#why do my kins seem like complete opposites paired against one another

[suddenlymicah]

WAHHHHH YOURE RIGHT!!!!😭😭😭😭😭 akechi kaidou and saiki kinnie over here (kill me) I ALSO LOVE YOU VERY MUCH /p AKECHI-STYLE RANTS AND FROGS 10/10 MOST AMAZING THINGS TO BE A PATRON SAINT OF

patron saint of rants and frogs (dont know why you strike me as a frog person)

YAYYYYYYY FROGSSSSS!!!!!!!!!! TYYYY ANON!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[hausofackerman]

Hunter x Reader

Summary: You are a Jedi general who has been sent to her home world to try to convince the king to not join the separatists. You where assigned to clone force 99 and some troops. After two months of working together certain feelings for the Sarge start to bloom. But those feelings have to wait. When find out the king has decided to join the wrong side. The Council orders you to take out as many refugees as you can. Just when you tought the victory was yours a whole company ambushes and the bad batch you as you prepare the retreat.

Pairing: Hunter x Fem!jedi Reader

Warnings: Angst maybe (idk if that's how i would call it) Y / N being attacked, fisical violence against the protagonist.

Word count: 2.5k

Disclaimer:  Yes, this one shot based off an Outlander episode. But I adaptated it.

‘I will let your men go, if you but come with me.” the soldier’s voice stopped your next move. You still wielded your lightsaber at shoulder height protecting you and the squad behind you.

“Why do you need me?” you tried to sound as confident and firm as you could.

“The captain might want to share a few words with you.” this strange soldier still had the steady face he had placed since the beginning.

You let out a sigh, and backed down a little. “You give me your word? That you will let them go?

“I promise. We only want you.”

You turned to see the batch for a second, Hunter was the only one with his helmet off and he was looking at you with such a concern in his eyes you have rarely seen before.

“Fine” you extinguished the lightsaber. “I’ll go.”

“No, wait” Hunter finally stepped in and placed himself in front of you. “If you go, I’ll go to.” thankfully he understood that refusing the deal wasn’t an option since they would let the Republic troops go willingly. And take the refugees out of the planet.

Once again, the soldier let out a defeated sigh and agreed. “Only you?” he asked tiredly.

Hunter thought about out for a brief second and then call to Wrecker to come along.

“Great. Now can we go?” the soldier’s tone was starting to sound rude.

Before anything else happened, you run to Tech and handed over your lightsaber. “Take care of this, please. I don’t want their hands on it.”

“I'll keep it safe” he said while taking it.

You glanced at Crosshair and notice the killing gaze in his eyes, you nodded trying to communicate him that everything would be fine. He nodded back even though you knew he didn’t believe you.  

“Let's go.” you shouted to the soldier and the three of you start walking behind his company. Hunter took a quick look at you but you were so immersed into your thoughts that you didn’t even notice.

You were questioning yourself what would happen next. And if you should have stopped the guys from coming; after all, your people were known for their hatred towards the clones. And now you did not involve one, but two of them with the royal army.

Your hands were shaking by just thinking about it.

Funny thing it was that for the very first time you were completely surrounded by your own kin, still you could not feel less comfortable. You were scared and worried about your troops. At least you had achieved your goal's mission and all the refugees were getting out of here safe.

Hopefully.

Everything depended on whether your kin’s promise to the enemy was worth something.

“Hey” Hunter’s voice attracted your attention as a lifeguard in the middle of an ocean, where you couldn’t swim. “Look” he said gently while pointing at the ships taking off and slowly disappearing into the atmosphere.

You felt like you finally were able to breath, the mission was complete now. All that was left, was to survive to your probably-upcoming interrogatory. You didn’t miss the fact that only four of the ships that have come with you took off. One had been lost while merely arriving and the other missing one was the Havoc Marauder. Your way out.

Oh, the way you were going to hug Tech if you managed to get out of here in one piece.

A little smirk appeared in your face at the thought. Hunter noticed it and relaxed a little. Yet his right hand still danced around the knife case in the opposite hand.

As you walked into the town where you were supposed to meet the captain the smirk faded quickly, in other circumstances you would have admired every single detail, the buildings, the decorations the people. Your culture.

But right now, your mind was busy still thinking about keeping alive the two men that were with you.

You knew they were perfectly capable to defend themselves. But you knew too, that they would do absolutely anything to keep you alive. And that was the thought that kept you away from enjoying the ride.

After a few minutes of walking through the crowded streets the soldier –whose name you still didn’t know- stopped in front of a tall and grey building, it must have had at least six floors, and for that planet, that was too much.

He dismissed his men and invited, Hunter, Wrecker and you inside.

Once in, you went up the stairs for what seemed like three floors that led you to a big and fancy door which the soldier opened and got in after asking you to wait a bit.

You took advantage of the time that the soldier gave you to make some things clear for the team.

“Okay listen to me.” Hunter’s and Wrecker’s eyes where now on you waiting for your upcoming words. “It doesn’t matter what happen, if the things get bad for you, I want you out of here before someone has a chance of shooting.”

“Do you realize what you are asking us?” the Sarge’s voice was coming out moderate, as if suppressing the urge to scream.

“Yeah, that’s not how we make the things... General.” Wrecker grunted, quickly remembering who he was addressing.

“If anything goes wrong, there are less chances that they would kill me. At the end of the day, I’m one of them. You on the other hand...” there was no need for you to finish your argument, the three of you knew exactly what you were talking about. Besides before you could, the soldier stepped out of the door asking you to come in.

“General, we can’t...” Hunter’s hand grabbed yours in a last attempt to make you change your mind. An unsuccessful attempt.

“Sargeant,” your voice cracked as you let out your last words to him before getting in the room. “Don’t make me make my request an order.”

He finally let go and you walked away from them while listening to the Wrecker’s complains.  

You were not going to lie to yourself, you hated to take that kind of position with the batchers, especially with Hunter, but you were not letting them risk their life in a reckless way. You couldn’t. Why? Where you being selfish? The jedi needed you, your service. And you kept putting your men’s life first. And you were not going to change that. And less if it was about Hunter.

“Ah a jedi General.” a man with the same long purple robe as the soldier you already knew, received you with an energetic grin. “You have no idea how much I was looking forward to meet you.” the captain you deduced. You’ve heard from him before. A lot, actually. One of the most feared kings' men in the entire planet. There we’re rumors that he had played a big role in the decision to join the separatists.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you.” you tried not to sound aggressive, but your last words to Hunter didn’t get you in the right mood.  

“Of course, not you exactly, one of you.” His voice was raspy and deep but you didn't let him intimidate you. His way of talking, on the other hand, was very curious, he had a noticeable accent. And you wondered for a second: if you had never been taken to temple, would you speak in the same way? “Please take a seat, I have some questions you may want to help me to answer.”

You did as he told you and take a seat in front of him, at the other side of the long table. And so, he did.

You didn’t take any time to examine the room you had entered. First mistake.

It only had one window that faced the left side of the table, and in consequence your left side. Behind you a little bookshelf adorned the wall and  besides it another young, shaky, soldier stood guard. The look on his face was stupid and scared, so you didn't pay him much attention.  

On the right side a big display case, which stored different types of bottles, occupied all the space from the wall to the door.

One way in and one way out. You resumed.

“As far as I know, you honor your word and let my men leave your planet. So, I will be happy to answer the questions I can.” you state trying to set the terrain for a friendly exchange.

“Good.” the captain still conserved that grin. “Perhaps I should start with...” He stroked his chin thoughtfully, but to your eyes he didn't seem genuine. The question had been on his mind since you entered the room. “The fact that you, one of our kin, are helping this republican scum, to conquer us, again.” It wasn’t the statement what scared you, but the calmed and serene tone that remained at his voice.

“Excuse me?” you shoot back quickly. “That is completely out-”

“Let’s promise to tell the truth, okay?” this man didn’t seem completely sane to you, so you proceed carefully.

“Listen, sir. I am a jedi. My alliegance doesn’t bow to this planet nor it’s government. If that’s what you are implying.”

“Oh, but the problem here it’s that I don’t believe your little jedi portrayal, you don’t trick me.” The captain had left his seat and now was coming closer to you.

“And I look more like a civilian to you.” you mocked him because if you both were honest you didn’t. And you put all your faith in that argument. You cursed down your breath for not bringing your lightsaber. What on earth were you thinking!? With it you could've been able to change his mind about you being a jedi, one way or another

“Of course not.” he granted “You look more like a spy to me.” and there you had enough. The fact that this captain had only summoned you so he could start pointing and blaming at you for nonsense –and very quickly, truth to be told- was freaking you out.

“Look, Captain” you tried to pull out your most charming smile. “As much as I would like to continue playing the trivia game with you, I have responsibilities to attend. So as you have no excuse for keeping me here, I would like to-”

“Please don’t get up” his grin finally disappeared “You promised to cooperate.”

“That was before you started taking me as a traitor.”

“And you aren’t a traitor?”

“No more than you are for handing over your homeworld to the wrong side.” you didn’t notice but you were screaming.  

The captain sighed and then giggled. As he leaned against the table. “You are really making me regret to have let your men go” He stood right and started to roll up his sleeves.

You didn't know if it was the fear or the sudden reminder that Hunter and Wrecker were still outside but it was like if you were glued to the chair.

“Corporal Keeps” he called out for the soldier behind you without taking his gaze out of you. “I'm going to need your collaboration for a moment here.”

The order, of course got you scared instantly, so you stood up from your seat and as soon as you turned to get out of the room, a big fist collide with your stomach, taking all of the air out of you. You could not make any sound for all trace of your breath had disappeared. You sat on the floor, bent in two, trying to recover the air. You were completely shocked, not because of the pain that was becoming more and more present, but because the blow had taken you completely off guard.

The captain came over and grab you by the hair, lifting your head so your gaze met his. “So? Ready to confess that you're a spy?”

If you would've had a little more air inside you, you would have probably spit on his face. But you were still under the effects of the punch so you simply put the head back down.

“Okay then.” he stood on his feet and called for the Keeps soldier. “Corporal. Have you ever kicked a woman?” If the soldier was shaky when you entered the room, he now looked like if a damn earthquake had taken over him. He stared at the captain with his jaw shaking more than any other body part.

“Captain I-I” the corporal managed to say.  

“Do it, please.” the captain commanded.

With a grimace on his face and eyes closed he barely moved his feet against you, yet it didn’t hurt you let out a small moan, you hadn't been able to get enough air back yet.

“Come on, you can do it better.” the captain stood there, merely staring at your agony.

This time this corporal kicked you like a real soldier. And it hurt like hell. You were barely gaining enough strength to move, but with that strike you were out of your senses again.

“Again.” the captain ordered.

You closed your eyes getting ready for the corporal to fulfil the order, which you were sure would leave you unconscious.

But before he could go any further the door was slammed open and Hunter and Wrecker entered with the guns drawn.

Wrecker quickly got closer to the corporal and without saying a word made him stand back and run to hide behind the captain.

“I don’t recall requesting your presence, clones.” the captain said calmly.

“Up you come, General. You're done here.” Hunter said as he put your arm around your neck helping you up.

Meanwhile four more soldiers enter the room trough the already-opened door.

“Hold! We didn’t come here to fight. You tell your men here to step aside before I lose my temper.” dropped the Sarge addressing to the captain. Meanwhile Wrecker put his helmet back on ready to strike.

“You have no right to that woman, not while she’s being questioned by one of her kin.” answered the captain as if he was holding back a big laughter.

“She is a General of the Grand Army of the Republic.”  

“She’s a native subject first.” the captain barked. And if you weren’t so dizzy and hanging over Hunter you would have punched him so hard, he would not talk like that ever in his life again.

“She was brought here under the protection of a war bargain.” Hunter started moving with Wrecker behind him.

“And I’m afraid that she didn’t honored her part of the bargain. She didn’t answer my questions.” this man was completely crazy.

“And she won’t, unless you want to be in the middle of a siege to this territory in less than an hour.” Hunter’s words shut the captain up and with a move of his hand, the soldier stepped aside and let the three of you get out of the room.

