he assumed was Virgil.

“Ow! Hey! What was that for?”

Virgil glared at Roman for a second before addressing Logan, “Would you excuse us for a second?” and without waiting for a reply, he dragged Roman into the hallway.

Patton laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Sorry about that…”

“It’s quite alright Patton.”

As Logan said that, he turned up his sound sensitivity so he could hear what the other two were whispering in the hallway. He heard Roman speak first.

“What the heck, Dark and Gloomy? What was that for?”

“You dumbass, you saw what this guy did yesterday. He could beat the hell out of you! Not saying that he would but-. And the first thing you do to the guy who saved Pat is insult him!? He could fold you like a lawn chair, God you’re an idiot.” Virgil hissed under his breath. Roman made an offended scoffing sound.

“Hey! I- well, I- Ugh! I am not an idiot. He caught me by surprise! You have to admit he does look like a nerd though, just a bit?” There was another noise of Roman being elbowed in the gut. “Oof! Would you quit that?!”

“Maybe when you don’t try to piss off the guy who took down someone waving a knife in Patton’s face?” Virgil said, pushing the last words through his teeth. It was quiet for a moment before Roman spoke up again.

“...It was really amazing how he took that guy down. Gah! I wish I could have been of more use yesterday. He was just so swift and composed, I was shocked silent--which is a first for me!”

“You can say that again.”

“Anyway, the point is I am grateful he saved our little ball of sunshine in there. I just didn’t know what to say.”

“Well you can start by apologising and then...I don’t know, tell him how impressed you were with him or something. Look, I’m about as emotionally constipated as you are, so I’m not really great at advice on this.”

“Ugh! I will have you know I am great at expressing my emotions, I am an Actor after all.” Virgil sighed upon hearing this.

“Whatever, let’s just go back in there, and be nice, okay?” there was a rasp to his voice that made his suggestion more akin to a threat.

With that the door opened back up, Virgil being the first to speak.

“Sorry about this idiot, won’t happen again.” Roman shot Virgil a glare before speaking up and addressing Logan.

“My sincerest apologies, Logan, was it? I regret my rude behavior in calling you a nerd, (even though you kinda look like one), and would like to introduce myself. I am the one, the only, Roman Prince, at your service,” he said with a deep bow and a wink while Virgil facepalmed, “I hope you humbly accept my gratitude for saving our dearest Patton, without you he would surely be lost to us yet. Truly, your combat skills are unmatched, and you showed great valor and poise. It is an honor to be in your presence.” he finished with a dramatic flourish and a tinge of pride in his voice from his performance. Logan didn’t even need to run any scans on Roman’s vitals to tell he was being overly dramatic, no spike in heart rate could top that. Still, a first impression was a first impression, so he extended his hand to shake as a greeting.

“...You’re welcome...It’s nice to meet you. As I said previously, my name is Logan Smith, and I am the new resident of apartment 4A.” Logan spoke as he and Roman grasped hands and he gave a firm shake. However, at this point Virgil spoke up.

“Woah wait, you’re gonna be living here? On the same floor as us? Right next to me?” Virgil looked a little shaken for a moment.

“Yes..? Is there a problem? I’m not following.” Logan could tell he seemed on edge but he couldn’t tell why.

“No..It’s cool…” Virgil replied as the tiniest bit of blush crept on his face in embarrassment. Patton piped up.

“Don’t worry about it too much Logan, Virgil just takes time adjusting to change.” he glanced at Virgil as he spoke and gave him a sympathetic look. Virgil looked off to the side, cheeks growing even darker with blush.

“Yeah! Charlie Frown over here just doesn’t realise how frickin’ cool it’ll be to live next to a personal bodyguard, though,” Roman interjected, “he does already have a knight in shining armor protecting him from harm’s way (me of course), but I suppose I could learn a thing or two from Mister Jedi Master over here, what with the stunt you pulled yesterday.” Logan gave Roman a confused look.

“Bodyguard? My knowledge of self defense does not make me a bodyguard. But, I suppose I could teach you how I performed that maneuver yesterday at some point, as long as it didn’t harm anything.” Logan conceded with some trepidation, at the possible offer of spending more time with them, which was a risky move. And based on the shocked but delighted look on Roman’s face, apparently offering to teach self defence, in any small way, was the wrong move if he didn’t want more interaction.

“Also, why would Virgil even need a bodyguard? He seems perfectly capable of taking care of himself.” Logan decided to shift the topic back onto the other, much to Virgil’s chagrin if the spike in adrenaline was any indicator.

“...Can we please sit down and eat? I’m kinda hungry.” Virgil pulled up the hood of his patched hoodie and buried his face in it, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Though Logan could see his face growing dark from embarrassment underneath the hood.

“Oh yeah guys! I made lasagna, with a little surprise for dessert, you’re going to love it!” Patton said, coming to Virgil’s rescue.

“Ooo! I love lasagna! You know just what to make Padre!” Roman exclaimed as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the dining table, Logan and Virgil soon following suit.

Patton leaned over the table where he sat down the dish earlier and removed the aluminum foil he had placed over the top. A burst of smell escaped its confinement and filled the apartment, steam coming off the cheese and sauce in whispy ribbons. He cut the meal into squares and put a piece on each of the four plates at the table.

Roman immediately began digging in despite Patton’s warning that it was hot, and as anticipated, he soon began fanning his mouth and saying, “Ah!hothothot!”, then ran over to the sink and filled a glass with water before downing it in a few gulps. Virgil smacked his hand into his face while saying “idiot”, but nonetheless could still be seen smiling under his hood at Roman’s shenanigans.

Logan picked up his fork and twirled it between his fingers for a second, a bit apprehensively, before plunging it into the corner of the lasagna, tearing a bit off of the stubborn pasta and cheese. Then, as naturally as he could muster, while everyone else was distracted and giggling about Roman’s mishap, he slipped the piece of food into his mouth, pulling back the fork clean.

The first thing he noted was the temperature, the lasagna being approximately 151*F, indeed a little too hot for comfort on the human tongue. He felt Roman should have been more cautious. The next thing was the texture, the cheese being stringy and slightly chewy, while the sauce was liquidy and a little chunky from the tomatoes, and finally the pasta was soft and a little stubbornly chewy. Logan felt apathetic to these textures, more focused on how thoroughly he was going to have to clean his mouth from the red sauce now coating his insides. Finally after a tingling sensation on his tongue that felt similar to numbing mouthwash, he experienced the taste.

It...was far more underwhelming than he expected. It didn’t taste bad, but he just didn’t experience a particularly strong way one way or the other. It tasted like food. Like the chemical compositions that made up cheese and sauce and pasta. Though it could be said that it was a miracle that he was able to experience taste at all, he did feel a bit proud of himself for that.

This analysis happened in a matter of seconds after taking his first bite and he chose to release a gentle ‘hmm’ to indicate to Patton he was enjoying the meal. It was polite after all.

A comfortable chatter started to buzz around the table as the other three settled into eating their meals. As Logan continued to take small bites, he noticed the three had a distinct chemistry. He wasn’t sure how this sentiment could be expressed except for the idea that they played off one another well. Each had something that added to the interactions of the others, and Logan found himself occasionally weighing in on the conversation whenever he was addressed, feeling like he added to that chemistry. The atmosphere began to loosen some and he could tell they were becoming less tense, Virgil especially. It seemed the more he talked and interacted with him at the table, the less awkward he seemed when addressing the others, even Logan.

Eventually, over the clatter of forks and light chewing, the conversation topic cycled onto himself.

“So, Logan,” Patton said with a soft cheesy grin, propping his face up with one arm, “tell us about yourself.” Logan cocked an eyebrow.

“What would you like to know?”

Roman cut in, “What brings you to Cardinal Valley? It’s not exactly a well-known locale.”

“Yeah, it’s basically No-where City, nothing happens here.” Virgil added, eyeing Logan a bit suspiciously now that he considered it.

“I disagree, it is far more populated than where I used to live.”

“Where did you used to live?” Patton asked, curious.

“The middle of nowhere.” Logan deadpanned.

“Ha ha, we made that joke already, Courage the Cowardly Dog.” Roman snided. Logan rolled his eyes.

“I don’t make jokes. I lived out in the woods, south of here.”

“Wow, all alone?” Patton said with sympathy in his eyes.

“That sounds like a crazy horror cabin scenario to me,” said Virgil, stabbing the remainder of his lasagna with his fork, “kinda metal though.”

“No, I didn’t live alone, it used to be my...parent’s house, I...don’t interact with them anymore,” Logan said, looking down and fiddling with his fork.

“Oh, I’m sorry kiddo, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories,” Patton said with a frown and reached for Logan’s hand to console him, patting it gently where it rested on the table.

“That’s quite alright Patton, you didn’t mean to. And the past is the past, it does little good to dwell on it.”

“Oh, right.” Patton finished lamely, looking down. There was a bit of an awkward lull in the conversation before Roman perked up.

“Hey, Padre, you said there was something special after lasagna?”

“Oh yeah, kiddo, how silly of me, I almost forgot. Now who’s ready for desert?” Patton asked cheerfully, getting up from the table. There was a general consensus of agreement as Roman and Virgil said various “I am’s” excitedly while Logan just nodded slightly.

Patton went behind the kitchen area and opened the freezer, pulling out a large sealed container. Roman gasped before exclaiming, “Patton, does this mean what I think it means?”

Patton gave a singular nod at him before Roman squealed excitedly and bolted to the door. Logan gave a dumbfounded look to Patton and Virgil, confused as to what was going on. To his surprise, even Virgil was giving a mischievous smirk, flicking his eyes to the doorway that Roman left swung open and listening to the jostling and rustling that could be heard next door from Roman’s apartment. As this was happening Patton was unscrewing the lid of the container to reveal a tub full of ice cream.

“Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream! Bone-Apple-Teeth kiddos!”

Roman then rushed back into the room at that moment.

“Got it!” he said panting, a little out of breath, holding up a small jar.

“You know what to do Ro!”

Roman grinned, popping off the lid of the jar and sticking it in the microwave. None of this cleared up Logan’s confusion in any way whatsoever.

Patton pulled out a clean ice cream scoop and some bowls before delicately scooping out a portion for everyone. Meanwhile the microwave beeped signifying whatever was in the jar was done being heated. Roman pulled the jar out, then, taking a spoon, doled out generous helpings of what looked like liquefied, warm, strawberry jelly on top of each scoop.

“Crofter’s, the berry best jelly around!” Roman declared.

“Yeah, it’s my jam.” Virgil chimed in.

Logan groaned at the apparently infectious use of puns, but he had to admit that he was intrigued about all the fuss. Roman and Patton helped pass out the bowls and handed Virgil and Logan spoons to enjoy their ice cream with.

“Have you ever had Crofter’s jelly before Logan?” Roman asked.

“I don’t believe I have.” Before tonight he had never had any food in general, but he wasn’t going to mention that.

“Well you are going to love it. I convinced Patton and Virgil to try it a few years back, and now it’s our thing to basically top every desert with it any time we all have dinner together.”

Logan was skeptical about his potential ‘love’ for this fruit spread product given how disappointing the lasagna experience was, but again, politeness. And, at the very least, he was curious.

“Alright kiddos, dig in!” Patton announced, plunging his spoon into the ice cream and taking a bite, humming in pleasure when he pulled the spoon from his lips. Roman and Virgil followed suit, though Virgil was much quieter when eating than Roman, who kept making ‘Mmmm’ sounds a bit obnoxiously.

Logan spun his spoon between a couple of fingers before dipping it into the ice cream and jelly. Well, it can’t be any more disappointing than the lasagna he thought.

He brought the spoon up to his lips, placing it in his mouth and...and...it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. His eyes went wide in shock as the sweet chemicals washed over his now sensitized tongue. It was...it was...invigorating. He began taking more spoonfuls and putting them in his mouth. Who knew jelly could be so good?

Logan didn’t notice the others were staring at him. Patton was covering his mouth trying to keep himself from giggling, while Roman had a proud look about himself and kept glancing between Virgil and Patton while he ate. Virgil on the other hand kept looking down and pursing his lip to keep himself from smiling.

Logan didn’t look up until his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl and the last of the ice cream and jelly was in his mouth. He sucked off the remainder of the jelly from the spoon and smacked his lips, only then realizing he was being watched.

Oh no, his lips were sticky and covered in jelly and vanilla ice cream, and there was some dribbling down his chin. He didn’t have any blood to cause a blush, but he did feel his face begin the heat. He put down the spoon and covered his mouth with his hand to hide the mess.

The three others were grinning at him with varying degrees of humor.

“Wow Specs, you had been kind of stiff all night, who knew you just needed some Crofter’s to loosen you up?”

Logan averted his gaze from Roman, instead choosing to stare at the woodgrain on the table.

“I apologise, that was berry- I mean very unprofessional of me.” What was wrong with him? Did the sugar cross some wires or something?

Patton gasped delightedly.

“Oh my goodness Logan, you punned! You did an almost-on-purpose dad joke!”

Logan felt like disconnecting his head from his body and burying it under a pile of rubble, but he settled for taking his napkin and wiping his mouth clean from the food stains.

“I did not pun, not on purpose, so it doesn’t count.”

“Oh, I think it counts,” Roman said.

“Anyway,” Logan cut him off, “you were right Roman, that fruit spread was enjoyable. ...More so than I expected, apparently. I might go so far as to say it was the best thing I have ever tasted, which would not be an exaggeration.”

Roman looked as if he had just gotten praise from Gordon Ramsey himself, before getting a slight jab in the arm from Virgil’s elbow.

“Don’t look so surprised Princey, everyone loves that stuff.”

Roman made an offended noise.

“Well, it was still a good idea on my part, and Logan seems to like it so I say that was a 100% success.” He stuck out his tongue to Virgil, and in response Virgil flicked him on the forehead.

“Ow! Hey! Have at ye, foul fiend!” Roman yelped as he grabbed his spoon and started making sword fighting gestures at Virgil, who grabbed his spoon as well, a smirk creeping onto his face.

“You’re on.” before inevitably,

“Kiddos,” Patton said giving them a look, “we do not fight at the dinner table, it’s rude!” Roman crossed his arms, muttering under his breath something that sounded suspiciously like ‘whatever dad’, before he and Virgil sheepishly put down their spoons. Logan spoke up.

“Well, Patton this dinner has been lovely. Thank you for having me. And you two,” he addressed Roman and Virgil, “It was wonderful to meet you officially, thank you for trying to make me feel welcome.”

“Woah, leaving so soon Specs?” Roman said. Virgil rolled his eyes.

“We live on the same floor as him now, we’ll probably see him all the time.”

Patton beamed at the compliment he’d been given and piped up,

“Aw, thanks Logan. I love getting to know new people, and I sure do hope I’ll be seeing more of you soon.”

“You will Patton. Before we ran into one another earlier, I had just gotten back from my interview with Dr. Picani, and he said I’d been accepted into the vacant position.”

“You got the job?!” Patton squealed excitedly, “That’s awesome Logan! That means we get to work together!” He jumped up and hugged Logan, who stiffened, but softly pat his now co-worker’s arm in gratitude.

“Congratulations man,” Virgil said, waving a small salute.

“Erm, yes, I got the job. I assume you’ll figuratively ‘show me the ropes’ (if that’s the correct phrase) on my first day?”

“‘Course Logan, anything! Just ask,” Patton answered with a smile, releasing Logan from their hug.

“I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer Patton,” he said looking him in the eye, before turning to all three of them.

“Farewell, I will see you all again soon.” Logan said, walking up to the door and opening it before turning slightly to administer a brief wave. Patton and Virgil waved back, Patton very enthusiastically. Roman, meanwhile, gave a deep bow as Logan opened the door and replied, “‘Till we meet again,” with a wink.

Logan rolled his eyes, smiling slightly, and closed the door, walking over to his apartment. He had a lot of cleaning to do on his insides, which would not be fun, but, he had to admit, the night had not been awful. It was actually pleasant, if somewhat entertaining. Logan was looking forward to recharging, though. It had been a long day. However, he was reassured by the fact that he might actually come to like his new neighbors after all.

[brokebuckkmountain]

Today was the worst

(long rant ahead, mostly about workplace politics with irl problems sprinkled in for flavor)

So. I’ve already been in my feelings lately due to like: life sucking, it’s the plague times, I am struggling to find a psychiatrist despite being told it was imperative I get help immediately, it’s winter and winter makes me sad, I’m losing friendships left and right thx to Miss Rona, I hate my job, yesterday was the one year anniversary of my breakup, there’s tons of gossip about me at work for things I genuinely did not say, and some of my work buddies are ignoring me for no apparent reason (including my best friend who has been ignoring me since my literal birthday a month ago? It’s all her friends that are ignoring me to it’s hard not to think it’s something related to that). Also, those PMS mood swings are a bitch.

I wanted today to be a good day. I wanted to get up early. I wore my new clothes and new perfume and was excited to train a coworker I genuinely like who was never trained when she was hired a year ago and struggles to get through her shifts. I mean I volunteered to do it for free because she deserves the help. But no no. Today was not a good one.

-I was woken up at 3 am to a litany of text messages from an ex asking to hook up again. Promptly fell back asleep and missed my later alarm, causing me to have to skip my workout this am and rush my shower.

-My boss didn’t assign my trainee online learning or make a schedule, told me I was a “strong enough trainer” to just do what I felt needed to be done. That was all he said to me, no further instruction. This is important later. Trainers and trainees are considered non-coverage and I run into an issue with this everytime I train- shifts want us on the floor doing different tasks than what I’m actually teaching. I personally think being a little backed up for 30 minutes is preferable to new hires not knowing how to do things because they never got one on one time, but most supervisors think otherwise.