Once out, Hunter put a hand under your legs and the other one under your back carrying your whole-body up, you rolled your arms around his neck still feeling your stomach aching.

“I believed I asked you to do something.” you hissed.

“I’m sorry, General. But you should have given the order.” Hunter answered endearingly. “But I guess it wouldn’t have helped a lot. There is no way we’re leaving you behind."

[myblueeyedbuggers]

My Boys

Chapter 10

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Pairings: Reader x Steve Rogers (best friend) Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count:1843

Warnings: Slow Start, Language.

Summary: After being abandoned by her parents in Brooklyn in 1929, y/n makes a living for herself by working for the Црни лабуд gang until she meets two boys in a back alley and her life slowing begins to change.

Annnddd I’m back! so I know it’s been a while since the last update and I just wanna thank you all for having patience with me while I finished up with college, just a warning this chapter may feel a little awkward to read due to me just getting back into my writing mind so apologises in advance for this one. Anyways I’ll quit blabbering, Enjoy everyone! :)

This was my day of reckoning, my punishment for all the bad deeds I’d done over the past couple of years…I was finally being sent to school. Okay maybe that was a tad dramatic, but can you blame me? I mean who wants to be trapped in a building against their will for 7 hours straight learning about dead guys?! No sane person would willingly agree to that crap!

I’ve tried just about everything to avoid my approaching doom, hell I even went as far as hiding in the basement surrounded by cobwebs to try and get out of this, but as per usual neither Steve or Bucky took mercy on me, hence why in currently trapped between the two. “You are aware I’m perfectly capable of walkin’ by myself aren’t ya? The looping of the arms is not needed boys” I swear down these two are being more annoying than usual, and I didn’t think that was humanly possible cause these two are basically the living embodiment of annoyance. Steve turned and raised his eyebrows at me, shaking his head as he let out a small laugh, “Yeah there’s absolutely no way I’m fallin’ for that again, last time that happened it look me and Buck an hour to get you outta that tree”. Ah crap there goes that plan.

I’m pretty sure the noise I made wasn’t even human, it was a mix between a seal and a possessed monkey “I’m not gonna get outta this am I?” “Nope” and que another frustrated groan. “Is this payback for the time I placed that bucket of flour above your bedroom door and watched the both of you turn into ghosts? If it is then I want you to know I regret nothin’” both of them stopped and glared at me, for some reason they didn’t find that as funny as I did, and I have no idea why. Okay whatever you do y/n don’t laugh, even if Steve’s face looks like a slapped arse don’t laugh! A snicker slipped past my lips and a few seconds later I was full on laughin’.  Goddamn it.

Both of em just let out a bunch of sighs and started draggin’ my butt along the street, wait there’s somethin’ I haven’t tried yet…in hindsight this is completely stupid but screw it. “OH MY GOD LOOK A SPACESHIP!” I’m pretty sure poor Bucky jumped outta his skin, Steve ended up trippin’ up and falling down, I’ll admit that I felt bad about but hey may plan worked! So why am I still standin’ there?… maybe we try this thing called running y/n! I quickly pulled my arm away from Bucky and used my new-found freedom to run in the opposite direction of them, I could hear the shouts of protest from the both of them, so I decided to kindly ignore them and absolutely leg it.  “GODAMMN IT Y/N! THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME THIS MORNIN’!” when were the boys gonna catch on that I didn’t wanna go? Do I need to prepare a firework show and blast it in their faces or somethin’…probably.  

I know I probably shouldn’t be smiling, but the feeling of the wind flowing through my hair as my feet hit the ground made me feel free, after so many years I could finally begin acting my age and enjoy my childhood. I finally felt content with my life, which is probably the opposite of what I should be feeling at this moment in time, considering I was currently making my grand escape. And to completely honest I’ve got no bloody clue as to where I am. I glanced behind me to see where the hell those idiots were, to my surprise Steve was directly behind me, Buck was somewhere in the back holdin’ his knee and I’m guessing the daft sod decked it. Why am I not surprised? Okay maybe I should of kept my mouth shut cause literally a second later my foot tripped over a rock and, you guessed correctly, I landed on my ass for the thousandth time!

“Sh*t! Cr*p! B*lls! That f**king hurt!” and that ladies and gentlemen is my fine command of the queens English, a groan of pain made me loose my train of thought as I turned my head to Steve, to put it simply he was laid flat on his back with his eye closed. Well there’s the rush of guilt I’ve been waiting for, “Sh*t Steve I’m sorry, you okay down there tough guy?” I quickly offered him my hand to help him up, I mean it’s the least I could do. Steve’s hand grabbed mine, a not so quiet grunt of pain made me feel even worse, quick question why am I such an assh*le at times? “Yeah, I’m fine y/n, don’t worry about it you know for a fact I’ve had worse” a quiet sigh left my lips as I brought him in for a hug, which was a tiny bit awkward due to the height difference. Once we pulled away from each other, I couldn’t supress the need to check him for anymore injuries, much to Steve’s embarrassment and Bucky’s amusement, “Jesus I’m gonna have to start wrapping ya up in blankets and pillows, Steve how the hell did you manage to get a bruise on your ear?!”

The sudden gasp behind me pretty much answered the question for me, it’s safe to say barney boy is in trouble…for the first in my life Bucky looks pretty f**king terrified of me, perfect. Slowly I started inching towards him, the glare I was sending him would probably make a demon cry for his mum…so yeah imma go kill the boy. I didn’t even have to say anything, he just started runnin’, “IT’S NOT MY FAULT HE STOLE MY FR**KING PUDDIN’ AND THE PUNK KNOWS I LOVE MY PUDDIN!’” YEP DEFINITELY KILLIN’ HIM “HE IS A SMALL AND GENTLE BOY HOW IN THE NAME OF HELL CAN YOU EVEN THINK OF LAYIN’ A HAND ON ‘IM?!” god this sounds like a bleeding soap opera.

 At this point I wouldn’t be surprised of someone called the cops on us, all everyone woulda seen was a big lad runnin’ for his life as a small lass tried to murder him while a smaller lad ran after the pair yellin’ for em to quit it.  Now that I think about, that’s actually hilarious. Wait, where was I? ah yes the murdering of one James Barnes…okay that is not a normal sentence I am aware. “HE.STOLE.MY.PUDDIN’! THAT A CRIME WORTHY OF DEATH!” oh for f**ksake “HOW THE HELL DO YA KNOW IT WAS HIM?! DID YOU NOT THINK IT COULDA BE BECCA?!” I think he made a sudden realisation, cause the dumbass stopped running and BOOM I was on the freakin’ floor. Again. We both groaned, mine was mostly in annoyance more than anything, but seriously the bloody floor is quickly becoming me best mate! “…. It just dawned on me that that could be a possibility…” if my neck twisted any quicker I’m 100% sure that I’d end up doin’ that weird owl thing “Oh now you realise?! Ya gonna say sorry to Steve or not?” a few seconds of silence gave me my answer. “Don’t give me that look y/n! I ain’t doing s**t till I’ve got some evidence so he’s still under my list of suspects!” oh my Jesus Christ this is gonna be the day I get arrested for murder isn’t it?

“Barnaby…you have exactly five seconds to run for your life so I highly recommend you get your affairs in order and kiss ya ass goodbye” oh hey look at that I didn’t yell at him! Well done me I’m so proud! “could you two quit trying to kill each other for 5 minutes?! We’re already late enough as is it and I ain’t explainin’ to the teacher why Buck’s outta it on the floor!” my f**kin god Steve just yelled! At me! why do I never have a camera when this s**t happens?  “Jeez, alright I’ll murder him later, calm your damn t*ts Rogers” and cue the sound of barely contained frustration in 3,2,1….

“I’m beginning to get the feelin’ that you don’t like me y/n” oh really? I wonder what gave that away “wow you catch on quickly don’t ya Barnaby?” by the looks of things I’m really doing wonders for his ego, buck’s head looks like it’s gotten smaller so the risk of him turning into a hot air balloon’s gone down. The feeling of a pair of eyes glaring at the back of my head once again reminded me that the blonde boy was quickly getting tired of our crap, my worst fears were confirmed once I met Steve’s surprisingly intimidating glare…how he manages to be both adorable and beyond f**king terrifying is a mystery to me. “Okay I’m comin’ just stop staring at me like I just murdered your kitten!” and the little s**t has the nerve to smirk and look pleased with himself, ugh he’s been hanging ‘round me and Bucky too long that’s for sure.

“Ya know Buck and you are gonna be the death of me” right do I be offended or pleased with that statement? “actually, if anything it’s gonna be the pair of you that send me to an early grave cause god knows the both of ya don’t know how to stay outta trouble” two muffled sounds of protest came from my left and from behind me, “what’s that supposed to mean?!” once again the point has been missed “do you really wanna know the answer to that? I’ve got my report and presentation ready on how you two are a pair of numpties”.

Maybe that was a tad harsh…okay wait never mind it seems I’ve learned how to fly again with the assistance of one James Buchannan Barnes. “this is coming from the girl who can’t walk five feet without fallin’ over somethin’?” as much as I hate to admit it the walking embodiment of frustration and annoyance has a point “what you call fallin’ I call floor hugs, now how about you pUT ME DOWN FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” wait when did Steve walk off? See this is what happens when an overgrown ape demands attention. I don’t even have to look at Buck to know he’s givin’ me that look that says, “what the hell?” and “I’m not surprised by this” at the same time, “Nah I don’t think that’s gonna happen doll” the temptation to kick ‘im where the sun doesn’t shine is too much to bare for me at this point. “And you wonder why I love Steve more that you” Buck’s face kinda looked like someone just shoved a whole lemon in his mouth, I’m almost certain that he woulda dropped me on my ass if it wasn’t for the fact that Steve came over and dragged us both through the gates of hell.

This is gonna be so much fun!……said no-one ever.  

Okay…maybe it didn’t suck as much a thought it did, hopefully my skills as a writer will come back for the next couple of chapters XD Thanks for reading ! :)

Rose xxx

[trillian-anders]

suspect - i

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: descriptive violence, graphic descriptions of crime scenes, angst, slow burn

word count: 5k

description: au detective!bucky barnes x investigative journalist!reader;

still wet behind his ears, detective barnes is given his very first homicide case, a woman no one seems to care about had been murdered. it’s only when investigative journalist reader brings the small details to his attention that he realizes there’s a bigger problem. a serial killer no one was paying attention to.

Cheryl Hansen’s accent was thick, Boston southie. “Are they in bed?” She asked the person on the other end of the line, “I should be home soon. Probably another hour or so.” Her heel scraping against the concrete, arm wrapped around her middle. The temperature had dropped since that morning. A beautiful spring day it had been, just hours before. She took her kids to the park, a rare happy moment in a life she though she’d never find herself in. “I love you.” Spoken softly as a car pulls to a stop beside her, “I’ve got to go, bye-bye.” Her phone screen darkened, the passenger window rolling down. She puts her game face on and leans down to talk to the man sitting in the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t something she particularly liked to do. You could say she didn’t like to do it at all. But it was easy money. It was quick money. It was the only way she could make money. She couldn’t see his face, half covered by a baseball cap which wasn’t out of the norm. A lot of Johns tend to want to cover their faces, the embarrassment of paying for sex. The ‘shamefulness’ of it. A lot of them were like this.

“Get in.” His voice, demanding, aggressive. He wasn’t going to be an easy one, and she knew that. A bad feeling in her gut, she slipped into the passenger seat of the car. The car pulling off from the curb and disappearing into the night.

...

They switched the coffee. Bucky glared down at the bitter cup in his hand before searching through the cabinets above the coffee maker. French roast, he scrunched his nose up at before dumping the cup into the sink and rinsing out his mug. “So no coffee.” He mumbles to himself.

The bullpen was busy today. Already, and it was not a good day. He had three cases worth of paperwork to turn in, his dryer broke last night so his jeans were still damp when he put them on, and his arm was aching today. A storm was coming soon. He was late to work which meant getting breakroom coffee and unfortunately, they’d stocked it with the one kind he didn’t like.

First world problems, sure he tried to rationalize as he sat down at his desk, booting up his computer for the first time that day. His thumb flipped through the large stack of files on his desk, ready to be sorted through and input into the computer. Rubbing his eyes, he realized he’s going to need to go get some sort of caffeine at some point.

“Barnes.” Looking up from his computer, in the doorway of his Captain’s office, Steve Rogers. Long time friend and once partner, now Captain of this precinct. “Can I see you in my office please?”

The man across from him let out a laugh, his fingers playing on his lips, shady eyes glaring over at him from behind his computer screen. “What did you do Barnes?” Rumlow the little shit. Bucky hated working with him. Rumlow fought him for cases, always. Became a detective at the same time as Steve and was sore as hell that Steve got the Captain position over him. He was waiting for the day that Bucky was knocked down a peg or two. “But it’s hard with good old-fashioned nepotism.” Rulmow would jeer. As if Steve was giving him anything special. If anything, Steve had been giving him the short end of the stick.

Bucky had been stuck doing cases easy enough for a beat cop. He’d been begging Steve for something else, but it was always the same shit, “Those cases go to the detectives with more experience.” The homicides. The serial rapists. Granted, they weren’t as prevalent as a common break in or robbery, but he still craved it. Justice was why he became a cop in the first place. He wanted to be tracking down true criminals. Not these schmucks being busted for having an ounce of weed on them, something he didn’t see as much of a problem anyway. He followed Steve into his office, ignoring Rumlow’s comment.

“Shut the door behind you.” Steve said, sitting behind his desk. The glass windows to the bullpen hot on Bucky’s back as he was sure Rumlow was staring him down, trying to see what was going on by the look on Steve’s face.

“What’s going on?” Bucky sunk into the chair opposite. Steve shuffled papers around on his desk before looking up at his friend.

“They found a body in an alley in near lower Washington.” Bucky perked up in his seat. Steve shook his head, “Don’t fuck this up, do you understand me? I’m giving you some real responsibility here.”

“Of course not.” Bucky blew out a huff, “You know how bad I want this Steve.” He rolled his eyes,

“Yeah I know,” Steve leaned back in his chair, “Now get out of here.”

The clouds gave a murky grey light over the streets of Boston. Bucky peered up at them as he exits his car. He rotated his left arm, the muscles sore. There was already caution tape strung up surrounding the alley. Beat cops and people trying to peer into the crime scene.

The body. Fuck the body. Bucky’s stomach churned at the sight. Yes, solving a homicide came with its perks career-wise, but the physicality of it was something he’d yet dealt with. He’s seen his share of bodies as a beat cop. He would have been one of those suckers behind him securing the scene and making sure there was no civilian interference. Keeping all the looky-loos at bay.

That’s the thing though, everyone thinks they want to see a dead body, but when faced with one… it’s much more unsettling. This woman could have been anyone. She could have been Becca, his sister. She could have been Peggy, Steve’s wife. She could have been anyone. But that’s not saying that there wasn’t a stigma with it.

“It’s a hazard of the occupation.” Rumlow would spit at him later, “Nothing more than another dead prostitute.”

“Sex worker.” Bucky would correct him. And now squatting next to the body, looking upon her corpse. “Victim.”

She was flat on her back. Spread eagle on the ground. Naked. Her eyes blankly staring up at the sky. Her makeup was smeared across her face. She’d been crying. Ligatures around her neck, no doubt that she had been strangled to death. And the one strange thing, the one souvenir taken from her body. Her ring finger cut at the joint. And missing.

“Look who they let out of the bullpen.” A snarky voice from behind him, he peered over his shoulder. “I brought you a coffee.” Natasha Romanov. Assistant DA. No doubt the one assigned to this case, even though they both know it won’t go anywhere. No one cared about a dead sex worker, and the girls she worked with wouldn’t speak to cops. Bucky resented Steve for giving him this case. Immediately.

“Thank you.” Taking the coffee and stepping over to her side.

“What do you think?” Natasha asked, gesturing toward the body. Bucky took a sip of his coffee, bringing himself back online and feeling okay for the first time that morning, considering. He shakes his head.

“It’s a shame.” He takes another sip, “Guys just get to mow down these girls like they’re nothing. And no one will probably ever go to jail for this.” She nods,

“Sucks that they gave it to you.” Bucky sighs. Yeah, it does. “Well, I have to get back to the office, but let me know if you find anything.”

“Thanks again for the coffee.” He watches her go. The coroners waiting for him to give the okay to take the body for autopsy. He nods, stepping back and out of the way.

Whoever killed this poor girl obviously thought very little of her, having her spread open that way, discarded in an alley like trash. It stirred something raw in Bucky’s gut.

When he got back to the precinct he sat heavily in his chair, rubbing his eyes and typing the woman’s name into the computer. He’d have to tell her family, if they had any. Maybe she had priors.

And she did.

Her face pulled up on his screen. Cheryl Hansen. The life in her eyes. Miserable, but she was there. Alive, and she was arrested for drug possession, solicitation for sex work twice, she had a restraining order on an ex-boyfriend. Maybe he could start there.

But first thing’s first. Next of kin.

“She was a pretty little thing huh?” Bucky turned and glared at the man behind him.

“You’re disgusting.” Bucky spat, scribbling down her address and then typed in the ex-boyfriend’s name.

“I’ve got eyes.” Rumlow parried. “Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean she wasn’t hot.”

“Have some respect.” The ex-boyfriend’s face loads, his rap sheet longer than hers and littered with domestic calls and assault charges. A good lead. A great lead to be completely honest. The way she was murdered was violent and passionate. Intimate almost.

Cheryl lived in a bad part of town which wasn’t surprising. Bucky remembered on going on more than one domestic call here in his time on the beat, it was dirty, not too well kept. But it was cheap and it’s hard to find somewhere cheap to live in Boston. His knuckles rapt against the door. A shuffling heard from behind. The door opened, chain still locked into place and a hazel eye showed in the crack.

“Can I help you?” Cheryl’s Mother. He swallowed, anxious about what was about to follow.

“I’m Detective Barnes with Boston PD.” His badge held up for her to see. “I’m here to talk to you about your daughter, Cheryl Hansen?” The door shut and a scramble for the chain before it was pulled open. A baby on her hip.

“Did something happen to her?”

This was the worst part of the job. The despair. He was serving her with the death of her child. The death of her daughter. Cheryl had two kids. One just barely over a year, the other three years old. Two beautiful baby girls that no longer had their Mother.

Cheryl’s mom, Sophie sat across from him, sobbing. He didn’t know what to do. This isn’t something that ever got easier. A box of tissues stolen from the coffee table, sat between them at the small kitchenette. Her head in her hands, crying. He tried to comfort her. He did. Hand on her shoulder, but it was best to just let them cry it out. It was all you could really do.

“I’m sorry,” he says, knowing it won’t make it any better, “I’m going to do everything I can to find the person responsible for this, but I need you to tell me if there’s anyone you know who would want to hurt her.”

“She told me she was a waitress.” Sophie sniffled. “She told me—” A hiccup.

“I know this is difficult.” He scoots his chair closer, “But Cheryl needs us to help find her killer.” Sophie’s eyes red, body trembling as she met his gaze.

“Uh, Michael Hale.” The ex-boyfriend. Sophie sniffles and hiccups again. “He used to really hurt her.”

“Later on, a woman named Natasha Romanov should be by.” He says, “She’s going to want to ask you similar questions and she’ll help you get in touch with grief counselling and how to take steps legally for guardianship of the kids, I’ve informed her of the situation.” Sophie nods, taking the little business card with his number scribbled on the back. “If there’s anything you need at all, call me at this number.”

“We used to call her Cherry.” She sniffs, staring at the card. “That’s her nickname.” Her eyes met his, crying and obviously distraught. “People may not know her name is Cheryl. That’s all.”

With Sophie telling him that Michael Hale would be someone who would hurt Cheryl he had everything he needed to bring him in.

“Natasha.” He spoke into the receiver. “I sent you an email with the information I’ve gathered so far, I need you to look into Michael Hale, call me back when you get this.”

This neighborhood. Even as he stood out on the street, his car feet away. He was getting looks. He didn’t belong here and that was clear. He flipped his phone between his fingers, taking one last look around before slipping into the driver’s seat of his car and pulling away.

A few minutes into his drive Natasha’s name lit up on his dashboard. A button pressed on his steering wheel answered the call.

“Autopsy report should be in tomorrow morning at the latest,” She said, “I’m processing a warrant for Michael Hale, I think we have enough to at least bring him in for questioning, see what he was doing last night, but I think you should head back to the station.”

His brow furrowed, “Why is that?”

“There’s a reporter poking around, asking to talk to you. She’s… persistent.”

…

It had been a slow news day all in all. Not much going on outside of upcoming elections and the same silly little fluff pieces about a new animal coming to the Franklin Park Zoo or a kid selling lemonade real nostalgic like in their front yard raising money for one of their sick classmates. A shooting in Chinatown or a robbery here or there. A quaint little town just outside of Boston ‘shaken’ by whatever crime people were nonplussed about in big cities.

But it got your attention. Cheryl Hansen.

It showed up as a little blip on your radar. The way you followed the leads before. Maybe this time.

Maybe this time.

“Hey Sam.” Your editor. The big man behind the desk. “Let me take this.” He was wearing his glasses, reading emails when you showed up in his doorway. A printout of the police report, not much information to go on, but he would know. He would know why you wanted it. The paper plucked from his desk and he adjusted his glasses to read it, eyes gazing over the top rim at you.

“A murdered sex worker?” He asked, “Y/N…”

“Listen, Sam…” You slipped into the chair across from him, “We could get ahead of this, look at the details.” The detective’s notes. How the body was found. Where it was found.

But was her ring finger gone?

“Y/N…” Sam sighed, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “The last time you fell down this rabbit hole it wasn’t good for you.” You remember. The hangovers were hell. The stress. The migraines. “I don’t think—”

“Sam it’s him.” You know it is. You can feel it in your gut. “I know it.” He looked at you, silently debating for a moment before saying,

“You can talk to the detective, get a short comment. Nothing more.” The paper thrown back on the desk between you. “Less than 300 words and I mean it. I don’t want you pulling out the red string.” You felt your jaw clench but willed yourself to relax.

“Thank you.” The paper hastily grabbed from between you and you took your exit, barely grabbing your jacket before running out the door.

Your heart raced when you saw that police report. This could be it. It could be the clues you’d been waiting for.

“Hi, I would like to speak to Detective Barnes.” The man at the front desk of the police station glanced up at you from his computer screen.

“He’s not here right now.” Another man rounded the desk, leaning on the counter beside you. “Is there anything I could help you with? Detective Brock Rulmow.” A shit eating grin. Wise guy.

“I need to speak to Detective Barnes about the woman murdered in the Combat Zone this morning. I’m an investigative journalist with—” His brows pull together. Head jerking to the side.

“The prostitute?” He asks.

“Sex worker.” You correct. “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Rumlow’s jaw clenched, he looked to the man behind the desk as though in on a joke, then back at you.

“No clue sweetheart,” A chill down your spine, “I’ll let him know you were in.”  You try not to huff in frustration,

“I can just wait at his desk.” You offer, no big deal. He laughs bitterly,

“I’ll let him know you were in.” He repeats, like it’s final. You shake your head looking down at the man behind the desk.

“Is there someone else I could speak to?” You ask. The man looks between you and Rumlow, but before he can speak.

“You can speak to me.” Turning, you see a woman in all black, red hair perfectly smooth, pulled back on her head in a tight bun at the base of her neck. “Natasha Romanov, assistant DA, I work with Detective Barnes.” A sigh of relief. “You’re more than welcome to sit at his desk and wait for him, he should be back soon, but I myself will not be making any comments about the crime at the moment and I’m not sure he would be willing to either.” A blanket statement, but she didn’t shut you out so there was some wiggle room here.