-My trainee and I had about 25 minutes until our joint lunch break. She had expressed to me that knowing more about the mechanics of coffee- what is the body of a shot, why does it expire, what’s the difference between blonde and regular- was helping her, so I decided 25 minutes whizzing through that part of training before lunch was fine. I was immediately chastised by someone we’ll call Manager 1 because that “isn’t part of the training”. It very much is, and is available on every training resource, it just never gets taught because of time constraints and corporate not really caring about coffee quality. Manager 1 has consistently made a scene every time I train a new hire over us doing training and not just whatever she wants to get done. Manager 1 is also known for berating almost every one, and has lied about altercations that never happened between me and customers before to our manager. So she’s not exactly a fan favorite of mine. I maintained that the coffee basics was part of training and returned to the back, planning to use that time to do coffee basics and more memory games for drink recipes.

-After about 5 minutes, my coworker came to the back and told me the two managers wanted us out there helping. I went out alone to tell Manager 2 (who was technically in charge and generally less awful) what we were working on and asked if they really needed us or if they’d be okay. She said they needed us and Manager 2 began snapping that we were floor coverage, that my trainee was supposed to be on the floor all day, and that she had no business in the back “staring at a computer screen” (which we were not doing, but I digress). Since this is about the fourth time I’ve had this issue with this particular manager, I responded that we were supposed to be doing whatever I felt needed to be done, not working the floor. When they maintained that they were “under the impression” from our boss that my trainee and I were to remain on the floor all day, and we were coverage, I said “I guess I got confused by the dashed lines on the schedule that signify non-coverage as us being non-coverage” and went to get my trainee.

-My trainee knew the situation because she had overheard, got super nervous, and started making drinks wrong that she had been making correctly all day. During this time I overheard Manager 1 and Manager 2 not-quietly discussing them both texting our boss to complain about me. Fair, I guess, since I planned on doing the same when I was on my lunch. At one point they both left the bar area to send their texts and squat by the safe while waiting for it to unlock (it’s on a timer and beeps when it’s ready, no need to hover) which only infuriated me more- they moved us to bar so they could leave it. When it was finally our lunch time I sent my trainee and was pulled aside by Manager 2. I tried to move the conversation to the break room (something I have always been adamant about- not publicly berating coworkers in front of others) but she stayed on the floor where multiple people were and reprimanded me for my bad attitude. I told her I was never instructed to stay on the floor, had a schedule, and would’ve been more flexible if they had actually spoken to me rather than yelling and demanding. She maintained that I had a bad attitude and needed to follow orders. I said, once again, “mutual respect goes both ways, if you want me to incorporate things into my training schedule then you need to have an actual conversation with me about it and not demand it at random”. She said that as my superior I wasn’t allowed to “talk back” (ignoring my point that they had both, indeed, begun yelling at me) and told me my bad attitude “wasn’t a good look” and that she didn’t feel I was understanding. I said I understood perfectly that I shouldn’t be rude, but that they shouldn’t yell at me either, and I wasn’t going to take unprofessional yelling to pull me off my job as a trainer. Manager 2 didn’t listen to a word I said and kept going “you can’t have an attitude, do you understand?” so after a period of staring at her silently I said “Can I clock out for my lunch now and proceed with training?” and walked away.

-After lunch I was able to continue training, only because that part of the training constituted us being on the floor helping. I apologized profusely to my trainee for putting her in that situation, reassuring her that regardless of who was in the “right” or the personal issues of the people on the floor, my first priority was her being able to successfully learn and feel comfortable. She told me she had a hard time focusing on drinks and was anxious after the scene, and that she felt the public reprimanding I received was far out of line and unprofessional. I told her I knew that, but being as it was two managers against one me, I would probably still receive a write up tomorrow morning and not to let it worry her when it did go down (tomorrow is our final day of training and my last day before a long break from work, so I know it’s going to happen in front of her). She said she would talk to my boss on my behalf and I told her not to worry, I didn’t want her pulled into workplace drama, but she insisted it wasn’t right (she is considerably older than everyone in the workplace and I think a little protective of me since we volunteered together and I’m the only one who doesn’t chastise her for small mistakes). We’ll see if she says anything tomorrow but I don’t want her to feel like she has to “go to bat” for me and involve herself in unnecessary drama against people who will lash out at her.

-While trying to clock out, I overheard Manager 2 trying to get other coworkers of mine to give accounts against our boss to his superior over not liking their scheduling. Perhaps I’m biased, because I am friends with my boss and literally vacationed with him this summer, but he is the type to listen to concerns and always give people the benefit of the doubt. I’ve never seen him give a write up and he bends over backwards to accommodate people. So whatever their issues are, something tells me they haven’t brought it up to him. Manager 2 frequently breaks safety protocols because she “doesn’t care if she gets Covid” and has vacationed out of state many times resulting in us not allowing her to come back to work and being short staffed. Despite this, I’ve never given my boss her name when he asks who is breaking safety protocols. Manager 2 is well known for being deeply unpleasant, her and my boss have been at odds for years from working together at another location, and has frequently tried to egg on other employees to get our boss in trouble while refusing to make any formal complaints herself. If you’ve been following for a while, she’s the same ass-kisser who used to say my old boss could break any rules she wanted and allowed herself to be constantly demeaned in hopes of a promotion (10 years without a promotion and she thinks it’s unfair rather than realizing she’s mean and unpleasant, chooses to attack the people who do get the promotions she wants). I know there’s a way to spin those two plotting against my boss as a way to cast some doubt on their accounts of me, but no way to do it without being a blatant shit disturber who’s just retaliating. Which is not how I want to live my life. But he deserves a heads up.

-Now I’m sitting at home with an arts and craft project I came up with to give my coworkers all a gift before the New Year and no desire to do it. Like, fuck these people, why should I do something nice for them? Even though I know the majority are good people, just not the ones in management. No energy, completely lethargic (yay depressive episode and still no antidepressants because I can’t get ahold of a goddamn psychiatrist even though my GP okayed the antidepressants herself), wishing I just could get a better job but I need the insurance at mine. It’s one thing to be constantly belittled and insulted by customers (and a very big thing, at that), but to get it from coworkers too just makes me feel awful, day in and day out. I know I’ve hated my job for the entire 3 and a half years I’ve been there and bemoaned how much less interwork drama I’ve had at every other job I’ve had (so I don’t think it’s all me, many agree it’s a toxic environment likened to a high school), but quitting a job you’re great at, passionate about (at times), live super close to, that gives you insurance, during a pandemic? Harder than it looks.

Life sux. Super anxious for tomorrow. Thanks for reading. Pls don’t reblog.

[rational-mastermind]

@angelic-writer, Happy Birthday! Thought I’d surprise you with a Quinnby ficlet for your special day. nwn Hope you have a good one! tw for sensitive readers: it gets kinda suicidal and depressing. 0x0;;

--

  When you begin a line of work, you begin to understand very quickly what it is you have willingly signed on for. When you work retail, you understand there’s going to be one customer who demands to see the manager. When you work as a manager you know there’s always one customer who demands to see you.

   When you work as an STP field operative you know there’s likely going to be something supernatural in the works and you’ll likely be scarred for life if you’re not emotionally stable nor compromised enough to just simply accept that yes, that is a cultist hanging from the ceiling and yes, we’re likely dealing with another pagan god of old, if not the common house demon.

   I, Trilby, am of the former. The kind of agent who is emotionally stable enough to simply accept what I am given if there is no other logical explanation. My partner, Chris Quinn, is more of the latter, mentally compromised enough to where he does not look for logical explanations, but simply takes it at face value and deals with such, usually in an appropriate manner, that meaning appropriate for him. Not entirely appropriate for the supernatural, nor myself.

   This is all to say, Chris and I were currently investigating another cult’s attempt at creating a bridge, however flimsy, between our World of Technology and the World of Magic. They managed one entity to escape into our world, before being swiftly shut down by us and the exact nature of said entity is unknown. Hence, our current circumstance as we continue to travel through the ramshackle hideout of an abandoned warehouse, hoping to at least gain some insight on what we’re up against.

   “Hey Trilbs?” Chris broke the deafening silence with a whisper as we tread carefully through the warehouse.

   “Yes?” I replied, sparing him a glance, careful to keep my voice as low as his.

   “Can you possibly chill out?”

   “What do you mean?”

   “You’ve been tense all night and frankly it’s starting to kinda get to me too. Loosen up. It’s just another demon.”

   Chris is, of course, blind to the situation. While I would admit to my more cautious nature, the reasoning for such was complicated and I would say, well justified. The simple answer would be to say I was tense because the exact timing of this ritual and the similar nature of it all was too eerily familiar to previous experiences.

   The more complicated answer would be to say it was currently a warm night in mid July and it reminded me too much of my personal dealings with an insane cultist attempting to please his self-proclaimed god. The encounter left me scarred in both a physical and mental way and the last thing I would wish for was a repeat of that.

   Normally I would try to avoid working too many cases this time of year, but alas, we were unfortunately, yet again, short-staffed and turning away a job offer by the government wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do. So here we were, wandering through a warehouse with a supposedly malicious entity on the loose. It didn’t help that this abandoned warehouse just so happened to work with mannequins in particular and the faceless dolls and disassembled limbs only added to my ever-growing anxiety.

   A part of me knew that it would only be a matter of time before I rounded the corner and would once again gaze upon the clean-slated pale white face of the horrendously stretched out monster that was The Pri-

   “HAH!”

   “AAAHH!”

   -

   To explain, after I told Trilby to loosen up, he had rolled his eyes and lapsed into another internal monologue. It’s a narcissistic thing I think. So I did the natural thing, started poking around, finding a prop to help lighten up the mood around here. If things were to remain as uptight as Trilby’s ass, it’d be hard to fight whatever hell-spawn escaped the ritual. And wouldn’t you know it? There were just so many expressionless styrofoam heads in these crates! It’s like they were just WAITING for a punchline!

   Emphasis on punch as Trilby literally punched the head off my shoulders, after giving a terrified shriek in response to my surprise.

   I thought it was funny, but I was actually surprised when Trilby went on to scream at me.

   “THAT’S NOT FUNNY CHRIS! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

   “What? They look just like that Prince you told me about from last year! I thought it’d be hilarious!”

   Trilby only scowled for a moment before I felt a sharp and jolting pain searing through my body and everything went black. Only previous experience would tell me when I woke up that he obviously tased me with his grolly.

   When I did wake up, he was dragging my body back to the car. He was roughed up. Must’ve fought the demon. As soon as I was able to register that much he dropped the rest of me back on the ground.

   “Good. You’re awake. You can get to the car yourself.”

    I groaned and rubbed the back of my head.

   “Did you use your taser on me?”

   “Yes.”

   “Why?”

   “Because you’re an asshole.”

   I pulled myself up and Trilby was already at the door to the warehouse. I sighed and followed after him.

   “Did you defeat the-?”

   “Yes. It was just an elemental.”

   “Oh… Should I write the uh..?”

   “No. Best you leave it in more capable hands. I’ll write it when we get back.”

   “..Okay.”

   We headed out to the car and while I moved to get to the driver’s side, Trilby cut in front of me and got in. I sighed, confused, and climbed into the passenger’s side instead.

   “I wouldn’t have minded driving.”

   “I merely assumed someone more sensible should be behind the wheel.” Trilby replied coldly.

   I continued to puzzle over his behavior as we pulled away and got back on the main road. As far as I understood it, I played a prank, he got mad. But.. I didn’t understand why. It was innocent enough. Just a harmless jump-scare, isn’t it?

   The mood was dower and I was stewing over things for too long. Fortunately I remembered the radio was left on a great channel when last we were in the car. I turned it on.

   “Here we are now, entertain us! I feel stupid and contagious!”

    I started to lighten up almost immediately but just as soon as the music started, Trilby turned it off. I frowned and started to turn it on again but he swiftly smacked my hand away.

   “Don’t.” was the only warning he gave, through gritted teeth. “I’m not in the mood.”

   I sighed and simply shrugged. I guess he really was just in a bad mood. I hoped it would clear up by tomorrow.

   Obviously it didn’t.

   I came into the STP, same as normal. When I got to Trilby’s office I found Claire, talking with him. Trilby was smiling well enough but as soon as our eyes locked, he scowled.

  Claire glanced back and her grin also disappeared. A worried frown instead.

  “Oh.. Um.. Anyway I should get going.” Claire quickly grabbed a few papers off his desk and headed out the door. “Morning Chris.”

  “Morning. See ya later, Claire.”

  “See ya.” she rounded the doorway and hurried back into her own office, across from his.

  I looked back at Trilby who was busying himself with the computer.

  “Hey. So uh.. How’s it-”

  “Chris I’m horribly busy. If you’re not here to discuss work then get out.”

  “I just wanted to ask how you’re do-”

  “Get. Out.” He bit out, scowling up at me. “I’m still upset about yesterday. I’ll come fetch you when we have a new assignment.”

  “So what, Claire gets to talk to you but I-?”

  Trilby smacked his desk as he stood up and rounded its corner.

  “Don’t you have your own work to do? Or anyone else to bother?” Without wasting any time he shoved me out into the hallway.

  And just like that, I was standing out, staring at Claire’s office. She peeked around the doorway back at me, worried.

  “...What got into him?” I asked her.

  She sighed and came fully into view. She leaned on the doorway and gave me a skeptical look.

  “Well, from what I gathered, you played a pretty harsh prank on Trilby the other day.”

  “I wouldn’t say it was harsh.”

  “No? What happened?”

  “I grabbed a fake head and held it over mine to give him a scare. You know, to lighten the mood.”

  “Chris..” Claire sighed and pushed her glasses up. “Nevermind. Maybe it’d be better if I just let you and Trilby settle it.”

  “No, what?”

  “Chris, I don’t wanna play translator for you two. You guys figure it out. I’ve…” she paused long enough to glance back at Trilby behind me. She sighed and shook her head. “I’ve got my own work to do.”

  Claire went back into her office. For the rest of the day, Trilby avoided me. When we did have to go on a mission, a ghost-hunting one, he made an obvious effort to work separately from me. And I wished it was only for the day, but he continued to act like this the next day. And the next day.

   And then one day I bumped into Jim from the morgue division in the elevator.

  “Oh! Hey Chris! I didn’t expect to see you still hanging around.” Jim smiled back at me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you already left. With Mr. Trilby.” he shrugged.

  I frowned.

  “What?”

  Jim’s smile faltered.

  “Didn’t he…? He.. Got a mission just earlier. I thought for sure he’d take you.”

  “The fuck? No. He didn’t get me. What mission?”

  “Oh. Uh…” Jim quickly became uneasy. He fidgeted with his clipboard. “Umm.. Nothing! Nothing too bad! Just a small mission!”

  I normally try to get along with most anyone here in the STP, save for David Smith, and I know it’s not easy to pull off, being over 6 feet tall and usually smeared in someone’s blood with heavy bags under my eyes. People say I look deranged and unstable and while normally that’s a compliment in my eyes, I try not to let it be the only thing I’m known for among my co-workers.

  But in this case I wasn’t above stepping a little too close for Jim’s comfort and drawing myself up to my full height. My hand slipped onto the hilt of my trusty machete, not that I intended to use it.

 “Jim.” he was visibly cowering underneath me. “Tell me the truth.”

 “H-He uh.. W-w-well he um.. Mr. Trilby went to track down a rift.”

 My stern expression suddenly dropped and I felt my blood drain. Rift? A RIFT?!

  “HE’S GONNA GET HIMSELF KILLED!”

  “That’s why I thought he took you along!” Jim cowered.

  “What the hell is he thinking?! Where’d he go??”

  The doors to the elevator opened up and Jim slowly inched his way to it but I was too blinded by concern to really notice.

  “I.. I would say but.. I-I..”

  “Jim…?”

  “I don’t think Mr. Trilby would want me telling you.” He finally confessed before ducking out of the elevator. “I’m sorry!”

  I normally would’ve screamed. Or chased him. Demanded an answer. But I was just stuck on the simple fact that…Trilby didn’t want me to come with him. Trilby didn’t want me with him.

  I felt a pain I couldn’t laugh at as my heart sank down low into my gut. I was worried and angry and confused but the most bizarre thing was that I was just simply hurt. I haven’t been genuinely hurt in years and I honestly didn’t understand why… Why was he doing this?

  I couldn’t stop thinking about it until Trilby finally came back into the office two days later. As soon as I heard he was back I immediately tracked him down only to find him slumped over a table in the breakroom, a cup of coffee in hand and barely awake.

  “TRILBY!” I couldn’t help but shriek, making him jump up in his seat with a yelp of his own. “HOLY CRAP where have you been?! Are you okay?! Oh crap oh fuck you’re bleeding!”

  Trilby was clutching his heart and shaking, recovering from the shock, and when I got to him he immediately shoved me away.

  “Get the fuck away from me.” he growled half-heartedly and fixed me with a scowl. “I can take care of myself.”

  I rolled my eyes. He was still going on about this.

  “Trilby, where the hell have you been??”

  “None of your concern, Chris.” Trilby sipped his coffee.

  “Well what the hell were you thinking, trying to close a rift alone!? You know how dangerous that shit is! You need a partner!”

  “No, I actually don’t.” Trilby argued. “I don’t need a partner, I never did need one. I’m not required to have one. Despite however dangerous any mission would be, we’re not required to team up unless specifically instructed because frankly with as understaffed as this infernal organization really is, they could use as many operatives on the field as they can doing separate jobs to cover more ground without any concern for their well-being seeing as it’s more than easy enough for them to drag in another convict or psychopath to replace the previous agent. To further illustrate the matter, Christopher Quinn, LOOK AT WHO WE REPLACED AND HOW EASY IT WAS TO DO SO. Bottom line is I. DO NOT. NEED. YOU.”