“I just have a couple about the victim herself, Cheryl Hansen.” Natasha nods, “She has children?” Something that could be easily found with a search, but you’re asking her anyway.

“Two.” Natasha answers, “Young, only a year and three years.” Simple things make her think you’re just writing a short little piece about the victim.

“Was she married?”

“No,” She crosses her arms, leaning over on her heels. “But both children are from the same father.” You hum, a little bias there. Would it have made a difference if they weren’t?

“Does she have any remaining family?” Natasha looks at you for a moment, glancing at the bag on your back.

“Are you going to write any of this down for your article?” You shake your head,

“It’s up here.” A tap to your temple. “If I was taking a direct quote I would record, but…”

“These are simple questions.” You smile,

“Yeah.” You look back past the desk and into the bullpen. Rumlow glaring at you from across the way before looking back to Natasha.

“Her Mother.” Natasha answered, then looking at her watch says, “I’ve got to get going, but I’m sure Detective Barnes should be back soon, his desk, unfortunately, is the one beside Detective Rumlow’s.” Of course, it is.

“Thank you for your time.” But she was already walking away from you. You sucked in your teeth, slipping into the bullpen and settling yourself into the seat at his desk. The little plaque ‘Detective James Barnes’, slightly messy with an empty coffee mug and a large stack of files.

You could feel Rumlow’s eyes on you, but luckily, he hadn’t said much since you sat down. Now all you had to do was wait.

You didn’t have to wait long before a man entered the precinct and made his way over to the desk you were waiting at, you standing to greet him.

“Detective Barnes.” A smile as charming as you can muster, and a hand thrust out in front of you for him to shake. Which he does, giving you a strange look.

“You’re a reporter?” He shakes your hand awkwardly,

“Investigative journalist.” You glance behind you at Rumlow’s scoff, his eyes focused on his computer screen. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about Cheryl Hansen.”

“Do you have any information that would be pertinent to the case?” He went to sit at his desk, stopped by your hand,

“We should talk privately.”

Bucky Barnes has heard your name before. You’d approached many Detectives in cases such as these and there was a little stigma attached to it. It wasn’t uncommon for your name to be brought up looking into the death of a sex worker. “Every time a girl is murdered suspiciously, she pokes her nose into it.” Natasha told him. “Just give her a little statement and send her on her way.” Harmless.

The small conference room he watched you slip your backpack off and sink into a chair, looking at him expectantly as he sat across from you.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Which wasn’t a lie, but wasn’t exactly the truth either. He needed to talk to Steve, but not much else could be done about the case until he got the warrant for Hale or the autopsy report.

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” The little notebook laid out, pen absently set beside it. “I just have a couple of questions as far as the layout,” The notebook full of scribbles, notes. Bucky could see different names. Details. “She was on her back? Spread out? Naked.” Yes. He watched you pause for a moment, “Strangled?” He nods, yes.

“This is all things you can find in the police report.” He says, “What is your question?” You stare at each other a moment before asking,

“Was she missing her ring finger?” That took Bucky off guard. That wasn’t in the police report. Something he kept from accessible record. He stared at you for a moment,

“How did you know that?” He watched your mouth part, your eyes shifting into the bullpen, then back to his.

“You’re a new Detective, right?” You ask him. He nods, watching you rip a sheet of paper out and scribbling down an address. “I think you can really help me, but it’s not safe to talk here.” A phone number, before sitting back in your chair and looking at him plainly. “This isn’t just another dead girl.”

A knock on the conference room door. He spun around, Steve. “Barnes, in my office please.” A look past him at you, “Sorry for interrupting,” an apologetic smile. “Just have to steal him from you, but I’m sure he’d be willing to finish the interview at another time.” Bucky took the slip of paper from your hand, scooting back from the table as you stood across from him.

“Thank you for your time.” Bucky shakes your hand,

“Have a nice day.” And he was gone from the room. Walking through the bullpen and into Steve’s office.

“Thanks for saving me.” He sighs, sinking into the chair across from his friend. The paper shoved into his jacket pocket. Steve laughed,

“You’re not the first Detective she’s cornered looking for information.” Typing into his computer. “She has this conspiracy theory about the murdered sex workers in the Combat Zone that she’s trying to find a foothold in.”

“What conspiracy?” Steve had been a Detective long before he was, when he was still a beat cop Steve got promoted, and it wasn’t long after Steve had been promoted that he became Captain. The guy was a marvel. Very hard working, a little strict, but Bucky admired the perseverance of his friend. Steve wanted to be Captain just like his Dad had been, and he did nothing else but work hard to reach his goal. Bucky was sure that Joseph Rogers paved the way for Steve’s success, but Steve was so hard working on his own that he couldn’t help but have been proud of his friend.

Steve shakes his head, “Back in the 90’s there was a serial killer on the loose here in Boston that murdered a bunch of sex workers, but they caught the guy. He had a confession. His DNA was found on multiple crime scenes.” Steve sits back in his chair, slightly rocking from side to side, “But she still thinks they caught the wrong guy.” A shrug. “So she thinks he’s still out there and could pick back up at any time.”

“So she’s just nutty?” Bucky chuckles, sighing and rubbing his eyes, “Is there any margin for error on this?” Steve purses his lips,

“There’s a margin for error on any case, but I think that there was enough evidence for the jury to come to the conclusion that the guy was guilty.” A shrug, “I don’t remember enough about the case, but I’m sure you could look it up and see the details.” A slight rock side to side in his chair,

“Did you want to grab a drink later?” Bucky asked, “I think I need one after seeing that body this morning.”

“I can’t,” Steve sighs, “Peg’s brother is coming over for dinner tonight and I gotta be out of here right at five to go help her clean up and cook.” Bucky nods,

“Alright, so I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Standing from his chair,

“With your paperwork all finished.” Bucky groaned.

“Don’t give me that Buck.” Steve laughed, “It has to get done.” He raises his hands in submission,

“It’ll get done.” Bucky smiles, “Tell Peggy I said hi.”

“Will do.” Rumlow was giving him a look when he sat down at his desk, protein bar in hand.

“The broad is crazy right?” Bucky shakes his head, not answering, “She is hot though, next time I see her I’m probably gonna see if she wants to—”

“Don’t you have work to do?” A glance over the top of his computer screen, the smirk on Rumlow’s face.

“You’re no fun Barnes,” A laugh, “No fun at all.”

…

“He didn’t believe me.” You sighed into the receiver, shaking your head, “I could tell.” A deep breath from the other side.

“Maybe you need to take a break from this.” Sam’s voice laced with concern, soft for you on the other line. “I know how much this means to you Y/N, but it’s not healthy.” You could feel the tears starting. You needed to calm down. Your knee bouncing up and down as you sat in your car. The anxiety.

“I can’t let go, Sam.” A whisper into the car. “I just can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to.” You could hear him on the other end, probably slipping his coat onto his shoulders. Picking up his bag. “Maybe you should come over for dinner. Riley is grilling steaks; I’ll have him throw one on for you.” Shaking your head.

“Not tonight, Sam.” You tug on your bottom lip, “I think I just need to be alone.” You hear him pause,

“It’s not—”

“Good for me to be alone, I know.” You look out the window of your car at the police station. “I think I’m gonna just go grab some dinner out and go to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, if you need anything…”

“Thank you, Sam.” The phone disconnected you ran your thumb across the screen before tossing it into your cup holder, turning your keys in the ignition and pulling off.

There was a little diner by your apartment. A place that had been your favorite since you could remember. You could recall in vague memories of your Mother, when she was still alive, taking you to this diner. It wasn’t the best diner, with the best coffee, or the best pie. But you knew everyone who worked there. It wasn’t uncommon for you to stop in and have dinner there while you worked. To be honest it’s what you preferred to do instead of going home to your empty apartment every night. Laptop out on the table while you ate a club sandwich and fries, Marie stopping by to refill your coffee while you sat with a half-touched piece of whatever pie they were trying to get rid of.

It was a comfort really.

And when you walk in and your table is empty, it just makes the day just a little bit better. Back to the wall, the window on your left giving you somewhere to zone out over the parking lot.

“Hi honey,” Marie, sweet and ageing, her hair was almost entirely grey now. You vaguely recall a time where it was pitch black. “What do you feel like eating today?” A glass of water and a soda brought over with her greeting. You hum, slipping your laptop out of your backpack.

“I think I want a burger.” And she was off. Your screen lit up you opened your notebook. The first page was a list of names. The twenty women killed over the course of 10 years starting in 1989 and continuing to 1999. One every six months like clockwork, the following pages, each woman having their own page. Name, next of kin, children’s names and ages. Details of their death. And on and on, you flipped through the pages. Leaving a blank page in between you write at the top, Cheryl Hansen.

Mother of two.

You wondered briefly what she wanted out of life. If she wanted to do something else and just tumbled into this bad life by circumstance, because they all did. You wondered how the system failed her. How she ended up dead in the middle of an alley somewhere because she wasn’t given the help she needed.

Tomorrow, you’d talk to her Mother. Like you’ve talked to the other next of kin before. You open the Facebook page. Thousands of members.

Justice for Nick Fury.

The man the murders were pinned on. The man you visit every week. And you made a post.

You thanked Marie for your dinner, picking at your fries as you wrote to your mods about the new development. That you’ll be looking into it, because you’re sure in the next day or two you’ll get a good amount of people forwarding you information about Cheryl’s death. A fund would be put up for donations to help her children. You sigh, leaning back against the booth.

As you finally bit into your burger, your phone lights up on the table next to you. A number you don’t recognize. Your thumb ran across the screen, answering the call, “Hello?” You wiped your mouth with a napkin.

“Y/N? This is Detective James Barnes… we need to talk.”

[highsviolets]

of caf & conversations

pairing: non-toxic masculinity, wedge/luke if you squint

summary: “So, Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion: what on earth is keeping you up at night?”

word count: 3k 

rating: G

A/N: lolol I said I would post the update for “steady” this week and then @blonde-avenger and I were talking and, well, this happened. I can never refuse Luke Skywalker shenanagins. Canon + Legends compliant.

OF CAF & CONVERSATIONS, a fic by corellians-only [read on AO3 | external references are linked]

Wedge felt a sharp dig in his ribs as he lifted his cup of caf to his lips. The slim pilot scowled as the precious liquid danced over the top of the metal cup and collided with his flight suit. A stain started blooming on the weighty fabric of his khaki-colored trousers, creating an intricate patchwork of splotches.

“Seriously, Tycho?” he asked, staring in askance at the blonde-haired human male sitting to his right. “What is so important that you couldn’t wait until I finished my caf?”

While the Rebellion was a self-defined group of informal group of fighters, politicians, and the galaxy’s strays that gave little thought to rank, Rogue Squadron was infamous for its blatant disregard for rules and regulations.

Be that as it may, a few unofficial ordinances that governed the squad of ace pilots to preserve what remains of my sanity, Luke had commented dryly a few months earlier, after a particularly colorful incident that featured commandeered Corellian whiskey, a broken ‘fresher unit, and Wes Janson’s bedsheets.

Rule number one: Never, ever, come between Wedge Antilles and his cup of caf.

Everyone knew that. General Jan Dodonna. High Command Leader Mon Mothma. Even roguish Han Solo respected the man’s right to enjoy his caf in peace. Captain Wedge Antilles’ devotion to the caffeinated drink was nearly as legendary as Rogue Squadron itself.

Tycho ignored Wedge’s griping, merely arching an eyebrow. He pointed to the opposite side of the rudimentary mess hall. In the dim light of the glow rods, Wedge could make out Luke Skywalker making his way towards them with a cup of caf in each hand.

“That’s Luke,” Wedge stated baldly, still peeved at the interruption.

Tycho sighed, a gentle sound that belied the fact that his patience was wearing thin. “I know, Wedge. I live with the man. So do you. Or are you confused on that front as well?”

Wedge rolled his eyes in response to his wingmate’s sarcasm. “What’s your point, O Noble and Wise One?”

“The point, my stubborn Corellian friend, is—”

“Wait, was Luke scheduled for a patrol?” Wedge cut him off.

“There we go. Knew the converters would fire up eventually.” Tycho sat back and nodded approvingly, crossing his arms as he did so. The heavy-duty winter uniform did nothing to hide the grace of his movements, a remnant of his Alderaanian uprising that not even harsh training at the Imperial Academy — or the irrevocable loss of his culture — could push aside.

From his relaxed position, Tycho extended a gloved hand and snatched Wedge’s cup, taking a sip of caf. He shuddered.

“Wedge, this is disgusting.” He thrust the offending beverage back into Wedge’s open hands, his tone hurt and betrayed, as though Wedge not properly sweetening his caf was a personal affront to Tycho’s sensibilities.

“That is not caf.” Tycho pointed at swirling black liquid. “That’s what Zraii uses to clean our X-wings.” He regarded Wedge with concern. “Are you sure Wes didn’t swap your cups again?”

“I don’t hear you complaining about how I take my caf when it makes me awake enough to cover your six.” Wedge shot back. “Besides, I’m not the one who worries about his hair in the middle of firefight.”

“If you’re done squabbling like an old married couple, you’re right, Wedge.” Derek “Hobbie” Klivian, another human male pilot from Ralltir, joined them, plopping down on the other side of Wedge.  

“I served a double patrol with Luke yesterday. Neither of us were scheduled for patrol today,” Hobbie added, discarding his outer layer.

Tycho winced in sympathy. Fourteen consecutive standard hours patrolling the Force-forsaken, freezing pile of bantha dung that was Hoth was dangerous, and not for the usual reasons. Hypothermia and avalanches were the most fearsome enemies on this planet — a far cry from the proton torpedoes and firefights that usually incited fear even in the most hardened of pilots.

Hobbie glanced up at Luke, who was rapidly closing in on the trio. “As far as I know, he was in meetings with High Command all day.”

“I don’t know,” mused Wedge. “I might prefer patrol to listening to politicians all day.” He frowned, considering the situation. “Then why is Luke wearing full gear? Is he crazy?”

Tycho shook his head, amused. “Stang if I know. But I’m glad you’ve finally caught on, boss.” He clapped Wedge on the shoulder in mock approval, a grin playing about his lips.

“Wait, am I the last one to notice this?” Wedge’s eyes darted from side to side, a look of incredulity spreading across his features. He was the squadron’s executive officer. Taking care of his pilots was not only his job, it was a source of pride — and if Luke was technically his commanding officer, well, that was a matter of semantics. And Rebels didn’t care much for those.

“Well, I wouldn’t say the last,” Hobbie inserted pragmatically. “I don’t think Wes knows.”

Wedge fixed him with a hard stare, not appreciating the comparison with the accident-prone pilot. “That’s not saying much, Hobbie.”

He shrugged apathetically. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Tycho motioned with his hands in a be quiet motion as Luke approached. “Good evening, Commander,” he greeted Luke pleasantly, his tone abandoning its previous mischievousness.

“Hello, Tycho,” Luke responded in kind, his blue eyes clear despite the sheen of weariness that stretched over his features. “Wedge. Hobbie. Good to see you.”

“Is there something out there, sir?” Wedge gestured with his free hand, the one that wasn’t clutching the cup of caf, to Luke’s quilted white coat.

The collar was turned up to provide maximum protection against the elements, and Luke had piled beige utility vest on top. A scarf fluttered from its haphazard perch around his neck, obscuring the rank cylinders that Wedge knew lay on the left breast pocket.

Luke’s face and sandy head of hair were the only bodily surfaces not completely swaddled in fabric of some sort. The whole ensemble — combined with his boyish good looks and gentle demeanor — had the effect of reducing Commander Luke Skywalker, destroyer of the Death Star, to something akin to a young porg.

“Another suspected meteor?” Tycho probed.

Luke’s brows bunched together. “Uh, no?” He shook his head. “Situation’s normal — as though the nine hells of Corellia had frozen over.” He shot a playful glance at Wedge. “You would know something about that, wouldn’t you, Wedge?”

He bent over and placed the extra cup on the table as he spoke, but the movement lacked its usual swiftness owing to the bulk of his gear. Tycho leaned over and pulled out a chair, and Luke sat, nodding at him gratefully. The lightsaber attached to his hip bumped against his leg as he sat, catching the reflection of the glow rods stationed strategically around the room. The movement drew Wedge’s eye, and it occurred to him absently that the antique weapon seemed to gleam even in the dull illumination of the mess hall.

“Actually, I don’t think he would, sir. The nine hells kicked him out, so the powers that be made him our problem.” Hobbie eyed Wedge’s cup warily. “Have you tasted his caf? No sane human can drink caf that strong.”

“When will you three get it in your heads that not every Corellian is a scoundrel?” Wedge asked. He pointed to himself. “My parents ran fueling station. No spice. No smuggling. No bribes.”

“Weren’t you raised by a smuggler after your parents died?” Luke asked suspiciously.

“Well, that doesn’t mean that I was a smuggler,” Wedge deflected. “Besides, I was already a teenager when Gus Tetra Station went up in flames. Booster Terrik didn’t exactly have to tuck me into bed at night.”

Luke snorted in amusement. “With logic like that, I was never a moisture farmer, I was just raised by one.”

Wedge sobered slightly. Like him, Luke’s parents had died, leaving him to be brought up by his next of kin. But Wedge was lucky. He had known his parents still reflected on fond memories from his childhood. Luke had enjoyed no such luxuries.

Tycho butted in before Wedge could change the topic. “I agree with Luke.” He began counting off on his fingers, naming each instance in turn. “So, you never helped him with accounts? Installed illegal parts on his ship? Owned belongings that had been declared contraband by the Diktat? Never went with him to meet a client?”

Sensing defeat, Wedge inclined his head. “Well, that may have happened. And I may have used his contacts to secure my first deals before I went to the Academy. But those were legitimate. I, personally, am not a smuggler.” He raised his chin in an act of defiance.

“Well, well, whatever shall we do with such a disloyal son of Corellia?” Hobbie asked in mock seriousness, as though he were presiding over a trial.

“He’s still a Rebel,” Luke pointed out mildly, sipping his caf. “I think that counts for something.”

Wedge cleared his throat in a desperate attempt to bring the conversation back under control. This was getting out of hand, and Wes Janson wasn’t even here.

“If there’s no patrol, sir, why are you wearing full gear?”

Luke started at the change in topic and then blushed, a delicate tinge of red sweeping across his cheeks even in the coolness of the hollowed out ice cavern. “It’s always best to be prepared, Wedge.”

Wedge met Tycho’s eyes and had a feeling that the puzzlement he saw etched on Tycho’s face mirrored his own.

“Sir, we haven’t seen action in days.” This time it was Hobbie who spoke. “Unless you know something we don’t…” his voice trailed off, the question lingering even as it went unsaid. Is Rogue being deployed?

Luke shook his head. “No, you know as much as I do, boys.”

The mood shifted palpably at his announcement. His pilots, Luke had learned, did not actively seek out conflict, but being grounded for more than a few days at a time tended to make them restless. And impatient, reckless pilots get killed, Luke reflected. Maybe I can get them scheduled for some supply runs. He filed away the suggestion to take up with High Command later.

“Okay, so if you can’t answer that, then why do you have two cups of caf? Are you planning on taking on the entire Imp vanguard by yourself? You never drink more than cup a day.” Luke’s XO indicated the cup on the table and its partner, now clenched around Luke’s gloved hands.

“C’mon, Wedge. If I wanted to take on the vanguard, I’d at least let you vape a few of your own.” Luke turned his head and grinned lightly at Tycho. “Leave Tycho here to clean up the mess and deal with this group of loca kung.”

“Hey! Watch who you’re insulting in — well, whatever language that is,” Hobbie protested weakly and turned to Tycho, hoping he would back up the beleaguered pilot.

“Don’t look at me.” Tycho lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I wasn’t the one who insulted you.”

Wedge cocked his head. “Was that…Huttese, Luke?”

Blue eyes averted brown, fixating on some amorphous clump of snow directly above their table. “Maybe.”

Something about the gesture unnerved Wedge, and he began to examine Luke more closely.

Sure enough, Luke’s leg was bouncing, and his shoulders were hunched together, as though he could keep the warmth closer to his body by closing in on himself. He couldn’t see Luke’s hands, but Wedge would bet his last round of sabaac winnings that Luke’s knuckles were white underneath his gloves, latching onto the warmth provided by the caf in a vice grip.

And with the precision of an ion cannon, it all clicked into place. Heavy jacket. Moisture farmer. Two cups of caf. Huttese.

“Hey, Luke?”

“Yeah, Wedge?”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Uh, last night, Wedge. You were there.” He sounded bemused.

“No,” Wedge corrected. “I saw you get into your bunk. I don’t know if you actually slept.”

“Well, I slept.”

“You sure?” Wedge pushed.

“Pretty sure, Captain.” Luke’s tone was firm, and Wedge winced at the use of his rank.

“Just making sure, Commander.” Wedge tossed back the rest of his caf. “Can’t have Rogue Leader operating on backwash fuel,” he added, as though the comment had been a casual afterthought.

Luke’s eyes widened, but he kept his tone even. “Is there something to suggest otherwise, Antilles?”

“Honestly, sir?” At Luke’s encouraging nod, Wedge shrugged. “A few things. The jacket. The caf.”

Luke’s blue eyes narrowed. “You knew I was’t sleeping because I wore a jacket and drank caf? And because you didn’t physically see me sleeping?”  

“Wedge knew you weren’t sleeping because he was stalking you, sir” Tycho put in, easing the tension that had settled over the group. “I, however, had a feeling that you weren’t sleeping because I haven’t seen you hug anyone in days.”

“Tycho?” asked Hobbie. “Shut up. That’s even creepier than Wedge’s assessment somehow. Luke doesn’t want to hear that.”

Hobbie turned to Luke. “I thought you weren’t sleeping because you didn’t make one joke about womp rats yesterday — not once, over the span of fourteen hours, with nothing to stare at but ice, did you mention those infernal creatures.”

Luke shook his head ruefully. “Am I really so obvious?” he questioned aloud.

His pilots looked at each other. “Yes,” they answered in unison.

Wedge met Luke’s gaze. “Look, Commander, we’re just concerned for you. As your friends, not as your pilots. We have every confidence in your ability to lead us, sir.”

Luke smiled wanly, and he looked older than his 22 years. “No cylinders, Captain,” he instructed softly, the fight having drained out of his voice.

Hobbie sighed dramatically and reached up to unpin his rank. “Oh, thank the Force. I hate having to dance around rank like we all haven’t seen each other —“

“Thanks for listening, Luke.” Tycho spoke over Hobbie’s sarcasm and placed a hand on Luke’s arm.

“I can’t very well ignore my best pilots, now, can I?” His blue eyes met Tycho’s own. “Especially when they’re my best friends.”

Tycho smiled.”That’s what we’re here for. He squeezed Luke’s arm before releasing his grip and leaning back into his chair once more. “So, Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion: what on earth is keeping you up at night?”

“Well, we know it’s not women troubles,” Hobbie quipped, frowning when two pairs of eyes fixed him with a steely glare.

“Not. Helping,” seethed Wedge between gritted teeth.

Hobbie ignored him. “Well? Is it?” he queried Luke.

The younger pilot shook his head. “No.”

“Okay. Gambling debts? R2 unit can’t be repaired? Missing family member? A strangling feeling of impending doom?”

Luke shook his head at each suggestion. “None of the above. Although, I think the feeling of impending doom is just you, Hobbie.”

“A pity,” Hobbie returned wryly. “It does wonders for one’s health.”

Luke took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Honestly, guys? It’s not that deep. I’’m just really cold.”

“You can’t sleep because you’re cold?” Wedge blurted, unable to contain his incredulity.

“I’m from a desert planet with two suns, Wedge.” Luke’s voice held a hint of his regular self with the teasing. “What did you think would happen when you put me on a snow planet?”

Wedge exhaled slowly. “Well, when you put it like that —“

“—which I do —“

“that kinda makes sense,” he admitted.