  With that he stood up and left with his coffee in a huff. I chased after him.

  “Trilby, look if this is about that stupid prank I pulled on you back in the factory, I’m sorry! Alright?? Is it really worth getting yourself hurt like this? Are you that fucking pissed at me? Trilby! Come on! At least let me apologize!”

  I grabbed his hand to turn him around but he snatched it back and scowled at me.

  “I don’t want your apology, Chris.” he replied. “I don’t wanna hear it. Yes I’m still angry. No, you can’t just get off the hook with an apology. I don’t want you to try to make it up to me. I don’t want you to-”

  I leaned in and kissed him but that was immediately reciprocated with a punch to the face.

  “I ESPECIALLY DON’T WANT YOU TO DO THAT.” Trilby all but shouted at me. “I HATE IT when you try to pull that shit off, thinking it’ll just magically make me forget to hate you! Especially at work! Why don’t you just take a hint and FUCK OFF?!”

  Trilby walked away again, leaving me behind. I didn’t know what to do anymore. I had never seen him get so angry. I was surprised to find tears pricking my eyes, but I guess that’s a normal response.

  Trilby kept it up for a couple of weeks after that. Avoiding me. Refusing to speak to me. Keeping his distance. Going on missions alone and coming back looking like dog shit. All I could do was stand there and keep hurting. Wishing I could make it up to him. Wishing I knew what exactly I did wrong. Wishing I could fix it, somehow.

  Then one day, while I was having lunch with Claire and Jim, Trilby came into the room, looking around. His eyes locked on our table and he came over.

  “Good, you’re here. I’ve thought about it and decided I needed another pair of hands for this mission.”

  I stood up so fast I almost lost my lunch.

  “You mean you’re not-??”

  “Mind coming along, Jim?” Trilby utterly ignored me and looked down at the kid.

  Jim was immediately put on the spot and looked up with big, confused eyes.

  “HIM?!” Claire and I both asked as Jim also responded at the same time.

  “ME?!”

  “Yes, Jim, I need you. There’s talk of a tv celebrity who was murdered in her apartment under mysterious circumstances and I need your help.” Trilby replied smoothly.

  “O-Oh… Um.. Y-Yes Sir.”

  Trilby smiled. “Thank you. It’d be nice working with someone competent.”

  I would’ve loved how well he cut into me with words alone, if it was under any other circumstance. Claire and Jim seemed to think the same, as they frowned at him.

  “Trilby… Come on, isn’t that a bit harsh?” Claire asked.

  “How is that harsh? I simply paid Jim a compliment by saying he was going to be good to work with.” Trilby glanced back at her.

  “Well…  Yeah…  But…” Claire looked up at me but all I could focus on was the split-second glance Trilby gave me. The kind of pointed glance that easily conveyed that he wasn’t as innocent as he sounded.

  He turned to leave, with Jim following close behind him. All I could do was watch in frustration.

  “....He really knows how to hold a grudge, huh?” Claire asked as I slowly sat back down.

  “Yeah… Who would’ve guessed?” I huffed and jabbed my cold leftovers.

  I stewed over the comment for the rest of the day, only getting angrier and angrier about it. The way he said it, the stupid look he gave me, that kind of smug air of a kid who thinks he’s so fucking smart by “not touching” you.

  I finally went on a search for him near the end of the work day. It wasn’t hard. Trilby was pretty much a creature of habit and I knew if he wasn’t in any closet or dark corner befitting an ex-thief, he would only, naturally, be on the roof.

  Trilby seemed surprised though, as I kicked open the locked door and made my way out onto the roof.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, won’t you leave me ALONE?” Trilby sighed.

  “No, dammit!” I stormed over to him. “Cause this shit has gone on long enough!”

  “Chris, I don’t want to hear your apology.”

  “WHY NOT?!”

  “Cause I can’t take you seriously!” Trilby snapped at me. “How am I supposed to? You’re nonstop with being utterly ridiculous!”

  “I’M ridiculous!? I think you’ve been! It was just a joke!”

  “Oh yes, I forgot to laugh! HA! HA HA HA HA! Yes let’s all laugh at my pain!” Trilby stepped up onto the railing and scooped up his grolly. “Everybody come witness the fool who went and got himself tormented on his first case! Let’s all laugh at the idiot who experienced death first-hand, MULTIPLE TIMES! I’m SO sorry Chris! I FORGOT HOW HILARIOUS PAIN IS.”

  He knelt down and leaned in close to scowl down at me. I couldn’t help but shrink back, feeling the same twisted pain in my gut from before in the breakroom.

  “Trilby I didn’t mean it like-”

  “Oh yes you did, Christopher.” he seethed. “You only think it would be funny to point and laugh at pain, but you never consider who’s pain, do you? I know you have mental issues, but you see the real problem was that I do too. I just don’t go announcing it to the world like you do.”

  “Well I’m so-”

  “Let’s see how well your apologies matter when I finally give in and just let go, Chris.” Trilby stood back up and it was now that it really hit me how dangerously close to the edge he was.

  Fear had an icy grip on every nerve in my body as Trilby took one giant, swinging step.

 “DON’T!!” I shrieked.

  He turned around almost effortlessly in one full swing and sat his foot on the railing again. I looked up only to find him grinning back down at me.

  “Hm, things are a little different on this side of the railing, aren’t they?” He turned and began walking very quickly along the edge, making me follow helplessly behind him.

  “Trilby, okay I get it! This isn’t funny!” I continued shouting.

  “No? Oh, I thought this was hilarious to you! Especially if I were to-” he suddenly stopped, faster than I could register and started walking backwards, as if it was only natural.

  “TRILBY!” I skidded, trying to stop, slipped, skinned my hands on the floor as I twisted around and tried to catch up to him.

  “See, isn’t it so funny? Let’s all laugh at the man who suffers from PTSD!” Trilby continued.

  When I got close I reached out to pull him back down.

  My heart froze in mortal terror as he suddenly jumped.

  It didn’t start again until he landed, feet away from me. He turned back around and sneered.

  “Let’s see how well you laugh, when the man who suffers from horrific flashbacks, visions, and suicidal thoughts plaguing his mind both day and night, finally gives in…”, he shrugged. “...finally sick of all the nonsense and teasing. Too tired to keep on fighting and caring anymore like he struggles to, every single day. Let’s see how well you laugh when I finally… take the plunge.”

  “MALCOLM!!”

--

  There really wasn’t an excuse for allowing it to escalate to such heights, just as there shouldn’t have been any excuse for me to lose balance.

  But I think, if nothing else, it got the message across.

  Of course I hadn’t fallen too far before I made use of the grolly. I caught myself and looked back up as Chris was leaning over the edge, a look of pure fear on his face. He was actually tearing up.

  When I finally pulled myself back over the railing Chris scooped me up and clung tighter than ever before, crying into my shoulder and apologizing over and over.

  I took a breath, my anger finally quelled though my heart still raced, and held him, apologizing back for the way I treated him.

  When we calmed down, we ended up sitting, with our backs to the railing, his arm wrapped securely around me, and mine around him.

  “To be fair, I do spend the better half of my efforts into hiding my own problems.” I said, breaking the silence. “And that’s not entirely fair to you.”

  “Well.. I could stand to pull my head out of my ass more often.” Chris shrugged. “...But it would be nice for you to tell me.. I had no idea you were…”

  “Well…” I shrugged. “No one does. I doubt even Claire really knows how hard some days are… Surprisingly enough your antics do sometimes help.”

  “They do??”

  “Well… It… Keeps me distracted I guess.” I scratched the back of my head, for once unsure of how to properly phrase my thoughts. “… It’s easier to get out of bed some days when I think about you. When I worry about… how bad it would be to leave you. Especially after we’ve… Well..”

  Chris grinned and I couldn’t resist leaning in and kissing him for it. Until half a minute later when the consequences of my word-choice came to mind.

  “That’s not an excuse to just be an asshole though.” I warned him, pulling away quickly.

  “Aw but Trilby-!”

  “NO.”

  “But Trilby…!”

  “For the love of- DON’T.”

  “I thought you liked my-”

  I shoved him away and shook my head as he rolled with laughter. Stupidly enough I couldn’t stop grinning myself. Before I could say anything else, he suddenly pulled me close and kissed me passionately.

 And it’s in moments like this, that I couldn’t have possibly expected for when taking on this job. And it’s moments like this that I find a reason to push on with every day.

[night-filled-mountain]

Putting in a cut before I unload about a bunch of stuff going on in my life right now. See tags for content warnings. I, uh...did my best to hit them all.

Also, I don’t know what it is about the past few weeks, but a lot of people on my dash seem to be having a rough time. I just want to send out waves of strength and compassion to all of you. I really hope I can find the time and energy to send some messages at some point, and I’m sorry I’ve been super absent lately. Hopefully this laundry list of events will help explain why.

So, in the past three weeks, the following things have occurred at my workplace:

A teen came in with a stab wound. He asked me for a Band-Aid. He ended up at the hospital and is doing fine now. The men’s room, lobby, and front door looked like a murder scene. My boss and I stayed 45 minutes overtime so someone from facilities could clean up the blood.

A teen took one of the desktop computers out of the teen room, ran outside, smashed it on the ground, ran back in, grabbed another one, and ran off with that one too, all right in front of my colleagues and me.

A large group of teens started fighting in the library. Police were called, and the whole place was filled with the sounds of cops and teens screaming at each other. We went on semi-lockdown. My kids were scared to leave because they thought the cops would shoot them.

I asked two teens to sign in (which is mandatory), and they gave me a series of fake names. When I called them out on it, they threw several paper balls at me, pulled my chair out from under me, deliberately poured a drink out on the carpet, cursed me out repeatedly, and refused to leave until cops escorted them out, at which point they were still yelling “This bitch needs to mind her own business” over their shoulders.

Despite receiving legal trespass letters, they came back again. Twice. Both occasions were variations on the former scene. I began to have severe anxiety symptoms and flashbacks to some 20-year-old shit I thought I was very much over by now, and for the first time, started very, very seriously considering a change of workplace.

Cops started just...hanging out in the teen room. Constantly. They interrupted a weekly poetry program to intimidate the kids and offend the (awesome) teacher. One teen went off on them and got trespassed for two weeks.

I took one (1) weekend off so Kit, Dragon, and I could go visit Unicorn in New Jersey, kick back, watch a bunch of movies, discuss our D&D campaign, and seriously launch our apartment hunt, because We Are All Moving In Together At The End Of The Summer.

During this, my vacation weekend, the librarian who was covering for me had a horrible, ugly, semi-physical confrontation with a teen who’s been coming to the library since he was six, who I have actively watched turn from Mischievous Computer Nerd to Obviously Traumatized Nightmare Child while flailing with the fruitless desire to Do Something To Help Him. Said teen got an indefinite trespass from all library locations.

My predecessor/mentor/the coolest teen librarian on earth texted me frantically trying to find out what happened, because she saw the trespass letter and was super close with this teen back in the day. I could not tell her what happened, since I was not there.

The librarian involved in the aforementioned incident--who is an incredibly sensitive and delicate soul--seems to have gone AWOL. He was out yesterday, he was out today, he’s out tomorrow. My boss asked me to come in on this, my day off, because we are so short-staffed. I said no to overtime for the second time in my life. (The other was last week.)

I lost three of my work keys. Just...lost them. I have no idea where the hell they went. I’ve been searching home and work frantically for days, and have yet to tell my boss or any but one coworker. The anxiety of this alone has been plaguing me pretty much 24/7.

It’s that time of month, because of course it fucking is, and my endo symptoms have kicked into really high gear, because...of course they have. It’s been almost as bad as it was before I got an IUD. I’ve been getting hit with bouts of crippling abdominal/back/leg pain, waking up around 3 or 4 in the morning, kept awake for hours by this pain, falling asleep again only to have weird, restless dreams and, on one occasion, a horrific nightmare that came for all my real-life anxieties and left me ruined the next morning. My serotonin is practically down to zero. Depression and irritability are coming for me chemically on a daily basis, even apart from everything else that’s going on.

I changed my Thursday hours this week to 12-8 (they’re usually 10-6) so I could supervise a program that I was very proud of having booked. It was super popular with the teens over the summer, and I’ve been trying to bring it back for ages. I’ve been advertising it by every method available, and the kids are all excited for it. ...They just canceled on me last-minute.

My dad--the family member I am closest to by far, whom I love to distraction--called me tonight to say he’s in the hospital. He went to the ER for severe pain, jaundice, nausea, and malaise. Fortunately, it’s just gallstones...probably. But he’s having surgery tomorrow. And I’m going to be thinking about that all day long, while I work in this absolute nightmare of a teen room until 8:00 at night, with no keys, no awesome program, no physical or emotional resources left to even remotely handle any of it.

...After this list, it’s going to sound insane to add that there have also been good things that happened this month, this week, even today. There have been! Truly! I have the world’s most enviable support network of spouse and family and friends-who-are-family. I have done fun things and productive things. But dear gods, it’s been one thing after another after another after another, and tomorrow is starting to feel like some kind of crescendo for all this built-up dread. I’ve rarely made those posts that are like “Please distract me with fun asks” or “Send me cute pictures” or whatever, but, like. If you read all the way to the end of this list of pure unadulterated stress and want to offer any form of encouragement at all, I certainly won’t say no.

[ahnsael]

Last night both of my fellow managers on graveyard (the three of us were the entire scheduled staff -- our two security guards were both scheduled off) tried to call off.

One has a hurt hip after a fall and is having trouble walking. The other said she was in ear pain (which they later changed to tooth pain). The latter was told to come in because you can be in pain at home or at work, and I can’t be alone (I wasn’t the one who made that call -- I probably would have tried to find another option, but those would be hard to come by -- one of my two security guards found out yesterday that his son has passed away and called me to say he won’t be at our quarterly department meeting tomorrow, and he’s not sure about this weekend’s shifts either while he wraps his head around the loss of his son).

The second one to call off, who was told to come in, doesn’t tend to garner a lot of sympathy since they’re the one who was caught (red-handed from what I learned yesterday, tipping the bottle into their mouth) drinking on the job. Her response to being told to come in? “Well, as long as I can be in the bar I’ll be okay.”

I was called in the early afternoon and asked to come in an hour early to work bar, since the swing shift bartender had called in sick. So I was already in bar, and other than Monday mornings she is not to work the bar (and she called in sick Monday morning). The only reason we allow it on Monday morning is because I’m busy with regulatory things that this other manager is NOT good at. Like, AT ALL. Things were apparently a HUGE mess while I was out sick for those weeks (and I know they’re relatively new, but I’m a good trainer, and other people I’ve trained get it after a few weeks...in this case it’s been a few months). So I told them that they were going to be working the cash drawer, not the bar.

The saga continues below the cut.

15 minutes after the other graveyard manager started, a line staff employee came and told me that this manager was LOUDLY throwing up in the ladies’ room. I made a call to the boss. When he asked if I knew what had made her sick when her original complaint when she tried to call off was pain in her ear, which had changed to her mouth by the time she got to work. I said I didn’t know, but “I have a guess” (this is the boss that filled me in on the situation -- since which time three other employees, two managers and my other security guard) have filled me in. So much for it being a secret, but I pretended it was new info every time I was told.

(To be honest, the retching sounds seemed over-the-top to me, but I’m no doctor.)

Then, at 1:15am, this manager came up to me and said “I need to go to the hospital. I just threw up blood.”

I offered to call an ambulance and she declined.

But I know that when I’m nauseous and vomit multiple times, well, yeah, the throat can bleed if it’s harsh vomit. But I told her to go. She went back in to throw up one more time before leaving.

So after she left, acting on a tip I got yesterday from another manager, I knocked on the wall to the ladies’ room and called out “Manager! Is anyone in here?”

When I got no response I went in and looked around. First I checked the sanitary pad disposal boxes we have in there, since that’s apparently where the empty bottles got stashed three days ago. Then I checked the trash cans, and wouldn’t you know...two empty bottles of Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey, one in each trash can (and a drink that this manager openly says is her drink of choice, and her breath often smells of cinnamon at work).

So I took them out of the trash, wrote an incident report, put it all in a manila envelope so it would be discrete, and gave it to my boss when he came in three hours later to cover the rest of her shift. What he does with this information is up to him.

I was told to keep an eye out for this, so I did. If the company acts on it, WONDERFUL. If they decide that since it’s not on camera (as obviously there is no restroom surveillance; that would be illegal and I know I wouldn’t want anyone watching ME use the toilet) that it’s circumstantial and cannot be acted on? I would get it and begrudgingly accept it, but this manager is a liability. If they simply look the other way? I’m gonna be really bummed out. I know we’re short-staffed, but I would MUCH prefer being short-staffed than having to babysit the WRONG staff. Like many companies, we offer assistance to help employees who are letting substance abuse take over their life. We need to at LEAST remind her that help is available if we’re going to keep her. But none of that is my call.

Normally the rule of thumb is that if I suspect an employee is under the influence at work, I call a second manager over and say “Hey, talk to so-and-so and let me know how it goes” but we can’t state our suspicion to the second manager so we don’t color their opinion of the situation. If it’s a drug thing and both managers agree that the signs are there, then we drug test them on the spot and suspend them pending the results (if they test negative they get paid for the time they miss). If it’s an alcohol thing we’re supposed to call HR, who has a breathalyzer that they can bring down. But do I call our HR person at 3:00 in the morning? I need to ask my boss about this. And since, for example, sometimes there are just two of us working (as was the case last night), who do I call to say “Get out of bed and come talk to this employee and tell me how it goes?”

The policy is a good one, but it doesn’t work in circumstances like last night.

Either way, I have a feeling this person isn’t long for this job. Even if they get away with last night’s shenanigans, and the other two times she’s been caught (the second falls into the same boat as mine -- circumstantial -- it was only the first that was witnessed first-hand), it’s only a matter of time before they slip up and get caught red-handed again.

[honey-bri-books]

A Box of Donuts: AU CasDean

Castiel works as a baker for an under-staffed bakery.

Dean is the owner of several successful chains of restaurants and hotels.

Dean enters the bakery to pick up an order for a staff meeting that same morning.

SPN Slash

Chapter 1 of what may or may not turn into a short series (That’s the plan for later, but I’m not sure yet).

CASTIEL ~

Castiel pulls into the parking lot of Zach's Bakery at 3:50am. His shift starts in ten minutes and as usual, the manager who has the key to enter the building is nowhere to be seen. Castiel rolls his eyes and pulls out a tattered copy of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, to read by street light. He'd always believed in arriving at least 10 minutes early to any engagement, and didn't understand how anyone could interpret the start time for a work shift to equal the time you pulled into the parking lot. Granted it only cost him a few minutes, Cas figures if he's expected to start a shift at a certain time... He looks out into the street when he hears the sound of a car. Zachariah, the bakery manager, finally pulls into the lot at 4:01am. Castiel gets out of the car.

ZACHARIAH: Good morning! Man, what time do you arrive here? You don't start until 4am, isn't that right?

CASTIEL: It's 4:02am right now, sir. Couldn't you arrive just a few minutes earlier? I can't enter the building without you, for some reason, and I always have to clock in late when I'm actually on time. I don't think it's really fair to me. Zachariah stops on his way to the front door and turns to look at Castiel. 

ZACHARIAH: We discussed your negative attitude only yesterday, didn't we? He actually tsk-tsk-tsks. I really hope we don't have to have a little conversation in my office again, unless you'd like that? Castiel's shoulders tense.

CASTIEL: Absolutely not. The last time Zachariah had pulled Cas into his office, Castiel left work angrier about his job than he'd ever been. If it wasn't bad enough that they were breaking about a dozen health codes a day just to “get through the job,” Castiel complained about it on the sales floor and several customers overheard him and reported him to the manager. Zachariah had asked Castiel to step into his office and close the door behind him. Uh-oh, he thought. Guess I'm gonna get my first write up. Castiel hated his job, but couldn't afford to lose it at the same time. However, he was completely blown away by how the meeting had ended....

*****

ZACHARIAH: So, are we clear on this? No talking about what goes on in the kitchen to the customers or around them. Plus, you know you've only been here a few years. I've worked here much longer, and I can assure you that most of your concerns for this business are unwarranted.

CASTIEL: [through gritted teeth] Of course. Thank you sir.. Get me out of this office, now! He imagined the pies in the oven that needed to be pulled out several minutes ago. Hopefully they weren't burnt to a crisp. He stands up to leave.

ZACHARIAH: Oh, uh uh uh. I didn't say we were finished! There's one more thing I wanted to discuss with you before you get back to work. Castiel crosses his arms, waiting for it. It was a write up. He just knew it. Three strikes and you're out. His work was super-old fashioned. But instead, his boss says.. I'm usually good at reading people. I can look at anyone and know exactly what they're thinking and what's happening inside their heads. But when I look at you, I have no idea what's going inside yours. I'm unable to read your mind when I look at you, and that bothers me...

*****

Castiel shudders at the thought, later, when he's in the kitchen topping donuts. He truly hoped he never had to go through that again. While it's understandable to Castiel that it makes sense to be polite to customers, he was never skilled with forcing smiles, faking positive attitudes. Keeping things to yourself was one thing, but acting like you're your own “Good” twin was like some body-snatchers shit. Unfortunately, Castiel had managed to get himself hired at Zach's slash “Stepford Wives” Bakery. If you didn't say good morning to your co-workers save a few, you were talked about behind your back or bullied or pressed to practically make out with your co-workers to make it up to them. Apparently, Zachariah had taken Castiel’s lack of facial expression to mean that something was inherently wrong with him. Castiel sighs as he continues to work in the kitchen. Guess that happens when you’re soulless. 

Castiel finishes the last donut for the special order. As was standard, the customer had ordered a variety of pastries, most of which were donuts. Of the eight raised donuts, Castiel had set aside 1 plain and 1 sprinkled chocolate donut, 1 plain and 1 sprinkled vanilla, 1 maple, 1 s'mores donut, 1 salted caramel, and for the final donut....vanilla dyed with red food coloring to mix into a pepto bismal pink with a light sprinkling of rainbow sprinkles on top...the one and only Homer Simpson Donut. A.K.A. Just a vanilla sprinkled donut with less sprinkles. Castiel shook his head as he set up the box with the order. Now, he could finally start working on the donuts for the store.

DEAN ~ 

It's 7:25am and Dean Winchester pulls into the lot of Zach's Bakery. His meeting not starting until 8:30am, he had plenty of time to pick up the order of pastries for the meeting in addition to maybe grabbing a coffee. There would be a pot ready at the meeting, but the sooner coffee was available to him, the better. He steps out of his car, and makes his way to the front door. Never visiting Zach's Bakery before, he keeps his fingers crossed that they remembered he was coming for his order, today. 

Upon entering he sees a small crowd surrounding a case half filled with donuts and other pastries. There is a bakery rack just off to the side with the items that have yet to make it to the case. Customers are split between shopping from the donut case and the bakery rack, and a few are just standing there looking nervous or crabby. An employee with an apron and hair net on is rapidly filling the case, even as customers shop. He looks harried, but it doesn't prevent Dean from noticing his dark hair and bright blue eyes. Or that whenever he would reach up to the higher shelves, his muscles flexed through his uniform. Dean didn't realize working at a place that sold so many sweets acted as an opportunity for so much exercise at the same time. The way the employee was filling the case, he may as well have been working out right in front of him. Apparently the job necessitated bending down a lot. Dean's throat went dry as he noticed the employees pant legs tighten around his thighs, as he crouched.

CUSTOMER: Come on! Put in the croissants already! Shouldn't those always go in first?! I want to leave. You're making me late to work, again. The employee stops filling the case to face the customer.

CASTIEL: Sir, as I've told you before, you are free to shop off of this bakery rack. If I didn't want you to buy these items, I would've kept it in the kitchen. The customer angrily takes a tissue paper from the box and a wax paper bag and pulls out the tray for his croissant. 

CUSTOMER: You should be fired. You're never on time. Why aren't these items in the case before you open?

CASTIEL: Because when we get additional orders for pick up at the same time the donuts need to be filled, we don't get additional time for the additional work or additional staff for it. I'm sorry they're out late today, but they aren't unavailable to you. You are free to shop off the bakery rack if it's out on the floor. I've told you multiple times, sir. 

CUSTOMER: You're hopeless. You suck at your job and probably don't even work hard. Get here earlier.

CASTIEL: Than 4am?! The customers all turn to look at him. Castiel blushes. Having plenty left to say, but not wanting to get fired (just yet), he rapidly finishes putting the donuts in the case and starts to move away when Dean approaches him.

DEAN: Hey! Sorry to bother you, but I'm here to pick up a pastry order under the name of Winchester? I hope I'm not late. Castiel turns to face Dean and his heart skips a beat. He's never seen someone that attractive in his life. He tries to hide his admiration, though.

CASTIEL: Yes, I have your order ready for you. Will you wait a moment please? Dean nods as Castiel speed walks to the kitchen. The other customers start to line up to check out with the red haired employee at the counter. He can hear the Croissant guy reporting Castiel's attrocious behavior. The girl at the counter gives him a fake smile and pretends to agree with him. Good for her. Dean thinks. Castiel comes back with his order and a label to scan. Thanks. I hope the selection's alright. The request just said a variety of pastries. There are donuts mostly, but also a muffin, a croissant, a turn..The croissant customer turns on Castiel, just as he's about to leave. 

CUSTOMER: Hey! When were those croissants made? Was it before the ones I just bought? I want the ones he's getting. Both Dean and Cas turn to look at him as if the man were nuts. 

CASTIEL: Sir! They're the same product. The only difference is that these croissants came out of the oven an hour before the one's you just bought. Technically, yours are fresher. Then to Dean Sorry about that, but we do things in a certain order, and it was more efficient that way. They were still made this morning...

CUSTOMER: If mine are fresher, why aren't they hot?!

DEAN: That's because they've cooled down, sir. Castiel and Charlie the cashier can't help but snort. Castiel tries to hide his smile, when the customer's cheeks turn red. He's too choked to say anything else, so he just leaves. You two have to go through this every morning? 

CHARLIE: Just most. Usually, people don't have time to be bitches because they're really late for work. Let me ring those up for you. It's Winchester, right? Dean nods. Castiel thanks him for coming, and Dean thanks both him and Charlie for having his order ready for him. He starts to leave and then turns around calling to Cas. 

DEAN: Hey! Cas stops to turn around. Dean realized he didn't really have anything to say, he just wanted another opportunity to look at the baker with the blue eyes. Er, I'm Dean, by the way. Didn't catch your name. Castiel smiles. He can't remember the last time someone gave him a reason to genuinely smile at work. 

CASTIEL: It's Castiel. This is Charlie. Charlie gives a half wave with a secret grin on her face. She raises an eyebrow at Dean and nods towards Castiel. Dean hopes Castiel doesn't notice. And, I know your name already. I've been staring at an order form with your name on it for the past three hours. Dean furrows his brows. Um, I get anxious when it comes to being on time. I just wanted to make sure I was on time with the order for your pick up. I hung the order form so it was in a place I would have to look in accordance to what I was doing in the kitchen all morning. It kept me company. Castiel blushes slightly. Thanks for coming, Mr. Winchester. 

DEAN: Call me Dean, please. 

CASTIEL: Dean. The feel of Dean’s name on his tongue causes Castiel to bite his lower lip and then it’s Dean’s turn to blush.

CASTIEL~

Finally, Dean leaves and Castiel lets out a deep breath. The donut case is half empty, after having been filled just minutes ago. Castiel takes out a notepad and pen from his apron pockets and starts to write down the flavors and items that have cleared first, the ones remaining. Hopefully he would have time to make more in addition to all of his other tasks. What a lot of customers didn't realize was that he was the only one working for the next several hours, from the kitchen. But he was also responsible for merchandising, taking orders, cleaning the kitchen, refilling products, etc. He goes behind the counter and sits on a stool, next to Charlie. Charlie stares at him with a knowing smile. 

CASTIEL: What's your problem?

CHARLIE: He was into you. I could tell.. Castiel rolls his eyes. Cas, I actually saw him look you up and down. I think he's gay.

CASTIEL: Or he could be Bi. Though I doubt if he's interested in me. Charlie shook her head.

CHARLIE: I'm not gonna go into trying to boost your self-esteem, again. Just saying, he was checking you out. He even defended you with Croissant Guy. If he comes in again, you'd better give him your number. If you don't, I will. Castiel looks mortified.

CASTIEL: Charlie, please! No! Don't you ever think maybe I like being single? He's not interested anyway. I'm not the boyfriend type, so please let it go. Charlie looks taken aback, and Castiel sighs. It's not that I don't appreciate you caring for me. But it's really true. Not everyone has to find the love of their life and live happily ever after. It's just...I mean, it's fine. I wouldn't have time with two jobs anyway. And Don Quiote has been sitting by my bedside for what feels like a million years. Dating isn't really an option for me, at all. I don’t have time for it. Castiel tries to offer Charlie a small smile. She was the one employee at the bakery he was grateful for. If not for her, he would've quit a week into the job. Besides, Dean's probably forgotten about me already. He may not ever come back. 

DEAN~

The donuts Dean brought to the meeting were a huge success. There was even a Homer Simpson donut! All through-out the meeting, Dean couldn't stop thinking about the baker with the blue eyes. Even his name seemed like something out of a dream..Castiel. He couldn't wait for the excuse to go back. Maybe he'd be lucky enough to get the guy's number. At first he couldn't really place if Castiel might be gay or not, but the way he looked at him as he left.... The adorable blush that had spread over his cheeks.... And God, that smile. Something told Dean that he had had something to do with that and it made him damn proud. Long after the donut box was discarded, the work day over, Dean lay in bed deciding he'd go back the next morning with the hopes that Castiel would be there, again. Guess he was going to put in a lot of orders for a box of donuts at Zach’s Bakery.

End of Chapter 1~

[kpopfanfictrash]

Angel (IV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jackson

Rating: 18+ (mentions of sex, depictions of medical trauma)

Word Count: 4,466

Summary:  You’re a medical intern, always a perfectionist and used to being the best at everything you do. Jackson Wang is the male nurse beloved by everyone and constantly on your nerves. When you two are brought together, it could be the best or the worst thing that’s ever happened. [ THIS IS A REPOST ]

You laugh at his expression. Twining your fingers about his neck while pressing his body to yours. “I don’t,” you admit, voice lowering. “I don’t see you as just a friend – I was scared. Scared you were avoiding me. I thought maybe you regretting taking care of me.”

Jackson’s eyes widen. “What? No,” he counters. “I thought you were mad at me, that I took advantage of you somehow. I wanted to give you space, I wanted … Ah, shit.” Jackson exhales, closing his eyes. “I did this all wrong.”

When you poke at his cheek, Jackson opens both eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” you smile.

Jackson smiles back at you, slightly dazed. “It doesn’t, does it,” he murmurs. Nudging your nose aside with his own when he kisses you.

You melt into him, skin tingling as for the first time in a long time – you allow yourself to be happy.

“It’s just mind-boggling.”

“What is?” you muse, adjusting the IV drip with one hand.

Mr. Ronstein smiles at you from his bed, eyes bright. “That you’re not yet married.”

You snort, grabbing a pillow from the couch. “Mr. Ronstein – I’m only twenty-five.”

“Nonsense,” he huffs, as you readjust his position. “People younger than you get married. In my day, you would have been considered a spinster.  A beautiful one,” he corrects, grinning at your expression.

You arch a brow, trying not to laugh. Mr. Ronstein is one of your favorite patients. He came into the ER about a week ago with a mild stroke, and is now just waiting on final approval to go home. He’s older but not old, at least not in your terms. Early sixties, fit and healthy – no reason he shouldn’t fully recover. He had an Ischemic stroke, like most strokes are – meaning a blockage in his arteries, not a rupture. Not even a full blockage, so the important thing now will be therapy and lifestyle change.

Mr. Ronstein fully agrees with this, although he likes to wriggle his eyebrows when the doctor’s not looking and say, “Except for the occasional cigar.”

That’s when you groan, saying no. Then Mr. Ronstein nods, pretending to be serious while simultaneously throwing a wink. It never fails to make you smile, mostly because despite the situation, Mr. Ronstein is always positive. He talks about this entire thing as a wake-up call, an order to de-stress his life. Eat better, drink less, see his kids more. That sort of thing.

It’s one of the best parts of your day to check on Mr. Ronstein – which is why you’re here, taking a break between patients. “People younger than me are not in medical school,” you remind him, grinning over your shoulder.

Mr. Ronstein looks up suspiciously. “Your next retort is usually that you aren’t even dating. Does this mean you are seeing someone?”

You remain silent, but a blush creeps over your cheeks as you grab his chart from the couch.

Mr. Ronstein starts to laugh. “You are! You’re dating someone! That was fast,” he chortles. “Come on, tell me who. If he’s not up to code, I’ll snuff the guy.”

You shake your head, about to retort when Jackson pops his head into the room. “Greg!” he grins, slapping the door frame. “I hear that you’re going home! Thank god, we need some actual sick people up in this place.”

Mr. Ronstein chuckles. “Jackson Wang,” he shakes his head. “I will miss seeing your face.”

Jackson looks your way. “How’s your car?” he asks, managing to keep a straight face.

You blush, remembering the fervent make-out session of last night. Jackson’s hands in your hair, hips pressed to yours, lips on your throat – your cheeks must be tomato-red.

Mr. Ronstein looks suspiciously from you to Jackson, then back again. “Jackson?” he repeats, startled. “You’re dating Jackson?”

Freezing in place, you find you can’t say a word.

Mr. Ronstein starts to laugh. “Well, I’ll be. You two have been mooning over each other for long enough now. Good going, man,” he stage-whispers at Jackson.

Jackson grins back at him, giving a huge thumbs-up.

“Hello?” you glare, watching both adopt guilty expressions. “I’m standing right here.”

“Right.” Jackson blinks innocently. “That’s why I’m saving all the dirty bits until you’re out of the room.”

Groaning, you grab the charts from the couch. “There haven’t been any dirty parts, Jackson. You only kissed me yesterday.”

“And whose fault is that?” Jackson complains, eyes wide. “I would have asked you out sooner, if you hadn’t been ignoring me.”

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you announce, shaking your head. “Rounds.” On the way out though, you gently brush Jackson’s elbow. “See you later.”

“Well, aren’t you kids cute,” Mr. Ronstein deadpans.

Jackson looks indignantly back. “I am not cute,” he frowns, placing a hand on his heart. “I am chic and sexy.”

“Yeah,” you snort before leaving. “Okay, Jackson. Bye, Mr. Ronstein!”