Luke smirked. “Good to know I’m not barvy as well as sleep-deprived and freezing.”

Tycho placed his hands above his head. “Well, I gotta say, that’s kind of a relief, Luke. I thought you had combat fatigue or something. This is problem is a piece of ryshcate compared to that.”

He looked at Wedge. “Did I say it right?” he asked, referring to the invocation of the famous Corellian dessert.

Wedge shook his head. “Well, technically yes, but your pronunciation is atrocious. I think Gamorreans could say it better than you.”

“Gentlemen.” Hobbie extended his hands palm-first. “If we could return to the task at hand, I propose a simple solution.”

“I’m all ears,” Luke said seriously.

“Luke can’t sleep because he’s cold. What’s the simplest way to conserve heat? Stick close together. So, the three of us take turns bunking with Luke to conserve body heat and make sure our dear old Commander finally catches some shut-eye.” Hobbie stated his conclusion apathetically, as though he hadn’t just suggested what sounded suspiciously like a squadron-wide sleepover.

“Hobbie.” Tycho stated slowly. “You hate being close to people.”

Hobbie shrugged. “So get Dak to take my place. Does it matter who it is as long as it’s one of us and it means Luke can sleep?”

Wedge searched Luke’s face for signs of misgiving, but found none. “Are you okay with this?”

Luke considered. “Would you care even if I wasn’t?”

“You know I would.” Wedge’s voice was low and serious.

“Yeah, I’m okay with it.” Luke smiled brightly and met Wedge’s brown eyes. Even without reaching out in the Force, Luke could feel that Wedge was radiating warmth and concern.

“Well, it’s a plan then,” Tycho confirmed, looking between Wedge and Luke. “Wedge, you’re up first.” His eyes twinkled. “Time to take our dear old Commander to bed.”

Luke reached across the table and lightly punched Tycho in shoulder. “Hey, watch who you’re calling old.” He yawned, screwing up his face and rubbing his eyes as he did so. With a concentrated effort, he heaved onto his feat.

“Mind if we turned in?” he asked Wedge. “I know it’s relatively early but—“ Luke blushed for the second time that evening — “I really haven’t sleep in weeks.”

Wedge nodded. “Of course, Luke. Whatever you want.” He stood, matching Luke’s stance, and the two walked away, speaking softly.

Hobbie looked at Tycho, who was watching them with a grin on his face. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“If I didn’t, you’d never know.”

[raywritesthings]

In the Dead of Night 9/9

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Moira Queen, Quentin Lance, Thea Queen, Tommy Merlyn, John Diggle, Sara Lance, Walter Steele, Dinah Lance Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen (Eventual) Summary: Oliver Queen returns to Starling City after five years away, three years after Sara Lance was found and rescued by her mother. More troubling to him is Laurel’s abrupt and unexplained absence from the city for the same length of time that her sister’s been home. Three years into the past, Dinah Lance makes a terrible choice. *Can be read on my AO3 or FFN (links to both accounts are in bio)*

Present day

Moira was beside herself.

It was bad enough that Oliver had clearly disregarded her wishes and found a way to head out of the country before she could realize it. She was accustomed to him keeping odd hours ever since his return, but when she hadn’t been able to reach either Mr. Diggle or Tommy she had become suspicious. Then one of the staff had informed her that Thea had never made it in the previous night.

Moira had tried every number she could think of to reach her baby. The trouble was she had only a vague knowledge of which classmates she spent her time with. When she failed to show up for school two days in a row was when Moira truly started to panic.

She went to see Malcolm, for if anyone perhaps was keeping better track of her family than her, it would be him. Imagine her surprise when she was informed he, too, was out of town on business.

What was left? To file a missing person’s report? And on which of her children?

Moira was still pondering this in the office rather than pay attention to her emails when she received a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Heather with Starling General. May I speak to Moira Queen?”

Moira’s heart jumped into her throat. Why would the hospital be contacting her, unless— “Speaking.”

“You are listed as the next of kin for a Walter Steele. He was admitted this morning.”

“Walter?” Her voice barely sounded recognizable.

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

Moira’s hand covered her mouth. How and why had Walter been returned? What sort of play was Malcolm trying to make here?

“Is he alright?”

“The doctors would be more comfortable discussing the patient’s care with you in person.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Heart pounding in her chest, she made her excuses to her secretary without mentioning her husband; she still couldn’t quite believe it. Her driver could tell she was agitated but wisely refrained from saying anything as usual.

Moira entered the hospital and was given directions to Walter’s room. A doctor was waiting for her outside.

“Mr. Steele has suffered some dehydration, but should make a full recovery. We recommend keeping him here overnight for observation before returning him to his home.”

“Of course,” Moira agreed, distracted as her gaze went beyond the doctor and into the room. Walter was there, sitting up in bed. Real and returned.

She didn’t really register walking up to him. Between one breath and the next she was there reaching for his hand. “Walter.”

“Moira,” he replied, though it was with a grimace rather than a smile. His eyes dropped to their hands. “Where are Thea and Oliver?”

The question stung, though not just from the slight insult. “I- I don’t know.”

His head jerked back up. “Good lord, they weren’t—”

“No.” Malcolm would never, not if he knew what was good for him. “Oliver was talking about taking a trip. I asked him not to, but he, he won’t listen to me anymore. And Thea...I’m not sure. She disappeared around the same time.”

Had they gone together? She’d be happier knowing they were both in the same place and had each other, but it angered her to know Oliver had not only ignored her but dragged his sister along with him. Did he simply not care how she felt or how she worried?

“Once we have you home, we can look for them.”

Walter hummed, not a refusal but not exactly an agreement. Moira wondered if he knew after all.

She stayed regardless until visitor’s hours were over, then returned early the next day to secure his discharge papers. It would be better to get Walter home ahead of the press finding out, after all.

Malcolm still wasn’t returning her calls. A worry settled itself deep in her bones: what if Thea or Oliver were missing because Walter was here?

It was irrational. Impossible. Yet as she helped him up the stairs, Moira’s hands trembled. She was sure he noticed.

They both jumped as her phone went off in her purse. Moira fished it out, hardly believing the name on the caller ID.

“Sweetheart?”

“Hey mom,” Oliver said, sounding perfectly at ease. “I wanted to let you know I’m bringing some people over to the house with us.”

“Us?” She echoed.

“Me, Digg and Thea,” he answered.

Moira let out a breath she’d been holding for days. “She’s with you? Good. Oliver, I need you to come home with Thea and Mr. Diggle right now, but this is not a time for guests.”

“Walter’s back.” It wasn’t a question.

“How did you know?”

“There’s some things we all need to talk about when we get to the house.” Her son’s voice was steady and calm, yet it filled her with anxiety. “Can you have Raisa prepare one of the guest rooms?”

“One of them?”

“Yes. We’ll be there soon. Thank you, mom.” It lacked some of the warmth she might have expected. Even though her children were supposedly safe, she was just as uncertain as to what was going on as before.

“Was that Oliver?” Walter asked.

“Yes. He says Thea is with him and they’re coming home. With guests. You shouldn’t feel as though you need to greet them, Walter, you’re still recovering.”

He was already turning around to go back down the stairs. “I’ll be fine. After all, it sounds as though there’s to be a discussion of some sort. It’s been some time since I was able to participate in one of those.” His pointed gaze lingered only for a moment, and Moira closed her eyes once he looked away, the fresh guilt stabbing at her.

Oliver must have called her from the car, for it wasn’t long before their front door opened.

“Mom?” Her daughter’s voice called out first.

“In here, Thea.” Moira stood from the chair she’d placed herself in opposite Walter after her husband had chosen his own solitary seat. She met her daughter in the archway and wrapped her in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re alright. Where were you?”

“Sorry. It’s, uh, kind of a long story.”

“Well, I’m sure Oliver told you about Walter.”

Thea smiled as she went past her into the room. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

She watched Walter give a real smile as he welcomed Thea’s gentle hug. “So am I. Though truthfully, I’m not sure how it happened.”

“We know.”

Moira jumped. She hadn’t noticed her son come up behind her. “Oliver.”

He raised a hand. “Mom, before you say anything, I knew what I was doing.”

“Which was why you took Thea along as well?”

“Actually, I kind of stowed away,” her daughter admitted. “And I’m glad I did.”

Moira looked between them, then at the front door as it opened again. She gasped as Mr. Diggle led a young woman inside who she instantly recognized. She had stepped forward before she realized it. “Laurel.”

Laurel’s eyes were on Moira’s shoes rather than her face as she said a polite, “Mrs. Queen.”

Tommy and Sara Lance were the last to enter, adding to this already remarkable gathering. Oliver ushered them all into the sitting room where he shook Walter’s hand.

“Good to see Merlyn keeps his word,” Mr. Diggle muttered lowly, and Moira suppressed another jump. If her son’s bodyguard was aware of Malcolm’s role in the abduction, that could only mean…

“Mom, have a seat,” Oliver suggested. “This is going to take some time.”

“Oliver, I’m not sure that right now is the best time for a discussion.”

He didn’t miss the way she gave a significant look around at the others in their midst. “This involves everyone here.”

“Including both Miss Lances?” Walter asked.

“Yes,” Sara answered. She’d unknowingly taken Moira’s chair, and so she went to the couch with Thea and Tommy while Oliver and Mr. Diggle stood at the front of the room. Laurel had gone to stand against the wall, watching out the windows with her arms crossed. Moira wondered at the change in her; aside from the last time they’d spoken when Moira had to deliver the terrible news about the Gambit, Laurel had always seemed such a happy, bright young girl. None of that was present in her now.

Where had she gone? Had she really been missing? And what had brought her back now with Moira’s children?

“When Laurel, Tommy and I were eight years old, Mrs. Merlyn was killed,” Oliver began. She and Walter exchanged a look, but both nodded. “Afterwards he left for two years. Did he ever tell you where he was all that time?”

Moira shook her head, for it was her Oliver was looking at.

“He found himself in a place called Nanda Parbat. It’s the home of a cult which calls itself the League of Assassins.”

“Beg pardon?” Asked Walter.

“He’s telling the truth,” Mr. Diggle said. “They train and take hit jobs.”

“To rid the world of evil,” Laurel murmured at the window. There was a sardonic edge to her voice, and Moira noticed the rest of them eyeing her warily.

“After two years, Malcolm completed his training and came back here where…” Here, Oliver trailed off and took out a weathered book. Moira still recognized it.

“Where did you get a copy?” Asked Walter.

Oliver’s eyes jumped to him. “You knew about the list?”

“I found one like that, though in better condition, among Moira’s things last fall.” He was watching her now. Moira’s hands trembled.

“That’s Robert’s copy?” When her son nodded, she drew in a breath, trying to calm herself. She was beginning to see where some of this story at least might lead. “You have to understand,” she told them, looking to both of her children and Tommy as well. “When Malcolm first approached your father, he said it was about holding others in the city accountable. Getting them to give back.”

“So blackmail,” Tommy summarized bluntly.

“If you have to call it that, yes. It wasn’t until later that Malcolm changed the plan.”

“He mentioned an Undertaking,” said Oliver.

“Where is Malcolm?” Walter asked the question on her mind, but Mr. Diggle raised a hand.

“Best to do this chronologically. It only gets more complicated from here.”

“The Undertaking was Malcolm’s solution to the Glades,” Moira revealed, the words heavy on her tongue. “When he told Robert...your father was horrified. He told me everything, and I begged him to put a stop to it. But he couldn’t go to the authorities because of — well, Malcolm had information about him, too.”

“More blackmail,” muttered Tommy. His head was hanging low.

“What was his plan, Moira? At least learning it might make the weeks of captivity worth something,” Walter said, and there was hardly any mistaking the bite in his tone. She held in a sob. She’d lost him.

“It was — is — a device. He’s having it built at Unidac. Once it will be ready, he was planning to use it—” she swallowed thickly. “To level the Glades and everyone in it.”

There was a heavy silence. Laurel stepped away from the wall and moved to Oliver’s side.

“No way,” Sara breathed.