Jackson is still protesting when you go, smiling as you move down the hall. Last night was – well, the word amazing comes to mind. You kissed until you couldn’t breathe, until your lips were numb and you forced yourself to pull away. Then you just stood there, leaning against your car and staring at Jackson.

He asked you out on a date, asked you out for this Friday – the first night off the two of you happen to have at the same time. One of the perils of working at the same hospital. Despite this, Jackson manages to find ways throughout the week to let you know he’s thinking about you. Sending texts, grabbing coffee or lunch.

The strangest part about dating is Jackson seems genuinely interested in getting to know you. He flirts, sure – but then asks you questions about your day. Listens to the words that you say, remembers them later. It’s a change from your previous relationships. Guy after guy who just wanted an accessory. Someone to point at and say they’re dating, all the while not caring about the why’s or how’s.

Admittedly, this is one of the main reasons you haven’t dated anyone in so long. When you’re in a relationship, you want things to mean something. You want to be with the person, just that person – a feeling which doesn’t happen often, for you. It’s nice, having someone who takes care of you, who asks about you – it’s nice, having someone to do the same. The more you get to know Jackson Wang, the more you like him.

An entire week passes, with your nerves growing and growing the closer Friday gets. It’s been a long while since you went out with someone you cared for. With someone you liked and wanted to impress. It’s enough that come Friday, you spend a half an hour that morning picking out your outfit. Trying on and discarding dress after dress in a heaped pile on your floor.

That one is too girly. That one too serious. That one is yellow; it doesn’t work with the shoes you want to wear. That one has a weird bow, a rip in the hem. Slowly, the pile grows – along with your nerves. It’s around the twenty-fourth dress you fall down on the pile. Staring blankly into your closet and spotting your skirts. Yes. You scramble upwards, pulling out one you bought weeks back, in case you had a fun night out. The price tag is still on, but it’s perfect. Fun, flirty – sexy enough to make Jackson’s eyes widen.

You place it in your gym bag, along with a top and heels. Slinging this over your shoulder, you head out the door only a few minutes late. From the moment you enter the hospital, it’s chaos. People are rushing back and forth, a sense of urgency in the air while you hastily throw on your scrubs.

“What’s going on?” you ask, skidding into place beside Marie.

She turns to look at you, lips white. “Accident,” is all she says – but you understand.

Your heart races as you nod. “Where are we short-staffed?”

Marie glances down the hall. “I think Dr. Banshin could use help, in room 211.”

You glance to where she’s looking. “Dr. Banshin?” you repeat, wishing she’d said anyone else. You haven’t seen or spoken to Dr. Bashin since the incident. Not since you botched that lumbar puncture and were sent awkwardly away. All the feelings of that day come flooding back. The embarrassment, the inadequacy, the sure, sinking feeling of not being good enough.

But then Jackson’s speech enters your mind. The words he reassured you with, his rather high opinion. He thinks you have what it takes to make it here. Everyone messes up, you remind yourself – it’s what you do after, which counts. Thinking this, you square your shoulders. “Alright,” you say, taking a deep breath. “I’ll go help.”

Entering the room, Dr. Banshin looks up. His gaze flicks briefly over you, before adopting an expression of neutrality. “Y/N,” he nods, looking back down. “Are you just going to gape, or will you begin the procedure?”

You smile, remembering the last time he said this to you. Then you square your shoulders, shutting the door behind you. “Yes,” you nod, hastening over to the sink. “I’m ready.”

The day is a small miracle.

Everyone involved in the accident manages to pull through. It’s one of those rare good days, where everything seems to come together at the right time in the right place. The accident itself was brutal – a slippery road, sudden mudslide and a driver who spun into oncoming traffic. It was amazing no one died upon impact. Instead, one car was clipped to be sent careening into the forest. It broke through several fences before eventually colliding with a tree.

The other car wasn’t so lucky, hitting the median straight-on. A family was in that car – mother, father, two teenage daughters. The daughters were lucky enough only to sustain minor injuries. Bruised ribs, light concussions, external cuts and bruises. None of which necessitated surgery. The father and mother though – one had a punctured lung, the other internal bleeding. After emergency surgery, twelve hours later, things are finally starting to stabilize.

The man who hit the tree was trickier. Broken femur, severe concussion and a fractured shoulder. Made all the more difficult by the fact that he was anemic. You’ve spent all day running between various rooms, helping in whichever way you can. Doing paperwork, watching over people’s shoulders and holding instruments. Watching as one by one, multiple doctors’ faces fell in relief. They stare down at their charts, hardly daring to believe when they see everyone will make it.

Everyone got here in time. There was nothing so life-threatening you couldn’t help. You end up staying several hours later than you mean to. The place is just so chaotic, you barely have a moment to breathe – let alone think about your night out. You’re trudging towards the on-call room, pulling your hair out of your ponytail when you see Jackson rounding the corner.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, eyes widening. “I – Jackson, I’m sorry. Our dinner reservation,” you pause, down glancing at your watch. “It was now,” you wince. “Wasn’t it?”

The two of you meet in the middle of the hall and it’s then you notice that Jackson, too, looks exhausted. “It’s okay,” he offers, smiling feebly. “I’m late as well.”

You exhale, glancing up at the changing rooms. “Okay. Just give me twenty minutes. I’ll wash my face, put on a dress and,” you pause, tired just thinking about it. Today has been satisfying, but draining. If you’re being honest, you’re completely wiped.

You look up, as Jackson’s hand touches your arm.

“What about,” he raises an eyebrow. “You come to my place. Or I come to yours. I’ll cook, we can order pizza. We can watch a movie and relax.”

“Well,” you pause, then nod. “That sounds amazing.”

A grin lights up Jackson’s face. “It’s a date,” he announces. “Let’s change and then – my place?”

“Okay,” you agree. “But Jackson – there’s no way you’re cooking. You’ve been here just as long as I have. Let’s get that pizza.”

“Okay,” Jackson pushes open the door to the men’s changing room. “Not that me cooking was going to be fancy, Y/N. Just two really spicy ramen packets.”

The door falls shut behind him, and you hurry to get your things. On the drive to Jackson’s, you lean your head against the window. Stomach fluttering at the thought of what him driving means. Jackson said he can drive you back tonight to get your car, if you wish. Or you can stay, and he can drive you back in the morning. The second option is the one giving you butterflies. Just the thought of spending the night, with or near Jackson.

You’re wearing your skirt and heels, slightly out of place but unfortunately, you didn’t bring anything else to change into. Not that Jackson seems to mind – he keeps glancing sideways, shaking his head before looking back at the road.

“I’m glad we’re going to my place,” he mutters, one hand firm on the wheel.

“Oh?” you turn your head. “Why is that?”

“Because,” Jackson smiles, profile lit by the streetlights behind him. “If I had to sit across the table from you wearing that for two hours – I might have gone crazy.”

You laugh, facing forward. “It is fairly uncomfortable. Do you have sweatpants I can change into?” Jackson shifts, quiet for so long you poke his arm. “Is everything okay?” you ask.

He groans, one hand tightening on the wheel. “I can’t decide if that’s better or worse,” he admits. “You in that skirt, or you in my clothes.”

You laugh, pushing him gently. “Get over yourself,” you snort. “I just want to wear sweatpants.”

“Fine, fine,” Jackson nods. “But I’m not responsible for how often I kiss you, then.”

“What a line,” you grumble, glancing out the window – but your reflection smiles back at you. From far behind, Jackson sees as well and smiles back.

His apartment is cleaner than the last time – Jackson grins, ushering you inside.

“Did you do this thinking I would come home tonight?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you lower yourself onto his sofa.

Jackson flushes, moving into his bedroom. “No!” he calls, voice growing further away. “I would never, ever think that!”

When he comes out, he tosses you a piece of clothing. “Thanks,” you murmur, brushing past to go change in his bathroom.

“Pepperoni?” Jackson calls out, already dialing.

“Yes!” you yell, shutting the door and leaning your forehead against the frame. Exhaling deeply, you turn to strip from your clothes. You fold them into a neat pile, pulling on Jackson’s sweats and t-shirt. They smell just like him, cozy and warm while you take a long breath. Feeling only slightly creepy as you sigh, pushing open the door to the living room.

Jackson sits on his couch, also dressed in sweats. He peers from over the top of the fabric. “Come here,” he demands, patting the seat next to him. “I saved you the best spot.”

“What,” you joke, coming around front. “Your lap?”

Jackson winks. “If you like.”

Snorting, you settle beside him. “You wish.”

Jackson just smiles, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you close. You lean into him, even while he turns on his TV. “What do you want to watch?” he asks, flipping through channels. “I have to admit – I was a sucker and bought the most expensive cable package. Name a show, I probably have it.”

You nestle into him. Pleased, when Jackson tucks you closer. “What about Chopped?” your eyes light up. “I have a weakness for cooking shows. I love to work out and watch them.”

“Masochist,” Jackson mutters, changing the channel anyways.

When the pizza arrives, he turns down the sound. Sitting cross-legged while your conversation winds and turns. Jackson finds a bottle of wine from somewhere, pouring you both a glass.  

“I knew you could do it,” he grins, taking another bite of pizza. “You nailed that lumbar puncture – er, so to speak.’

You snort, nearly choking on your soda. “I have you to thank for that. Before I went in, I reminded myself of what you said. It really helped.”

“Mm?” Jackson chews, looking thoughtful. “Which part?”

“The part where everyone messes up. That I likely would again – and that sometimes, there might be no one able to help me.”

Jackson stares, setting down his slice. “That part helped?’

You laugh at his expression, nodding. “Yeah. It made me feel like I’m not alone. That everyone has been in my shoes – which was comforting, hearing my thoughts voiced out loud.”

Jackson stares for a long moment, before then smiles. “I feel the same way.”

A long silence passes, one where you draw your knees onto the couch. “Jackson,” you ask, gaze flicking to the TV. “What made you get into medicine?”

Jackson is silent for a long moment. “Do you mean – what made me want to be a nurse, and not a doctor?”

Your gaze moves sideways. “No. Well – maybe. You’re smart, talented, well-liked. Not that nurses can’t be all those things, but it is a very specific job to choose.”

Jackson exhales, looking down. “I did my Undergraduate at Stanford. Did you know that?”

Your eyes widen, shaking your head. “No. I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he admits, gaze finding yours. “I thought often about applying to medical school, I really did. Every time, I just couldn’t. Ever since I was little, I’ve wanted to be a nurse.”

You set your wine down, before quietly lacing your fingers with his. Jackson smiles at the gesture.

“Why?” you continue. “Why did you want to become a nurse?”

Jackson’s eyes are dark. “When I was young,” he explains, voice soft. “My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She went through intensive chemotherapy and radiation,” he sighs before falling silent, remembering. “My dad worked a lot. My parents were both immigrants, it was hard for both not to work at the same time. I spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals with my mom.”

Your hand tightens, lump suddenly rising in your throat.

“It was hard,” Jackson admits. “But the part which made it bearable, the part I really remember are the nurses. They took care of me. They explained things, in the best way they could. I remember thinking when my mom got discharged, that I wanted to do the same. I wanted to offer people, especially children, the same kind of hope I was given.”

It makes sense – so much. It explains Jackson’s demeanor, his strong desire to help. His selfless personality and when your lift your gaze to his, he’s looking back.

“What are you thinking?” Jackson asks.

Shaking your head, you lean closer. His hand slides to your hair, pushing strands away from your face. “I was thinking,” you say, letting him pull you near. “That I think you’re wonderful.”

Jackson’s face softens, thumb brushing your cheek. “That’s funny,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to the side of your mouth. “Because I feel the same about you.”

He kisses you fully, sinking backwards and drawing you on top of him. Wrapping himself lazily around you, nudging your lips with his own. Your hands wander softly as his own trace your back. His hips finds yours, cupping you to him. You arch upwards, letting his mouth open beneath yours. The touch of him is hard, his motions soft and you don’t protest when he turns you over.

Drawing both your hands over head, Jackson slowly tugs his shirt from your body. This hits the floor, along with his own. You see then, that all his time in the gym is paying off, since Jackson’s body is just as perfect as you thought it would be. The way he stares though, makes you feel like maybe he’s as excited as you are. His gaze traces, followed by his hands, unable to stop himself.

He groans when you lift your hips to his, eyes dark with desire. “Y/N,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

You don’t respond though, pulling him back down. Not objecting when he lifts you up, obediently wrapping your legs around him. Jackson brings you into his room, lays you down on his bed to tall quickly beside you. You arch into him, barely registering how the rest of your clothes disappear. Jackson asks you a question, one to which you nod yes. Nod again, when he drops between your legs. Groan out loud, as your head falls into the headboard.

You say yes again, when he covers himself to thrust into you. Jackson gathers you close, stilling as he kisses you softly. Moving his hips again, pace increasing with each thrust, hands finding yours to come apart at the seams. You hold onto him, since he’s the only thing solid. The only thing you can think about. You hold on to him, even after he pulls away. Even after he falls, happy and exhausted, beside you and lies with you in his arms.

The two of you sleep that way.

Your next shift is Saturday evening. You arrive happy and buzzing, still on a high from last night. Memories of the morning cloud your thoughts – Jackson making you breakfast, driving you to get your car before changing his mind mid-drive and taking you on a walk by the river.

You move slowly, almost dreamily entering the hospital. It’s so unlike you, but you can’t help how you feel. Every time you think of Jackson, you smile. His touch, his laugh, his eyes – it’s impossible to think of anything else, with those thoughts in mind. Jackson doesn’t work until tomorrow morning, so you’ll probably only see him again when you leave.

As you grab your clipboard, you quickly scan the names of your patients for today – and freeze. Reading again, then a third time. It makes no sense. Squinting closer, you shake your head before looking back up. Walking quickly, you grab the arm of first person you see.

“Hey,” you ask, wincing when you recognize Jordan.

She seems tired, as though nearing the end of her shift. Her eyes flick to yours, then away, clearly disinterested. “What?” she asks. “What do you want?”

“I,” you pause, gritting your teeth. “Why does my sheet have Mr. Ronstein’s name on it?”

For the first time you can remember, sympathy enters Jordan’s gaze. It’s this, more than anything which convinces you this is not a mistake. That you haven’t been given last week’s chart in error, haven’t received a misprint of some sort.

Jordan swallows. “He’s back,” she explains. Her hand tenses, as though to touch you before lowering it. “He – well, he had another stroke.”

The hallway grows fuzzier. “What?” you repeat, ears ringing. “No.”

She nods. “It was worse, this time. Hemorrhagic. He’s in a coma right now, Y/N. He probably won’t make it, probably will be taken off life support before the night is over.”

You just stand there. Stand there staring down the hall, struggling to process. No. This is all wrong. Mr. Ronstein was getting better. He’s supposed to be at home, living out his wake-up call. Seeing his kids, eating better, enjoying the occasional cigar. Your throat tightens. Men in his condition, the kind of stroke that he had – he should have had years, at worst. This kind of thing, it – you exhale, shaky.

Jordan is still standing, arms folded across her chest. “Y/N,” she says gently, bringing your attention back to hers. “I need to finish my shift.”

You nod, absent-mindedly. “Yeah. Okay.”

She walks away, leaving you standing there. Staring down the hall, then at the clipboard in your hands. You need to move. Need to keep going because there are other names on this list. Other patients to check in on. You take a hesitant step forward, unsure why your vision is suddenly blurring. No – you know why.

This isn’t right. It’s not fair. But what’s right or fair in life, you think. Stopping midway down the hall to take a deep breath. Pressing fists to your eyes, struggling to contain your emotions. This happens. You know that it does. You send someone home, you think they’re okay – and then something worse occurs. Sometimes the thing is avoidable, sometimes it’s not. This will keep happening, over and over.

You exhale, hands pressed so tight that it hurts. Then you swallow. You can’t let this consume you. Can’t let this destroy you because if you do – you’re no use to anyone. If you do, you’re not a doctor. It’s this which forces you to open your eyes. This, which forces you to take another step, to continue to walk. You place one foot before the other until you round the corner and enter Mr. Ronstein’s room.

His family isn’t here. Likely somewhere else, while they talk things over with the attending. You stare down at his bed, at the tubes and medicine running through while you manage a watery smile. “Hi, Greg,” you say softly.

In the morning, nothing is better. The prognosis is still bleak and Mr. Ronstein’s family decides to take him off the life support. You’re the one who delivers the news. The one who stands there while they debate. You handle their paperwork after, a tiny measure of relief in your body because it means you don’t need to be in the room when he dies.

Immediately following, comes the guilt.

As you leave the hospital the next morning, everything is dazed. You barely see Jackson as you exit, standing before his car in the parking lot. When you do see him, you hike your backpack higher, walk in his direction. Jackson is standing there, looking as though he’s lost in thought. His phone he holds loose in his fist, expression confused looking out at the cars.

“Hey,” you murmur, coming to a stop beside him. “Morning.”

Jackson’s gaze flickers, before meeting you own. He looks surprised, and you notice with some shock that his eyes are rimmed in red. “Hi,” he breathes, zeroing in on your face. “I – hi.”

You tilt your head. “Is everything okay?” you ask, since he seems off. “It’s been a pretty crappy night at the hospital. I hope the day shift goes better.”

Jackson lifts both eyebrows, opens his mouth to speak and shakes his head. “Yeah,” he breathes, sounding lost. “I hope so, too.”

His voice is wrong, though. It’s too tight, his eyes are without focus and you take a small step forward. Forgetting your night, forgetting everything that’s happened to place both hands on his arms. “Jackson,” you demand, waiting for him to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

Jackson looks your way. His eyes find yours, for only a second. “My dad just called,” he manages.

“Oh?” Unsure why, your heart starts to pound. “What about?”

“My mom.” Jackson can barely get out the words. His mouth tightens around them, and he swallows. “They found a lump in her breast. They’re doing a biopsy but Y/N,” he half-breaks, needing to look away. “They think she’s re-lapsed.”

[Master List]

[recurring-polynya]

I thought about Ishida and Renji too much, and woke up at 5:30 yesterday morning with a fic in my brain. I thought it was gonna be another drabble, but I think it turned into a full story. Inspiration note at the end, to avoid an extremely mild spoiler.

~ The Letter of the Law ~

Uryuu has run afoul of the Soul Society criminal justice system. Fortunately, he has, uh, Renji.

(AO3 link)

Takes place immediately after 684. Presumes that Rukia and Renji got together sometime during the TYBW. Before works, too, if you prefer. (If that sort of thing piques your fancy, I got you covered.)

I will not apologize for any continuity errors, the TYBW was extremely confusing.

Rated T for language, because Renji.

~ ~ ~

Other shinigami would surely be here any minute. The Onmitsukidou, trying to get Aizen back under wraps? Squad 12 maybe?

Renji sighed. There was no way around it.

"Hey, Ishida?"

The kid looked at him, exhaustion permeating his entire being.

"Believe me, I don't like this any more than you do, but, uh," Renji rubbed the back of his neck, "you're under arrest."

Ishida blinked. "Come again?"

Renji sighed again. "Under my authority as a Lieutenant of the Gotei-13, I am detaining you under the custody of the Sixth Division, Kuchiki Byakuya, Captain."

"You can arrest people?" Ichigo asked, incredulously. "Can Rukia arrest people?"

"Kurosaki!" Ishida protested.

"Of course I can arrest people, I was arrestin' Rukia the first time you met me, you moron!"

"Oh, right.” Ichigo remembered to get offended. “C'mon, Renji, it's Uryuu! Don't be an ass about this."

Renji shook his head, a warning. "I'm telling you guys, you absolutely need me to be an--"

"QUINCY SCUM, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST--"

So it was the Onmitsukidou, after all. There were about a thousand of them swarming Aizen, but they hadn't forgotten about Ishida, either.

Renji hefted himself to his feet. Time to get to work. "Too late, boys, I've already arrested him."

Two black-clad ninja looked at each other, and back to Renji. "But we're supposed to arrest him."

Renji gave a big, genial shrug. "That's a pickle, now, isn't it?"

"What do you care, why not just give him to us?" one of the ninja suggested.

"Oh, we do things by the book over at the Sixth. Captain wouldn't like it if I just went around transferring prisoners without the proper paperwork. You can fill out a transfer request form, of course. You'll need your Captain or Vice-Captain to approve it, and then you can file it with the Sixth Division front office. I should warn you, though, we've been short-staffed lately, so we may not get to it right away."

"What. Is. Happening?" Ichigo murmured.

"Due process," Renji replied cheerfully. "Sorry, Uryuu, I'm gonna have to take you in. Don't worry, Ichigo, I won't let him outta my sight. I’m sure you’re gonna be real busy for the near future." Renji clapped Uryuu on the shoulder. "Don't you worry either. If anyone can utterly bog down the Gotei-13 legal process by fucking up paperwork... it's me."

~ ~ ~

"Here's a blanket," Renji said, shoving it between the bars. "And I brought you some books." He passed them through one at a time. "This one's historical fiction…this one's a literary novel that was real popular a few years ago...this one's non-fiction, about the history of zanjutsu...and here's some shitty vampire manga I keep around for when Rukia comes over. I didn't know what you liked, so I tried to bring over a bunch of different things."

"These are... your  books?"

Renji raised one eyebrow. "Whose else would they be?"

Ishida turned one of the books over his hand. They were cheaply printed paperbacks, the paper much rougher than you’d find in the Living World, the spines all utterly bent and creased to hell. "I, uh, didn't know they had popular books in Soul Society."

Renji narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn'ta guessed I read for fun, is what you mean."

Uryuu took a deep breath. "I assumed. I'm sorry." He turned over the historical novel curiously. "Looks like you’ve read this one a few times."

"That's my favorite book." Renji was thoughtful for a moment. “You got ‘Romance of the Three Kingdoms’ in the Living World, right? It’s a little like that.”

Uryuu raised both eyebrows. "I'll give it a try."

Renji shrugged. "I won't judge you if you read the vampire manga. Anything else I can get for ya? Tea? Playing cards? Get you some ink so you can work on your prison tats?"

"I'll, ah, pass. Um, is there a way to get someone's attention, if I need something?"

"Oh, I'm not leaving you alone down here."

Ishida blinked. “What?”

Renji leaned up against the bars of the cell. “You can trust any and all of the Squad 6 folks on duty down here, I hand-picked 'em. But Squad 2 and 12 are both after you, and they’re lying, tricky bastards, one and all. That’s to say nothing of any of your old Quincy pals we might not’ve caught. Everything outside of this barracks is chaos right now, and I’m not about to get caught on my laurels, so I’m just gonna bring my paperwork down here and hang out with my ol’ buddy Uryuu until the rest of the captains get back.”

“You give all your prisoners this much personal attention?”

Renji shrugged. “Only the ones who don’t make fun of my eyebrows.”

~ ~ ~

Renji leaned back so his chair balanced on the back two legs. The back thunked against the bars of the holding cell. "The problem is," he drawled, "that Squad 3 has  also  requested a prisoner transfer. And they got their paperwork in first."

The Squad 2 flunky clutched his approved Form PTR-0003-36A like a lifeline. "What do I do with this, then?"

"Oh, I'll take it," Renji offered, delicately plucking the crumpled form from the man's sweaty hands. "But since there's more than one request, it will require adjudication, which means I'll have to wait until my captain gets back."

"When will that be?" the Onmitsukidou squeaked.

"Hard to say," Renji shrugged, shaking his head. "As far as I know he's still in the Royal Realm, and I don't have any way to communicate with him directly."

"What if we got Squad 3 to retract their request?"

"Worth a try, I s'pose. I've already started processing it though, so they'll need to file a formal withdrawal, and they'll probably want to document that it was at the request of another squad, so made sure they attach a Schedule E. That’s ‘E’, like earwax, not ‘D’ like dead dodo."

The ninja slunk off, mumbling "E, not D" to himself.

"Or maybe it was Schedule D,” Renji replied airly, scratching his head. “Or maybe even Schedule C.  Who can keep them all straight? Anyhoo, Squad 12 will probably have submitted one of these by the time he gets Kira to back off," he mused, glancing over the form. "Oh, they spelled your name wrong, too, that'll gum things up for sure."

"What does Squad 3 want with me?" Uryuu asked suspiciously, from the other side of the bars.

"Nothin'. I just asked Kira to fill one out. For funsies. You probably owe that guy a drink." Renji thought for a moment. "Actually, I'm not sure he'll be drinking anytime soon. But I bet he's in the market for a real classy lookin' cape, or maybe, like, a caftan? Is that the right word?"

“A flowy garment that a woman of a certain age wears for drinking wine?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Renji nodded. “‘Zactly. Matsumoto has one.”

"Hmmm," Uryuu frowned. “I’ll think about it.” He tried to get back into his book, but after reading the same paragraph three times, he closed it. "There's really no way to communicate with the Royal Realm? I was just wondering when everyone-- I mean, if Inoue and Sado--"

"I absolutely did not say that,” Renji clarified. “I said there's no way t'contact  my Captain directly  , because that old fogey refuses to carry a spirit phone. If I wanna talk to him, I gotta call Rukia and get her to hand him  her  phone. What a pain, am I right? Anyway, I talked to 'em all this morning. They'll be back in about two days, maybe sooner."

~ ~ ~

Renji banged his way into the 6th Division front offices. "What is all the commotion up here?" he hollered.

"Renji!" Orihime cried, her voice cracking with relief.

Renji stopped cold. It seemed very weird to see his human friends here, in his office, in the place where he spent most of his time reviewing mission reports and working out tactical exercises with Captain Kuchiki and mainlining too-strong tea in order to stay awake until quitting time. Much weirder than seeing Ishida down in his holding cell.

"That's Assistant Captain Abarai to you, " Third Seat Ohno snapped peevishly.

Renji rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible.

“We’re here to see Ishida,” Chad demanded. “He’s our friend.”

"This is not the Coordinated Relief Station! We do not have  visiting hours !" Ohno went on. He turned to Renji. "These ryouka want to see the prisoner, which, of course, is simply out of the question." As irritating as the guy was, Renji really had to hand it to ol’ Third Seat Ohno. He’d done an absolutely masterful job of gleefully kicking out all the secret police and mad scientists and generalized revenge seekers that had been mobbing the offices for days. The guy did not believe in exceptions. Which meant this was going to require some creativity.

"Yeeeeeahhh," Renji frowned. "We can't just let anyone go down there. Ishida's a dangerous criminal, you know, and a member of a widespread secret alliance and we got procedures to follow, and regulations stating the number of unauthorized personnel allowed in restricted areas…" As soon as he noticed Ohno close his eyes and start to nod along smugly, Renji started pointing to himself and miming punching himself in the face.

Chad might be soft-spoken, but he was not slow on the uptake. He pulled back his fist and slugged Renji in the jaw, at roughly 1/10 of his usual strength.

"That's assault of an officer!" Renji declared, trying to shake off the blow. 1/10 of a Chad punch was still an awful lot of punch.  "You're under arrest, I'm throwing you in the brig!"

Orihime was also not slow on the uptake, although she sometimes she got her exits confused and ended up on the wrong uptake. Her fist smashed into Ohno's nose at 100% of her full strength. "You'll never take me alive, coppers!" she yelled.

From the floor, Ohno whimpered.

"I will," Renji corrected her. "I will most definitely take you alive. I will take you down to the brig, where Uryuu is. Because you are also under arrest."

"Oh! Right!" Orihime cheerfully agreed.

"My noooose," wailed Ohno.

An hour later, Orihime and Chad departed Squad 6, released on their own recognizance.

 ~ ~ ~

"LIEUTENANT ABARAI!"

Renji's disheveled head poked out of Holding Cell B, blinking muzzily. His hair was a rat's nest, his jaw was blue with stubble, and his shihakusho looked distinctly  lived in.

Captain Kuchiki swept in on a breeze of cherry blossoms and efficiency. His silks were spotless, his hair perfect. He looked like he had just returned from a relaxing vacation. His sister trailed behind him, a 4’9” echo of his own perfection.

"What have I told you about napping in the holding cells?"

Renji hopped to attention. "Welcome back, sir! And if it's more than three consecutive hours, it's not a nap, it's plain ol' sleepin', sir."

"That's some nonsense, Lieutenant," Lieutenant Kuchiki chided him, making a face that she had clearly appropriated from her elder sibling.

"Welcome back, to you, too,  Lieutenant ," Renji replied, unable, or perhaps unwilling to keep the joy off his face at seeing her again.

"Why are you down here?" Byakuya demanded.

"Got a person of interest here, sir, didn't want to leave him unguarded."

Byakuya regarded him with lidded eyes. "Yes, I have already heard quite a bit of angry complaining about your 'person of interest' from  multiple  other captains."

"It's the paperwork, sir. It's a morass. But I want this done right, I refuse to rush. Crossin' every t, dottin' every i. That's the Squad 6 way, am I right?"

"Of course, Lieutenant. I know what a….stickler you are for these things."

"In fact, sir, I got in a request yesterday that I'd really like some of your expertise in processing. Bit complicated. Political."

Byakuya nodded. "Fine. Meet me upstairs in the office in ten minutes." He glanced sideways at Rukia, who was holding up one finger on her left hand and five on her right and mouthing the word “fifteen” hopefully. A strange, pained look crossed his face, as though he were trying to prevent some glaring new piece of information from actually making its way into his brain. Stubborn obliviousness appeared to win this round. "Make that fifteen minutes." He turned on his heel and glided out.

Rukia scowled at Renji, jerking her thumb toward Uryuu, who did not bother to look up from his book. "You given this idiot what for, yet?"

Renji shrugged. "Not really. I figured he’d get enough grief from everyone else. And he was with us in the end."

"I don't mean that! I mean worrying his friends, the jerk!"

"Rukia," Renji said gently, taking her hand in his. "Is this really how you want to spent the first fifteen minutes you’ve seen me in three days?"

Rukia stiffened, and her voice lowered to a whisper. "Did you tell him that we're…?" she pointed back and forth rapidly between the two of them, and jerked her head to the side twice meaningfully.

"Together?" Renji suggested. "The word is 'together.'"

"He wouldn't shut up about it," Uryuu added. "Congratulations." He turned a page. "Or condolences. One or the other."

Rukia made a face she usually made at Ichigo. "Thanks," she finally sputtered. Then she grabbed a fistful of Renji's kosode, and hauled him into Holding Cell B.

Uryuu turned another page. "Took you long enough."

 ~ ~ ~

"Glad to see everyone here with so much enthusiasm today," Captain-General Kyouraku said, clapping his hands. "The quicker we get started, the quicker we'll be done! Nanao, do you have my list?"

"There's been a request that item 7 be moved to the top of the agenda," Lieutenant Ise informed him as she passed over a sheet of paper.

His eyes skimmed it. "Well, that seems fine. I've received the approval to name Kuchiki Rukia as Acting Captain of the 13th Division. I know my good friend, Juushirou, had the utmost confidence in her, and I think it's a very appropriate appointment. Are there any objections?"

If there were, no one felt like a big enough jerk to voice them while the Captain-General was getting misty about his fallen companion.

"Wonderful! Congratulations, Kuchiki, please reach out to me if you need any assistance."

"Me," Nanao corrected. "Please reach out to me."

"Thank you, sir!" Rukia barked. "I will do my best!"

"Next...oh, dear. I guess we need to discuss the Ishida boy, who, apparently is in the custody of the Sixth Division?"

Captains Kurotsuchi and Soi Fon both started talking at once, and then Captain Otoribashi started in once someone mentioned Squad 3. Captain Hitsugaya and Acting-Captain Kuchiki both had strong opinions on the matter. Then Captain Hirako started talking because he liked to talk while other people were talking.

"All of this is moot.” The room went quiet. Even though he wasn’t particularly loud, people tended to shut up when Captain Kuchiki bothered to say something. “We have received a request for the prisoner's extradition, on the grounds that he has a right to be tried in his realm of origin, by his own people."

"What?!" Kurotsuchi squawked. "We don't have any diplomatic relations with the Quincy."

"The Quincy of the World of the Living, to be exact. My lieutenant will explain," Byakuya could barely keep the boredom out of his voice. Not that he was trying.

"Uh, technically, we do,” Renji explained. “There's a binding legal entity between Division 13 and all officially appointed shinigami substitutes, of which there is currently one, who happens to be of Quincy heritage and domiciles in the World of the Living."

"Oh, no," Soi Fon groaned.

Renji went on, "And furthermore, there's precedent, namely the previous Captain-General releasing the body of Fullbringer Kuujo Ginjou into Kurosaki Ichigo's custody." Renji blew air out of his cheeks. He hated talking in captains’ meetings.

"So Kurosaki Ichigo has already filed his request?" the Captain-General asked, bumping his hat aside to scratch his head.

"It's already been processed, it just needs my signature," Rukia replied. "Now that I am officially Acting-Captain." She gave a dirty look to the captains of 2 and 12.

"Well, that all seems very neat and tidy," Kyourakou congratulated, amid the groans of his captains. "Great job, everyone. Thanks for taking care of that. Uh....this was the Quincy that was on our side, right? The nice boy with the glasses?"

~ ~ ~

“I should thank you,” Uryuu said quietly, as Renji led him through the shattered streets of the Seireitei.

“Eh, you woulda done the same for me.”

Uryuu was very quiet.

Renji looked at the boy out of the corner of his eye. “Look, man. Every time we go anywhere, you say you aren’t gonna help and you hate shinigami and we ain’t your friends, and the rest of us have learned to ignore you, because you always turn up when the shit hits.” He palmed Uryuu’s head and shook it playfully a few times. “You should learn to ignore you, too. I tell ya, you woulda done the same for me.”

Uryuu snorted. “Still. Thanks.” He gave a small smile. “I liked your book, by the way. Is there any way to get books back and forth from the World of the Living? I think I have one you might like.”

“Oh yeah?” Renji asked, raising an eyebrow. “Talk to Yadamarou. I’ll give it a shot.”

Everyone was waiting in a neat line at the Senkaimon, when they crested the hill.

"Ya did it," Ichigo hollered on behalf of everyone. "You got yourself kicked outta Soul Society, just like you always wanted."

“Well,” Renji said, "I guess this is it for us." Then he twisted Uryuu into a headlock, and proceeded to noogie him to within an inch of his life. Everyone else watched, solemnly, while Uryuu squirmed and yelped. Finally, Renji let him free. "I release him into your custody, Acting-Captain Kuchiki."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Abarai." Rukia turned to her young friend, who was gripping his scalp and cowering. "I do not envy you. His knuckles are like friggin' boulders."

"Diamonds," Uryuu whimpered.

Then Rukia grabbed Ishida’s ear and  twisted.

"Owowoeewoow!"

She hauled him a few yards away from the group, and pulled his ear down to the level of his mouth. "Listen up, nerd. I am not planning some Kuchiki-ass, high society wedding without your help, you buttface. You have until that dummy over there decides to propose in order to get back in the good graces of the Gotei-13, you hear me?"

Uryuu tried to escape her iron grip and failed. "That could be the rest of my natural lifetime."

"It could be,” she agreed. “Or it could be  tomorrow . You know how he is. So get on it."