“Mom.” Thea shrunk away from her towards Tommy. “You knew about this?”

“Yes. But I- I couldn’t say anything.”

In an act of kindness, Walter spoke up. “She was afraid for you and Oliver. And me, I suppose. Malcolm had already sabotaged the Queen’s Gambit.”

“What?” Oliver and Sara both asked at the same time, their voices hoarse. Moira couldn’t look at either of them.

“Robert was going to meet with Frank’s associates in China. Neither of us knew what Malcolm was capable of back then. If we’d suspected — I never would have let him bring you along, Oliver. Either of you.”

“After Robert’s death, Malcolm pressured you to take his place in this plot, didn’t he? That’s what you meant when you said you were one of them,” her husband reminded her.

Moira nodded, her misery threatening to release if she spoke.

“Mom, the Undertaking has been stopped. Malcolm called it off,” Oliver told her.

She froze and looked up, sure she must have misunderstood. “What?”

“I made a deal with him.”

“What kind of deal?” Her worry returned tenfold. It was never safe to be in Malcolm’s debt.

Oliver frowned. He looked to Laurel, as if seeking some kind of permission. When she gave the tiniest nod, he faced Moira again. “We have to talk about what happened after the Gambit went down.”

Sara’s head lifted. “He means what happened to my family. Mom lied about where she found me. It wasn’t in some random village with no WiFi.”

Moira and Walter again exchanged puzzled looks.

“It was in Nanda Parbat.”

“The home of this...League?” Walter checked.

“Yeah. They’d found me washed up after — well, after an attempt to get home gone wrong.”

Moira thought she could tell by her son’s face that he knew already whatever it was Sara was choosing not to say. What had happened to him on that island? Those scars, how had he gotten them?

“The League chose to nurse me back to health, but in exchange I was supposed to swear my loyalty to them. To join them.”

“Good Lord,” Walter breathed. Yet Moira noticed Laurel’s lips twist into a frown.

“This was three years ago?” When the others all nodded, Moira stood up. “Laurel, what really happened?”

She caught a flash of surprise from the young woman, but her features were quickly schooled. “The League didn’t care who was sworn in as a member, just that someone of comparable age and skill was. That’s what they told… our birth mother.”

The distinction was clear. Laurel did not consider Dinah Lance her mother anymore because Dinah had — as a mother, it was unbearable to even think.

Walter had followed the conversation and sat there with horror etched on his face.

“I didn’t know how to get her back until Ollie showed up and I saw on the news how good he was,” Sara was saying. “I knew he could challenge their leader.”

“Challenge?”

“Ollie knows how to sword fight, mom,” said Thea, as if that were obvious and everyone should know it.

“Then, you’re the Hood,” said Walter.

“I am,” Oliver confirmed quietly. “When my father died, he gave me the list and asked me to right his wrongs, to bring those who were on it to justice.”

Part of Moira wanted to be angry at him and at Robert. How could Robert have put that kind of burden on their son’s shoulders? How could Oliver go out there risking his life like that when they’d only just gotten him back?

And yet, he had also clearly unraveled Malcolm’s plan for the city. There was to be no Undertaking. Walter was safe. Oliver had saved their family and the girl Moira had once hoped would become a part of that family, too.

She walked forward and cupped his cheek. “My brave boy.”

She saw the shock, disbelief and then the gratitude play out across his face. “Mom.”

Moira then turned to Laurel, wrapping her in a hug. Laurel was stiff in her hold, one arm mechanically rising to touch Moira’s back. She wondered when the last time was that the young woman had experienced this, trapped with the people who had turned Malcolm into the monster he was. However distant Laurel was now, Moira didn’t detect any of the cold malice Malcolm held.

“I’m so glad you’re home now, dear.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Queen.”

“What is still left to be done?” Walter asked. Moira pulled back, wiping at her eyes.

“Well, first I need to make a call to Unidac to cancel Malcolm’s project.” The relief that filled her at being able to make that announcement! “The rest of Tempest will follow my lead.”

She looked back at Oliver and Laurel. “Raisa prepared the room. Will you be staying with us, Laurel?”

Laurel glanced between Moira and her son, uncertain. “I haven’t decided.”

“We have to see our dad first,” said Sara, who then stood.

“Of course. I’m sure he’s been worried since the news about your disappearance came out, dear.” It worried Moira, how little Laurel seemed to be reacting to things. It reminded her of Oliver, especially when he had first come home. Perhaps it just needed time. “You’re always welcome here if you should need it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Queen,” Laurel repeated. She exchanged a look with her sister, and the two of them left the room. She heard the front door open and shut behind them moments later.

Tommy was the next to get up. “I guess I should go see what state dad left the accounts in. Not to mention the staff.”

“What exactly has become of Malcolm?” Asked Walter.

“After I...challenged the leader of the League, they needed a new leader,” Oliver said. “Malcolm offered to take that position in exchange for your safe return.”

Walter’s lips pursed together for a moment. “I see.”

“I’ll walk you out, Tommy,” Oliver offered, and Mr. Diggle shadowed both men as they left.

“I will go unpack,” said Thea as she sidled towards the archway.

“We need to talk about your sneaking out, young lady,” Moira reminded her.

“Yeah, well we could talk about a lot of things you’ve been sneaky about too, mom,” Thea shot right back. Then she left the room. Moira sighed. She never had been able to control that girl. It had been Robert who had had a real gift with her; the irony of that had not been lost on either of them.

Silence settled in the house, and it was only her and Walter left behind. Moira readied herself before turning to face him. It was time to admit to one of her greatest transgressions.

“Walter, I- I’m so sorry.”

“Later, you said, all those weeks ago. Would you have actually told me the truth if Malcolm hadn’t interfered?”

Moira was silent. She hadn’t truly decided back then; there had been too much to worry about with Oliver’s accident, and then Walter had been ripped away from her.

He met her eyes after a few moments. “There’s a lot I have to think about, Moira. I ask that you give me space while I do so.”

Her eyes lowered to the floor. “Of course.”

Her husband stood on his own and left the room.

It seemed hardly believable that Malcolm and his plans were no longer the oppressive presence in her life that they had been for so long. And that her family now knew at the least some of her secrets.

But she had navigated far more treacherous waters. She would do everything she could to salvage the wreckage Malcolm had tried to make of her family.

---

Quentin didn’t know what to think when Dinah’s call came through in the middle of his lunch. It was rare enough that she called him to give him pause. Had something happened? Did she have some kind of news about Laurel? She’d found one of their girls, after all.

“Hello?”

“Quentin. I’m sorry to bother you. I just needed to ask —is Sara with you?”

“Sara? No, I haven’t seen her since Christmas.”

“Oh,” Dinah said, her disappointment clear.

“Are you having trouble reaching her or something?”

“Yes. She hasn’t been home in days, and when I checked her room I noticed some things missing. That’s when I thought she must have packed and gone to you to visit.”

“She’s never done that before,” he pointed out, only halfway successful at suppressing the bitterness.

“Yes, well, with the news about- about her sister, she’s been a little shaken up.”

“Sure. Well, have you tried any of her friends?”

“She doesn’t really — no one has seen her.”

Quentin frowned. He knew Sara had been struggling the last few years since she’d gotten back, but if Dinah had been about to say she didn’t have any friends, that was worrying. He should have insisted on counseling.

“Alright, keep trying her phone. I’ll ask around here.” He remembered at least a couple people who’d known Sara when she lived here. Would she have gone to stay with any of them? God, he hoped she wasn’t with Queen.

He hung up and started putting his dishes in the sink when he heard the lock in his front door being undone. Only one person besides him had the key.

“Sara?” Quentin called. He dried his hands on a towel as he walked out into the front room. “Your mother just called. She—”

The towel dropped from his hands and his words stuck in his throat. Sara stood there, a tremulous smile on her face, and next to her...he had to be seeing things.

But his eldest lifted her eyes and said, “Hi, dad.”

“Laurel.” He took a step forward, then another, and then the next thing he knew he was holding her. She stood there like a board for a long moment, then he felt her arms go around him.

“I missed you,” she murmured.

“So did I. You have no idea how much.” Even when he’d thought she had just left, his anger had in part been fueled by the terrible loneliness he’d felt. Quentin backed up, his hands on her shoulders. She looked thin to his eyes, but not in the way that Sara had become since returning. There was strength in the way she held herself, and though her voice had sounded sincere she looked completely calm. He couldn’t get a handle on it.

“Well, where- where have you been? What happened? How did you find your way home?”

Her eyes drifted somewhere over his right shoulder. “I heard you were worried, so I came back.”

Quentin stared at her. “What do you mean?”

Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “It means you can stop worrying. I’m here now.”

“Yeah, but…” He struggled for words. The way she was talking, it was almost like she was saying— “You mean you weren’t missing?”

“We don’t have to talk about it.”

His mouth dropped open for a second in disbelief. “That’s where you’re mistaken, young lady, cause we do have to talk about it. I had the boys down at the station open up an investigation into you. People are gonna want answers, including me!” His voice was rising, but he couldn’t help that he had a very short supply of patience and Laurel seemed determined to test it.

“Dad—” Sara tried to step between them, but he ushered her aside.

“Now do you have an explanation for yourself?”

Laurel’s chin lifted. For a moment, he thought he saw it tremble. “I don’t have to explain anything.”

“Damnit, Laurel,” he growled, stepping forward. He raised an arm, intending to point a warning finger—

It all happened too fast for him to really process. Laurel grabbed his arm, yanked him forward and spun him back around. With a kick, he was sent staggering into the wall.

“Laurel, stop!” Sara cried.

Quentin hit it, hard. He slowly turned around, using the wall to support himself and staring in shock at his daughter. She held one hand over her mouth, her eyes full of surprise, pain and regret. Sara was holding onto her other arm.

Laurel moved her hand away and took a hesitant step forward. “Daddy, I didn’t mean — I���m sorry—”

“Don’t know why you came back,” he wheezed. “Don’t know what you want from me anymore.”

She faltered back, then tore out of Sara’s grip and left out the front door.

“Laurel!”

“Let her go, Sara,” he told his youngest as she crossed to the door.

Sara spun around, anger in her features. “It wasn’t her fault.”

“She just said she wasn’t missing!”

“She doesn’t want you to know what really happened! And the truth is, I’m scared about that, too, but please don’t blame her, dad.”

Well that about took the wind out of his sails. “I don’t- I don’t understand. Sara, you know what happened?”

Sara nodded but didn’t elaborate even when he gestured for her to go on. “I’m sorry. I’m scared.”

“Scared of what?” But when she only stated at him, it hit. “Of me?”

“Not- not of you. Just... it’s better if you don’t know.”

He walked forward, a little shaky — his head was still reeling from being thrown around like that. “Honey, that’s not how this works. You two aren’t supposed to be protecting me. I’m your father.”

But the truth was, Laurel had always been trying to protect him after the Gambit went down, when she’d been here anyway. She’d protected him mostly from himself. Now there was something she and Sara were both unwilling or unable to tell him.

“Sara, where did you get into contact with her? Huh? Where did you find her?” She had to give him something.

Because it didn’t make sense for Laurel to have simply heard he’d had her declared missing causing her to decide to come home. Dinah hadn’t seen Sara in days. Either Sara had heard from Laurel and gone to meet her, or something else had happened. What, he wasn’t sure. Those missing days were crucial.

Why couldn’t he ever control his temper when he needed to? Laurel was gone again, at least for the meantime, and he had no idea if she’d come back to him this time. He hadn’t wanted it to happen like that at all, but then why was she trying to lie to him?

Quentin sighed when Sara still didn’t answer, giving up for now. “Alright, I better call your mother.”

“No!”

He stopped in his tracks at the panicked shout. “Why not?”

She seemed to realize her mistake in overreacting and her response came out considerably weaker. “Well, it- it can wait, can’t it?”

“She’s been worried about you.”

“I know, but—“ Sara looked to be struggling for something to say for several minutes. “Dad, I want to move back in with you.”

“What?” Of all the explanations, this was the last he’d have expected.

“Or back to Starling, if you don’t want me here.”