It struck Ishida that he  did know how Abarai was. And Kuchiki, as well. How had this happened? He blamed Kurosaki. He huffed. “Can’t you just go down to City Hall or whatever?”

Rukia looked hurt. “I didn’t say I didn’t  want  a fancy wedding. I just said I wanted you to help me with it. And y’know. Be there.”

“Oh,” Uryuu replied. “Oh. I”ll, uh...I’ll do my best.”

Rukia smiled. “Thanks.” She dragged him back over to the others and shoved him in the general direction of Ichigo. "Here you go, Substitute Shinigami and Quincy Cultural Attache, he's your problem now."

"Thank you, Shorty McCaptainface," Ichigo proclaimed formally. "Ishida Uryuu, you have been tried by a jury of your peers (that’s us), and been found guilty of  being a crummy friend. You have been sentenced to the following: You will come to the next three movie nights, even if it's Keigo's turn to pick the movie, and you will bring those weird little pink French cookies you made that one time!"

"They were macarons."

"You will answer your texts within 2 business days, even if it's just a smiley face!"

"You're the one who doesn't answer his texts for weeks on end."

"You will let us wear your cape for five minutes each while we make fun of you!"

Uryuu sighed.

"And you will promise to trust us and let us help you and not join our enemies in order to betray them without telling us first, you got it?!"

Uryuu sighed  louder. "I promise."

"And!" Orihime added, "you will bring it in for a  group hug!"

This had presumably been planned, because the three humans immediately tackled their friend in what looked like a well-practiced maneuver, with Orihime coming in from the back, Ichigo from the front, and Chad coming in last, enclosing everyone with his huge wingspan. Uryuu exhaled one final sigh of long-sufferance, the lament of a man cursed with excellent friends.

"Shinigami are not excused from this!" Chad rumbled, and suddenly, Rukia had wormed her way  into the middle , and Renji piled in opposite Chad.

"I promise I will be better," Uryuu from somewhere in the middle of all this.

"See that you do!" Ichigo shouted. "Also, I think you owe Renji, like, ten million yen in legal fees."

“I accept payment in little pink cookies!”

~ end

End note: While I was writing the group hug, I realized that I was just describing one of my all-time favorite pieces of fanart, by the very talented @chameshida I hope this fic has managed to capture a tiny fraction of that energy.

[chuffyfan87]

Hiding. Part 3

Cowritten with @disastrousintention

-x-

A couple of weeks had passed since their conversation by the river yet Duffy still hadn't managed to confess all to Andrew. She'd tried but it had never been the right time. If there was such a thing as the right time! She'd woken up that morning feeling incredibly poorly but had felt compelled to force herself into work. Charlie was in meetings with the trust all day, important meetings that he couldn't miss, and Eve had booked the day off to visit a friend so someone had to run the nursing staff. She'd hoped for a quiet shift but inevitably that hadn't happened so it was not particularly surprising when, approximately 6 hours into her shift, she had collapsed in the middle of admin.

Charlie had been at the trust meeting all day. He hated meetings at the best of the times - it was usually drivel by a group of pen pushers, telling them how well things worked on paper. It always did look better on paper but the reality was always much different, and that’s why Charlie often butted heads with them. If he’d known Duffy was feeling even a tiny bit sick, he’d have encouraged her to take the day off. He didn’t want anything to happen to her or the baby, their baby.

When Duffy finally got her bearings once more she found herself laid on a trolley in one the cubicles. She quickly pieced together what had happened. Shit! She slowly pushed herself up to sitting and shifted her legs to dangle over the side. As she attempted to stand she wobbled slightly, knocking into the equipment beside her. The noise caused the curtain to immediately swish open and Eve's displeased face to appear.

"Where do you think you're going?" She asked.

"I thought you were off today." Duffy replied weakly.

“I was supposed to be but we’re short staffed so I agreed to volunteer for a couple of hours.”

"I'm fine now so you can go home again." Duffy insisted.

Eve raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “You’ve just collapsed. I’d hardly say you were fine.”

"I don't want a fuss." She complained. She suddenly heard a familar voice approaching the cubicle. They hadn't called him, had they?

“I suggest you get comfy because I don’t think you’ll be leaving for a while yet.” Eve replied.

Andrew had been informed of Duffy’s collapse as had Charlie. The latter of the two, did have a right to know as he was the Charge Nurse of the department.

As he entered admin Andrew spotted Max. "What happened? She seemed fine earlier."

“Hi Andrew. I’m running some tests but I think it’s probably a mixture of dehydration and exhaustion from the pregnancy.”

Andrew's eyes widened at the news but he said nothing as his mind whirled through the possibilities, none of them good.

Max read Andrew’s expression and came to the horrifying conclusion, that Andrew may not have known anything about the baby. There was an awkward silence as Max tried to think of something to say. Shit!

"I'd like to see my wife now please." Andrew stated through gritted teeth.

“Sure, she’s in cubicles.” Max replied as he took Andrew to Duffy’s cubicle.

They entered the cubicle and Max was about to indicate to Eve that they should give the couple some privacy when they suddenly heard the sound of Charlie's hurried footsteps entering the department.

Charlie had come down from the meeting as soon as he could. “Is she ok?” He looked panicked.

Andrew turned to look at Charlie. The other man looked a little too concerned for his liking...

Charlie saw Andrew and swallowed. “Duffy is ok, isn’t she?” He tried to make out like he was worried because she was his best friend. Nothing more.

"No thanks to you." Andrew muttered darkly.

"I'm fine." Duffy broke in, trying to de-escalate the situation.

“What was that Andrew? I didn’t quite hear you.” Charlie replied. His dislike for Andrew was obvious.

"Charlie..." Duffy warned.

He sighed and shut up. Duffy was the only one who was ever able to calm him down. “This is cosy.” Andrew remarked, “Anything you want to tell me?” He asked, his gaze shifting from Charlie to Duffy.

Sensing things were about to get very out of control, Max interrupted. "I need to run some more tests so this might be a good time to give Duffy some space?"

Charlie glanced at Duffy and then Max before he gave a single nod in reply. “Ok.”

Max watched Eve follow Charlie out the cubicle. As Andrew turned to follow them he spoke. "You're welcome to stay while I carry out the tests."

"I have something I need to deal with first." Andrew snapped back.

"Andrew..!" Duffy pleaded, attempting to stand once more.

“What?” Andrew snapped. Max sighed and told them both, “If you’re going to argue, I suggest you do it somewhere more private and preferably when Duffy’s got her energy back.”

"Oh so you knew all about it as well did you?" Andrew sneered at Max.

“Know about what?” Max asked.

"Don't play dumb."

"Andrew please! Can we discuss this at home later?" She paused, swallowing hard. "I feel really sick right now." She whispered.

“Fine! I’ll see you at home?”

She nodded, fighting the urge to be sick as the room began to spin once more.

Andrew walked out in a foul mood and promptly left. Max handed Duffy a sick bowl.

After being sick twice, Duffy looked up at Max, a sorrowful expression on her face. "I've really screwed up haven't I?" She mumbled.

“It depends on what you define as screwing up.” Max answered with a sad smile. “Do you want me to get Charlie?”

Duffy nodded.

“I won’t be a minute.” He excused himself and went to find Charlie. He found the other man in his office, pacing up and down. This was such a bloody mess!

Max lightly tapped on the door before he opened it. "She wants to see you." He explained simply.

Charlie stopped pacing and looked at Max. He nodded, “Thanks.” He then sighed.

"I'd stay out of Andrew's way if I were you though. I only just about prevented him punching your lights out just now." Max warned.

“I don’t intend on getting in his way.” Charlie replied.

"I only stopped him coz the last thing Duffy needs right now is you two brawling in the middle of the department."

“I know.” He sighed, “Her and the baby don’t need the stress.”

"Maybe you should have thought of that before now." Max suggested.

“Neither of us planned this!”

"Clearly! I would've thought that you'd both know that shitting on your own doorstep is a really stupid thing to do."

He sighed again, “I tried to walk away but I couldn’t.”

"You should never fall in love with your mistress Charlie, that's where you went wrong."

“But what if I fell in love with her, long before she became my mistress?” He asked quietly.

"Then there's no hope for you." Max stated simply.

“Can I see her now?”

"Of course, you know where she is."

“Thank you.” Charlie took a couple of minutes to compose himself before he left his office and headed to the cubicle. He hovered nervously outside for a minute.

Duffy vaguely registered the sound of footsteps on the other side of the curtain but was too busy being sick again to pay them much heed. When was this going to stop? She swore it hadn't been so bad the previous two times.

Hearing her throw up, he opened the curtain and smiled sadly. Closing it behind him, he moved towards the bed. “Silly question but are you ok?”

Duffy rolled her eyes and groaned, her hand rubbing her stomach. She ached from being sick so much plus she suspected she had landed awkwardly when she'd fainted earlier.

He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand over her hand that was on her stomach.

"You still think this is attractive?" She muttered sarcastically.

He smiled, “Not when you’re throwing up. But it’ll be worth it in the end.”

"It better be." She sighed. "You should probably go speak to Baz. Gossip travels fast afterall."

“Baz can wait.” He said, “At least until I know you’re both ok.”

"I'm absolutely fine."

“Really?” He asked, his eyebrow raised.

"I will be as soon as you and Max stop fussing and let me go back to work. Its rather busy out there if you hadn't noticed."

“If you think I’m going to let you go back to work after this, you don’t know me as well as you think.” Charlie replied. There was no chance he was letting her go back to work, not in this state!

"Well I'm sure as hell not sitting here all afternoon!"

“Will you please, just do as you’re told for once?” He asked, aspirated.

She harrumphed as she folded her arms across her chest.

He rolled his eyes playfully and kissed her cheek, “I know you don’t like it. But you’ve just collapsed. And you’re pregnant. My priority right now isn’t this department. It’s you. We’ll cope out there. I won’t cope if you make yourself worse.” He explained gently, his hand still on her stomach.

"Can I at least go sit in your office and do some paperwork? That way I'm not taking up a cubicle." She suggested, attempting to negotiate.

He thought about it for a minute and nodded, “As soon as Max has ran his tests then yes. Ok, but only paperwork? Don’t be rooting through my drawers.” He joked.

"Why? What you hiding in there now?" She joked.

“Never you mind, nosey.” He answered, playfully tapped her nose.

She pouted but couldn't help the mischievous glint in her eye.

As he met her eye, noticing the mischievous glint, he couldn’t help but begin to get lost.

"So are you gunna break me out of here then?"

He didn’t answer. He was thinking about the first time he ever got butterflies when he met her gaze. He could remember it like it was yesterday.

Seeing his distraction she decided to seize her opportunity. She slowly edged off the bed.

Sensing her movement, Charlie snapped out of his daydream. “Going somewhere?” He asked.

"Yes." She pushed herself to standing, trying her best to hide the slight wobble as she did so.

“Will you sit down before you fall down? Please!" He begged.

"I'm not going to fall down."

“You didn’t look very steady on your feet, just now.”

"I'll be OK, just need a second to readjust."

“Please, just rest.”

"I have too much to do." She insisted.

“Like?”

"I need to finish my shift, then go pack some belongings before picking the boys up from my mum's..." She paused. "Oh shit! My mum! She's going to go ballistic..."

He sighed sadly, “You also need to rest before you make yourself seriously ill.”

"But the boys! I need to see them before Andrew gets to them."

“Would you like me to ring your mum?”

"And say what?"

Charlie shrugged. “I’m not going to win this one, am I? Not where your boys are concerned.”

"They're going to be so upset and it's all my fault." Her eyes began to fill with tears.

“Hey.” He shook his head and placed his hand on her arm. “You’re not to blame.”

"Yes I am." She pulled her arm away, throwing her balance off once more.

He helped steady her. “You’re not solely to blame.”

"I should have known better. Especially after what Andrew did to me."

“It wasn’t ideal. But there’s many differences between you and Andrew.” Charlie pointed out.

"Maybe but we're both cheats and liars. Perhaps we deserve each other."

“It wasn’t my intention to cheat on Baz.” He replied. “I just happened to fall in love with my mistress.” He paused, “I’ll let you go and get your boys on one condition?”

"Is that all I am? Your mistress?" The hurt was clear on her face.

“Of course not!” He replied.

She attempted to push past him and leave the cubicle.

“Duffy.” He sighed. She was bloody stubborn sometimes!

"Go away!" She spat back.

He sighed. He knew it was pointless to try and stop her. He rubbed the back of his neck as he watched her leave. How was he going to fix this mess?

[petty-revenge-stories]

Laugh at me when I need to leave work early? Good luck running half staffed.

So I work a security job. I’ve been here since January and am always on time, I pick up extra shifts, I do my job and stay out of everyone’s way. My boss is a total d*ckwad. Changes procedures on the daily, doesn’t give formal training (I was flying by the seat of my ass for the first three months), and throws a fit if god forbid, someone calls in and he needs to cover their shift.

There is only one fateful day that I have missed work in 10 months. I had just gotten back from the lake the day before and developed a horrible case of sun poisoning. I had blisters all over my arms and shoulders, a fever, nausea, was so red and swollen I resembled a lobster, not to mention extreme pain. I sucked it up and went to work, but three hours into my twelve hour shift I knew I needed to go see a doctor to get prescription burn cream. My mom is a nurse so she would be able to work me in when I left work.

I went to my boss’s office and explained I had severe burns and sun poisoning and that I needed to leave to go the doctor at 12. Then I would have worked half my shift and left only 6 hours that needed to be covered. He laughed in my face and said, “you want to leave for a sunburn?” I said once again it was more than just a little redness and showed him the blisters. He blew me off and said a sunburn wasn’t a reason to leave work. So I said fine and slammed his door on the way out. Twenty minutes later he comes to my office and says I can leave. I said once again I could stay until 12. He told me that if I could stay until 12 then I could stay the whole day. I threw my radio and keys on the desk and said have a nice day and I left. I went to the doctors and got what I needed. Brought my doctors note in the next day and tried to hand it to him and he said “I don’t need it.” So after throwing a fit like a child, telling me I can’t leave work, and laughing at me, he didn’t even want the doctors note.

Nothing more was said about it but I still believe it was not handled correctly at all. As I said I had never missed a day until that day, and I have not missed a day since. There was no reason to be an asswad about it, especially since it was for a legitimate reason and it was not even a full day, just half a shift.

He continues to be an asshole in general about the job. Not a day goes by there isn’t a snarky comment about something. Last week he suspended the guy I work with (there’s two officers here at all times) so it was just me and the captain. One of us has to be in the office watching cameras at all times. I was the unlucky one stuck in there for four hours while he did god knows what. When he finally gave me a break, I got something to drink and went to the bathroom. Was not even gone 15 minutes and I was told my breaks were “taking too long.” Just stupid shit all the time.

All this to say, my captain is about to be royally screwed. We run with 8 people, 4 for days and 4 for nights, and work a rotating schedule. 2 officers need to be there at all times. Night shift and day shift are both 1 person short right now. I found out yesterday I got hired at a new job, and the officer I’m always scheduled with is going to quit at the same time as me, because he’s tired of the bullshit too. One of the night shift officers is going out for three months for surgery.

So unless he gets new people hired in a hurry, in one week from now, my captain will have one person to work day shift and two people on nights. We haven’t even been able to give notice yet because the captain is out “with the stomach bug” so he’s in for a rude awakening when he gets back.

You shouldn’t have laughed at me, dude. Have fun covering all those empty shifts.

Also as far as an update: dearest boss is claiming he’s sick and is out for the day. He doesn’t have email access when he is not here, but I sent him an email so there’s a time stamp and paper trail in case they want to be shady. Hopefully he’ll be back in the morning and I’ll update with what he says.

Edit #2: dearest captain showed up for a few minutes this morning. He went in his office for a few minutes, went straight to his boss’s office, then came up to my office. He was surprisingly chill about it, probably because I turned the notice in instead of just up and walking out. He asked if there was anything that could make me stay a little longer and that he wished this was coming at a different time when we weren’t so short (that was the point of doing it now lmao) and said they would miss me and that I was always welcome back and how much he appreciated my work. It’s too late for flattery now dude. 5 more shifts until I’m free! I know you all were probably hoping for something a little more dramatic, trust me I was too, but that’s all I have for now.

Also...there’s a rumor going around from the site next to ours that uses the same security company that the contract with our site is in danger of not being renewed for another year because our turnover rate is through the roof. So not only will the two of us leaving add to that, it’s the best time to leave before our contract runs out and they have to find another site to stick us. Stick ya 92% turnover up your butt. I’m out ✌🏻

(source) (story by queeninyellow)

[avengerofyourheart]

Flour Girl {10} (Bucky x reader)

Characters: reader, Bucky (Jimmy), Wanda, Clint, George Barnes.

Summary: Discovering the cute guy you just flirted with is the heir of a rival bakery, you suddenly find yourself running into him all over the city. Can your small boutique bakery compete? And how do you deal with the guy who seems determined to make your life a living hell? Luckily you’re distracted by a secret admirer…But who is he? (Inspired by “You’ve Got Mail”, Enemies to Lovers)

Warnings: none! Mild swearing?

Word Count:  3.3k

A/N: Alright, my darlings!! I hope you’ve recovered from the last chapter. ;) So what do you think? Does Jimmy have what it takes to win her back? Will she let him? I guess we’ll find out! :D This part is pretty packed, I hope you’re ready! Thank you all for your comments and screaming and tears and I’m sorry about your poor hearts! I hope I can begin to mend it. :) As always, any feedback is appreciated!! I adore you all. <3

<<Part 9   Part 10   Part 11>> 

Flour Girl Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

______________________________________________

Cringing as your alarm sounded the next morning, you shut it off and laid still a few minutes while staring at the ceiling. It felt exactly the opposite from yesterday morning’s energy and excitement. What a difference 24 hours could make. Feeling the heaviness in your heart and the tired ache of your bones, you finally rolled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. The mirror reflected your swollen, red eyes, so you splashed cold water on your face and went about your day.

It all seemed a bit ridiculous to be so distraught, since you hadn’t known B for very long. In fact, you didn’t know him at all and now you doubted you ever would. Your mind flickered to the text message you received last night, wondering why he was unable to show up or give you any sort of notice until then. He was still there, meaning you could still text but for some reason, meeting in person wasn’t going to happen. Your heart clenched at the thought of opening yourself up again.

Could you forgive him? Was it even worth it to continue corresponding? You felt the sadness and embarrassment of sitting in the cafe alone while watching the clock tick. Shaking it off, you got ready for your day and headed down the stairs to work. No matter what state your heart was in, there was always work to be done.

Later as you finished boxing your pastries for delivery, you thought about your last scheduled stop at the Nest. Your stomach clenched at the memories of what took place there yesterday. The thought of seeing Jimmy again made your shoulders tense, wondering how he would react after your outburst. You didn’t regret what you had said because every word was true, but doing it in a public place, especially at Clint’s place of business, gathered some warmth in your cheeks. You’d have to apologize when you saw him. Clint, not Jimmy. The cocky brunet didn’t deserve another moment of your time.

Waving goodbye to Wanda, you hopped in your car and headed out to deliver. As you later approached the Nest, you spotted the Barnes Bakery van in the closest parking spot once again.  Surprise, surprise. Pushing through the door with boxes in hand, you braced yourself to see Jimmy at the counter, but instead, there was an older man laughing and joking with Clint. You stopped short to see the man was on the taller side, his dark hair thinning on top. He had a kind, weathered face, youthful eyes, and was wearing a Barnes Bakery t-shirt.

Reaching the counter you set down your boxes and Clint’s attention turned to you.

“Y/N, good morning! Have you met George Barnes, the owner of Barnes Bakery?” Clint indicated to the man beside you.

It all clicked then, seeing the family resemblance between Jimmy and his father. “No, I haven’t. Good morning, Mr. Barnes. I’m Y/N from City Sweets Bakery. Thank you so much, again, for the flour yesterday,” you mentioned, offering your hand.

Mr. Barnes accepted it and placed his other warm palm over your joined hands. “It’s my pleasure, Y/N. And please, George is just fine. It’s so nice to meet you and Clint in person, finally. I don’t get out of Brooklyn often these days, but when Jimmy said he was sick, I thought I’d offer to deliver,” the man smiled warmly.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, too, George,” you replied, returning his smile. “Thank you again, I will return that bag of flour when I receive mine tomorrow,” you assured him.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “No rush, I know you’re good for it. Well, I better get back. Seems we’re short-staffed today. Good to meet you both,” George waved as he headed for the door, leaving you and Clint at the counter.

Clint stared after him a moment and you followed his gaze. “Nice guy. Too bad about Jimmy, though. Hope he gets better soon.”

“Yeah…” you trailed off, then turning back to the sandy-haired man. “Listen, I’m sorry about yesterday, Clint. I didn’t mean to make a scene here, it was rude and unprofessional and I apologize.”

The man finally met your eye, then taking in your contrite expression. “What, you getting into it with Jimmy?” he asked and you nodded in reply. “That’s okay, I like a little afternoon drama. So…I take it he wasn’t who you were here to meet? The guy didn’t show?” he asked in concern.

You took in a shuddered breath, shaking your head. “No.”

Clint place a hand over yours on the counter. “I’m sorry. I know you and Jimmy have a bit of tension there, so him showing up along with being stood up…I don’t blame you. Guy’s an idiot, by the way,” he gave your hand a squeeze before turning his attention to the pastries.

You were grateful for that, since your eyes seemed to be prickling with the threat of tears. Not now, you told yourself while clearing your throat. “Thank you.”

Clint signed the paperwork and you were on your way.

____________

The following morning, all was going smoothly as usual but as you drove slowly toward the Nest, looking for a place to park, the strangest thing happened. Just as you were approaching, you noticed the Barnes Bakery van out front was about to drive away. The driver stuck his head out the window briefly and you saw that it was Jimmy, who just gave a small wave and drove away, leaving the spot empty for you. Quickly, you pulled to the curb and parked, but…what was that?

Pausing only briefly, you got out of the car and grabbed the boxes to deliver. A quick conversation with Clint and you were back on the road within 5 minutes. Wow. Amazing how a good parking spot can improve your morning. Thanks to your good fortune, you made it back to the bakery just in time to see Sam pull up in his delivery truck with all your ingredients. It was the start of a pretty good day.

Later that morning, you thought about B. You had kept yourself busy yesterday to avoid thinking about all that had happened and the hole his lack of texts had left in your life but he drifted to the forefront of your mind today. You hadn’t heard from him again, but his last text had left it in your hands. If you wanted to keep interacting, then it was up to you. As you sat down at your desk for the first time that day, a thought occurred to you so you pulled out your phone. You stared at the single letter “B” at the top of the open messages and nervously began to type. Before you could stop yourself you hit send.

FG: Are you okay? I mean….you’re not dying or anything, right? Cause if I’m mad at you and find out you had some life-threatening disease or something and you’re shielding me from it, that would suck.

Waiting a few seconds, those three dots popped up quickly and your heart caught in your throat. The thought had occurred to you that there might be a specific reason why B hadn’t shown up and your brain went directly to “worse case scenario”. You couldn’t let go of your concern, so you asked, point blank without greeting. His reply arrived.

B: Yes, I’m fine. No, I’m not dying, nothing like that. I’m sorry that I’ve left you wondering but even the truth wouldn’t make much sense right now. Again, I’m so sorry.

You felt a rush of relief as you read his words, noticing that he was still typing a second message. At least now you knew your worst fear had not come to fruition. That ache in your heart remained, but somehow you still felt that little swell of joyous anticipation as you awaited his response.

B: It’s really good to hear from you. And the fact that you were still concerned about my well-being is further proof that I probably don’t even deserve to have you as a friend. Regardless, I hope we can still talk.

Biting your lip, you considered how best to reply to that. It seemed like he really did feel terrible about what happened. You needed one more promise from him, though, just for your own sanity.

FG: You’ll tell me eventually? Everything?

B: Yes. In time.

Another deep breath.

FG: Okay.

You left the conversation there and went back to work. It felt quite like it had in the beginning because you felt that need for caution once again. Might seem like a step backward, but it was a start.

After paperwork and checking in with Wanda, you headed out for some afternoon errands. One stop even took you outside the comfort zone of your usual 5 to 6 blocks, but the benefit of that was you were able to grab a slice from your favorite pizzeria. As you held the paper plate that was quickly soaking up the delicious grease from your gooey cheesy, you smiled and pulled out your phone.

FG: Best slice in the city. ;)

You attached a photo with Capizzi’s logo in the background, just as B had a while back. Two bites into your pizza and you heard your phone ping.

B: Ooooh. Them’s fightin’ words.

You grinned at the response and took another bite. After lunch, you stopped at your accountant’s office to drop off some paperwork before returning to the bakery. You checked in with Wanda and baked a few croissants and pastries, upon her request, as business had been pretty steady all day. While she stocked up the pastry case, you pulled out a recipe for two types of cake and started baking.

Pastries were your specialty and you did have cupcakes on display most days, but full-sized cakes were only for special orders. You wanted to have these cakes baked and cooled so you could finish decorating them tomorrow for pickup the next day. Sifting the flour and greasing the pans, you got into the groove and soon the cakes were in the oven with a timer set. Wanda needed help for a short while, so you spent some time up front.

The cakes turned out perfectly, bouncing back slightly when touched and the toothpick came out clean when you inserted one into the cake’s center. The heavenly smell permeated the entire bakery, even still lingering as you and Wanda closed up for the night. Mopping the floors, you were lost in thought about how you were going to decorate the cakes when Wanda startled you with a sneeze.

“Bless you,” you replied.

She laughed with a sniff. “Thanks. I think that’s the last of it,” Wanda said as you poured out the mop water and turned off the lights.

“Yup. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you grinned, waving as she left for the subway station.

_____________

The following morning, Wanda greeted you less enthusiastically than usual. She looked a little pale, but she assured you all was well as you left for deliveries. You weren’t so sure about that as you closed your trunk and drove away.

Approaching the Nest, once again you were surprised to see Jimmy in the van’s driver’s seat about to leave. Not that you weren’t grateful to have a timely spot in front the cafe, but now it seemed like he was actively avoiding you, which was odd. He offered a wave as his brake lights lit up, but you honked your horn loudly and Jimmy paused, surprised to see you climbing out of your car. The driver behind you honked as well, but you ignored them.

You quickly ran up to the Barnes Bakery van as Jimmy pushed the sunglasses off his nose and up to rest in his tousled locks.

“Y/N, hey,” he greeted, confused.

“Hi,” you replied, breathless. “I, um…I have a bag of flour for you. I mean, for your dad. I was wondering if you could take it back to Brooklyn with you? It’s a bit of a drive…”

Jimmy caught up to your meaning, so he opened his door and hopped out quickly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll grab it.”

Popping your trunk, he lifted the 50 lb bag with no trouble and held it in one arm as he opened the back door of the van to set it inside.

“Thanks,” you said, noticing the honking getting more frantic behind you.

“No problem,” Jimmy replied with a smile. “I’ll see you around.”

You watched him climb into the van and drive away as a honk startled you out of your reverie. Quickly, you climbed back into your own car and parked, carrying out your delivery to Clint.

Returning to the bakery, your morning quickly went downhill. One look at Wanda, and you knew that she wasn’t okay. Her usual bright eyes and rosy cheeks were dull and pale, respectively. She sneezed twice into a nearby napkin before you watched her step into the back of the bakery to loudly blow her nose away from customers and food. Feeling torn but sympathetic, you knew what you had to do.

“Wanda, you’re sick. Go home and rest,” you ordered her softly.

“No! I’ll be okay! You shouldn’t have to do it all and I’m fine—“ her protesting was quickly cut off by a long coughing fit. Not only did she look and sound awful, it was unsafe for her to be around food.

Grabbing Wanda’s things from a hook inside the kitchen, you forced her to untie her apron and nudged her toward the door. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Go home and get better.”

The pretty brunette continued to fight you weakly, but eventually she gave in and left. This new development really put a wrench into things. Without Wanda, you were the only person to man the counter and do the baking, not to mention a million other things you had to do for orders and to run the business. The bakery was currently empty now that the morning rush was through, so you turned off the music so you could hear customers enter and also put out small silver bell with a sign so people could ring it if you missed the door chime.

The entire day was a hurricane of helping customers, baking, answering phone calls, and even locking the door with a “Back in 5 minutes” sign so you could use the bathroom and shove some food in your mouth. You tried your best to keep your calm, but it was all just too much. You almost cried when 2 trays of cookies and a tray of croissants burned when you forgot to set a timer. It was the last of those items, so you just had to go without the rest of the day.

Locking the door finally at closing time, you collapsed into a chair with your head in your hands. Most of the time, having only one employee was just fine. Wanda was amazing and could handle it all with a little help from you, but being without her a full day made you realize how much you depended on her. Of course, she asked for time off once in a while, but it was well in advance and you were able to plan your baking and special orders around it. There wasn’t a lot you could do on such short notice, though.

Although retail hours were over, your day was far from ending. Finishing the necessary cleaning up front, you could now finally focus on all the baking you needed to finish. Cookies and croissants you had run out of, cinnamon rolls, and not to mention your special order cakes for tomorrow, it all felt like too much. All you could do was make a list and get to work.

An hour later, your phone pinged and you took a second to open the message. You hadn’t even looked at your phone all day, so it wasn’t a surprise to see several texts from B, all unanswered. Most were silly food photos that made you smile and a meme or two, but the last one caught your attention.

B: Everything okay? If you’re busy, I completely understand. Just wanted to check in.

Your eyes prickled with exhaustion and you felt a slight scratchiness in your throat. Obviously, you were overworked but there was also a chance you had caught whatever sickness Wanda had. You didn’t have the luxury of going home, though, so you just washed your hands at every opportunity, wore gloves when needed, and kept working.

It wasn’t often that you wished you had a partner of some sort. You were fiercely independent and had no doubts that you could make it on your own, given how well your business was doing. Sometimes, though…you just wished you had someone to help carry the weight. Someone to vent to or have a shoulder to cry on after a hard day. Those days were rare, but today was definitely one of them. Quickly, you sent out a reply.

FG: No. Not okay. Today has been disastrous and it’s far from over. I’m sorry, can’t talk now.

Hitting send, you walked over to plug in your charger. There was no need for you to have your phone nearby, anyway. A message arrived just before you stepped away.

B: I wish there was something I could do to help.

Me too, you thought, leaving the message unopened on your lock screen. There was nothing he could do, though. Tonight, you were an island. Putting on some music, you rolled your neck and shoulders and got to work.

Some time later, you heard a rhythmic pounding that you almost missed over the loud music. You ignored it the first few times, but after the third, you finally brushed your hands on your apron and poked your head around the corner to see a surprisingly familiar face through the glass door.

Stepping forward, you reached for the lock and then hesitated. This was crazy. What was he doing? Finally, you flipped the lock and opened the door just a crack.

“What are you doing here, Jimmy?” you shouted over the loud roar of thunder overhead. You didn’t even know it was raining until just now.

“I saw the light on as I walked past and just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” Jimmy replied, holding his jacket over his head. It was doing little to shelter him from the downpour. “Could I come in for a minute?”

You eyed him carefully and then swung the door wide to allow him entrance before locking the door again. Jimmy shrugged off his drenched jacket, draped it on an overturned chair, and ran a hand through his damp, curly locks. How he still looked good after coming in from the rain was a mystery. You always just looked like a drowned rat.

“I’m working, Jimmy. Everything’s fine,” you replied, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

“At 10pm?” he asked in shock. “Why?”

You huffed out a sigh. “If you must know, Wanda came to work sick so I sent her home, I’ve been working like a madwoman all day helping customers and baking, I burned 4 trays of pastries, have two huge orders due tomorrow and it all has to get done. That’s why. So, I don’t really have time for—“

“Do you want some help?”

Choking on your words, you nearly went catatonic at his offer.

“What?” you finally squeaked out.

He talked slower with a genuine smile. “I’m offering my help. I mean, I’m a fair baker and at the very least, an extra set of hands. Plus, you get to boss me around for a while. So, what do you say?”

____________________

Part 11>> 

_____________________________________________________

Oooooohhhhh SNAP!!! How do you like them apples?? Jimmy’s avoiding her and then shows out of the blue to help? Hmmm. Do you think his offer to help is genuine? And how sweet is his dad? Hardly seems like they’re related from behavior alone. ;) Poor sick Wanda! Certainly makes things a lot more difficult. I’ve definitely been there. It sucks. Do you think she’ll accept Jimmy’s help? Would you? That would make things interesting. ;) Another cliffhanger, I know, but this part got extra long! Hope you don’t mind. :D I love you all!! Please let me know your thoughts, I always love your feedback. <3

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@pietrotheavenger @thisismysecrethappyplace @part-time-patronus @feelmyroarrrr @ria132love  @interestedbystanderwrites @abovethesmokestacks @hymnofthevalkyrie @spideypnw @badassbaker @janeyboo @palaiasaurus64 @dustycelt @mylittlefandomfanfictions @officialcaptain-marvel @maryehudson @sebbytrash @bionic-buckyb @sebastianbarnesandchrisrogers @jaybird6232 @bemystucky @averyrogers83 @beccaanne814 @eyesofgoldenambers @missmotherhen @bunnieandcrow @mizzzpink @buckysberrie @imaginingbucky @deathbyarabbit @avengersandchill @timeladylaurel @indominusregina @queen-merc @vaisabu @1800-peggys-orange-lipstick @piensa-bonito @msshadowboxer @coffeeismylife28 @withahintofpestoaioli @cant-decide-at-this-moment @jaderbugz @blue1928 @jbarnes87 @whothehellisbella @captainrogerss @sebseyesandbuckysthighs @themcuhasruinedme @buckybarneshairpullingkink @ilovebeingjoyful @maririn @hello-sweetie-get-the-salt @girlwith100names @writingruna @lokiandbuckyaremine @hufflepuff-ish @pixierox101 @supernatural-girl97 @stay-wokke @airixaram @buckyssxxhair @buckys-newarm @lostinspace33 @poealsobucky @buckyofthemyscira @joannie95 @4theluvofall @im-a-light-child @1999yanira @escapetheshackles @lbouvet @black-eyed-bucky @finhabastos

FG tags: 

@yallneedtrek @lexie-mo  @flowercrownsandmetallicarms  @kingcarterprince @snuggleducky @acunningstargazer @zadyalyss @satans-knitting-club   @honey-bee-holly  @just-add-butter @captainradicalpassion @chook007 @peekingsunshine @odinhson @chrisevans1fan @fangirlwithasweettooth @angryteapot @srhls @jurassicbarnes @livingoffsavvyillusions @ahufflepuffbitch @sebbystanlover-vk @thisismyfriend-tree @susmita121 @fandom-addict-aesthetics @lowkeybuckyb @jitterbuck @lunarcajun @aligatorinavest @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @lilyblack78910 @uservalkyrie @hawaiiantozier @belledamsceno