“It’s not that. I’d love for you to move in, of course. Just, why now?”

Sara shoved her hands in her pockets. He was sure she was trying to keep herself from nervously fidgeting. “Well, you’re here and Laurel’s gonna be here, too. I- I like it better here. Mom, she worries too much and she’s just been...stifling me. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to.”

“Alright, alright,” he assured her, coming forward to tuck some of her hair behind her ear and get a better look at her face. She was being totally genuine, even as he thought there was clearly something she wasn’t saying. “You’ve always been welcome here, baby, you know that.”

She took a great, shuddering breath and seemed to calm down. “Thanks, daddy. I’ll go unpack.”

“Alright. I’ll call your mother tomorrow.”

“Okay!” Sara was already running out of the front room towards the guest bedroom. Which was now her room. One of his daughters was coming back to live with him full-time. Happy as that thought made him, he looked back out the door Laurel had disappeared through. What were her plans? Did she have somewhere? Something else to try and get out of her sister.

He rubbed at his back where her boot had made contact. It wouldn’t surprise him if a bruise formed by tonight. She’d lashed out at him when he’d approached. Had she thought he would attack her? And how had she reacted so quickly and severely, like she was prepared for that kind of attack at a moment’s notice?

Every time one of his girls came home, he was left with more questions than answers. But finding answers to questions had always been what he did best. Maybe it was time to get back to it.

---

Oliver took his time getting to the base that night. For one thing, he’d needed to speak with Tommy before his old friend had left the house.

“I am sorry about lying,” he’d told him.

Tommy had glanced at him. “But you don’t regret that you did it.”

Oliver had said nothing. He didn’t regret it. Now that Tommy knew, it made him along with his family complicit in the things he had done as the Hood, both good and bad.

“What are you going to do now?” He’d asked instead.

“I don’t know. There’s a whole company dad left behind. Have to see if there’s anything I need to do about that. I guess I’ll need some time off managing the club.”

“Right.” Oliver had nearly forgotten about the recently opened Verdant in all the upheaval. “Take whatever time you need.”

“Okay.” Tommy had turned for the door. “For the record, I’m glad you’re not dead. And uh, thank you for getting Laurel back.”

“No thanks necessary.” Even if he hadn’t made the deal that had put Laurel there, Oliver would always feel some measure of responsibility. And even without that, he couldn’t have left her there regardless. The minute he had learned the truth, his thoughts had been occupied with it and nothing else.

“I was going to ask her out,” Tommy had abruptly stated. “All those years ago. The next time I saw her, I told myself.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, well, after Hong Kong and you being—” Tommy had huffed a laugh. “—‘dead’. I figured it was time for us all to move on. But her mom decided to turn psycho, so…”

A long silence had hung in the air between them. Oliver had felt Diggle’s eyes on him.

“It’s for the best.” Tommy had clapped him on the shoulder. “After everything, it really is just Ollie and Laurel, huh?”

“I think that’s about the last thing on her mind right now. I’m just going to try and do my best by her as a friend, whatever she needs.”

Tommy had swallowed once and nodded. “Yeah. Well, guess I’ll see you both around.” He’d left right after.

Oliver’s mind remained on that conversation through unpacking his things in his room, checking on the guest room Raisa had prepared and letting Digg drive them over to the club. He’d asked to go with no real reasoning for why; being in the house with his mother and Walter now with all they knew about each other out in the open didn’t sit right with him. He also wanted to be in the Glades, a way of reassuring himself that Malcolm’s plan hadn’t and would never come to fruition.

“So what’s the plan now?” His friend and bodyguard asked as they walked into the empty club. He and Tommy had closed it for the few days they’d been planning to be gone for the trip.

“What do you mean?”

Diggle gestured to the door near the back only the two of them had the code for. “I mean, what’s going to happen with the mission?”

Oliver paused. What did happen? He hadn’t been expecting to learn the secrets of the Dark Archer and the real reason for everything that had gone wrong in the city for the last five years when he’d gotten on that plane. But they had.

“The mission was the Undertaking, and the Undertaking has been stopped.”

“Thought the mission was the list.”

“So did I. But my father was trying to stop Malcolm, not this.” He looked down at the book in his hands.

“So what, all those billionaires and guns for hire and all the rest of them get to keep doing what they’ve been doing? They get a free pass?” Asked Digg.

“No. But this list is...it would take my whole life to get through it. Possibly longer.”

“That’s the thing about progress, Oliver. It’s not a one and done thing.” Diggle was disappointed in him, and he hated that feeling. Hated, too, that Diggle hardly ever tried to see things from his point of view.

“Well things are kind of busy in my life at the moment. My family, my friends—”

“Laurel?”

“Yes. They all know my secret now, John. How can I expect them to be okay with me going out there and risking my life every night?” Would Carly and AJ be happy knowing if their situations were reversed?

“What you have to ask yourself is if you’re okay not going out there when you know how much this city needs you, Oliver,” said Diggle, steady and uncompromising as always. He turned back to the door. “Let me know when you’ve thought about that.”

Oliver sighed as his friend left the club. He didn’t know if it was that easy. Yes, he cared about the city getting better, but for him to try and tackle the systemic problems Malcolm and his cohorts had left in their wake...he was just one man.

He punched in the code and descended into the base. Movement in the corner of his eyes had him reaching for the knife in his boot until his mind caught up and recognized the woman turning in her chair to face him.

“Laurel.”

“Hey.”

She’d let her hair down for the first time since they’d found her in Nanda Parbat. It brought her closer to the image he’d carried around with him for half a decade, but there was something that lingered in her eyes and the corners of her mouth that spoke of the burdens she carried. He wondered if his family and friends had thought the same about him.

Oliver looked around. “How did you…?”

“How did I know this was your secret base or how did I get in?” When he just nodded, she answered, “Thea told me about the club you and Tommy were running upstairs, which made sense as a front for a covert operation out of the Glades.”

Oliver grimaced. He didn’t begrudge Thea accidentally giving away his secrets; she had talked with Laurel for hours on that plane, likely doing a better job bridging the divide than any of them would have been able to. It ended up being a stroke of luck that she’d stowed away after all.

When he’d gone up the aisle to check on them and give Laurel the chance to change out of the League’s uniform, his sister had fallen asleep on Laurel’s shoulder, and that imagery alone had given him hope that maybe things really could go back to normal for all of them.

Which was why he winced when Laurel added, “As to how I got in, I’m a professional assassin, so.”

“Laurel, you’re not—”

“Yes, I am, Ollie. It’s what I’ve been for the last three years. I’m not sure I know how to be anything else.” She looked down. “I attacked my own father.”

Oliver crossed the room. “What happened?”

She shrugged, and he could see how helpless it was. “He got upset because I can’t tell him anything. So he got up close and I... reacted. It’s how I’ve been trained to be, and I can’t just switch it off.”

“I know.”

She met his eyes. “Yeah, I guess you would.”

There was silence as they each contemplated the things the other had gone through, how it had shaped them — perhaps irrevocably — into the people they were today.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“You already said that.”

“That was for, well, thinking I was dying,” he said. “But there is so much more I’ve done wrong by you.”

“You’ve got company,” she remarked. “And you’re not the worst offender.”

Oliver shook his head. He was not going to take the easy out. “But what I did was, I invalidated you. I cared more about what I wanted than what you needed in a partner, and I was too selfish to admit that to both of us.”

Laurel stood, never breaking eye contact. “Well, thank you. And I can see how much you’ve changed. The boy who didn’t care about my feelings never would’ve flown to the Himalayas to challenge a near-immortal monster for my freedom.”

It was strange. Almost anyone who compared the him that had returned from the island to what he’d been before did so unfavorably. Himself included, often enough. Yet Laurel saw something worth more than he’d been before. She saw something good.

Maybe because she had to, to see something good in herself.

“If I’d been better, before…”

“Please don’t try to take responsibility for anyone else’s wrongs. I’ve placed the blame exactly where it belongs, and that’s my right,” she told him, a stubborn line to her shoulders that, he was happy to note, was not League-trained at all; that had always been a part of her. She must have noticed the twitch of his lips, for she tilted her head. “Was there something funny about that?”

“No, not really,” he replied. “It’s just, I’ve missed you. The real you.” He’d seen her in his dreams and hallucinations over the years, but nothing could compare to the whole of her. That probably wasn’t welcome territory at the moment, so instead he asked, “What brought you down here, anyway?”

“Curiosity,” she told him, and he nodded. “And I wanted to know if you were still looking for teammates.”

That had him looking up in surprise. “What?”

She took a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of her leather jacket. It took Oliver a second to recognize it as one of the Help Wanted posters Tommy had pinned up outside the club. “You want to work at a nightclub? What about law school?”

She shrugged. “Considering the amount of laws I’ve broken the last three years, I don’t think it’s the best career path for me anymore.”

“Right,” he agreed, trying his best not to show the regret he was feeling. Laurel had wanted so badly to help people with the law. To see that she felt herself incapable or unworthy of that anymore cut at something deep inside him. He knew she didn’t blame him for this, but a part of him couldn’t help wondering about what could have been.

“Did the League have bartending lessons?” He asked, trying to lighten things. He thought he saw the hints of that old wry fondness she’d often regarded him with. Oliver licked his lips, the fingers of his right hand curling and uncurling.

“They taught me how to make and administer poisons. And their antidotes,” she added helpfully. “But it says you need a bouncer.”

“Uh…” He couldn’t help it. As a frequent attendee of clubs in the past, he had a very clear picture in his head of what a bouncer looked like: Diggle. It was wrong. He didn’t need to see her frown to know that. “Sorry, I guess I just — you want to be in charge of a line of rowdy, possibly already drunk people and deal with security problems or break up fights? After what happened at your father’s?”

“I have to know that I’m the one in control,” she said. “I’ve been given these skills and a purpose to fight, Oliver. And to kill. That’s something I can never take back. But maybe, by putting those skills towards keeping others safe, trying to help out, I could...I could use it for real good.”

It had come out as almost a question, and he could see the desperation in her eyes. A need that reached down to his core and found an echoing cry.

He didn’t have to think about it anymore. If they could take the weapons that their bodies had been forged into and reshape them, be the shield or sword that others needed, then all that pain and that damage might have been worth it.

For a moment, he let himself imagine if Laurel had asked him what he’d initially thought before she’d produced the Help Wanted poster. If it were more than just him out there fighting against the institutions poisoning their city, if they could work as a team...but they weren’t a team. He’d betrayed that trust years ago, and it would take time to get that back even if he had fought for her freedom. And it would have to be something Laurel wanted, too.

For now, he could answer this request. “Consider yourself hired.”

She smiled. Not a full one, just the lips, but it seemed to brighten the whole base. After a moment, she ducked her head, as if afraid to let him or anyone see it.

“I hate to bring up money right away, but I stopped at the bank before coming here. I still have my account, but it’s not in the best shape. I’m not sure what I can really afford on my own.”

“There’s a room for you at the house, if you need it,” he reminded her. He was sure if Quentin Lance had been seriously hurt, Laurel wouldn’t be here right now, but he also doubted she felt very welcome in her father’s home.

“At least for now. Your family’s going through a lot. You shouldn’t have to worry about anyone else,” she said. “I just don’t have enough for rent right now.”

“Which isn’t your fault. Stay with us as long as you need to. Till you can get back on your feet. We’ll find you something.” For the meantime, he offered his arm. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to call Starling that again, Ollie,” Laurel admitted. But after a brief hesitation, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Take as long as you need,” he repeated. Whatever Laurel needed, he would give it to her. Lord knew she deserved it after they had all failed her in their own ways.

His father’s mission was over. This was his mission now, to protect his city and his loved ones. To right his own wrongs.

---

Laurel stood at the large window of her second-story room, watching the comings and goings of some of the staff below. The house was surrounded on three sides by expansive grounds leading to trees; not a secure position for them at all.

She hated that these were the things that came immediately to mind. That the bed, which years ago had seemed a luxury to her, now felt too soft, too inviting. It all just didn’t feel real.

How could she be in this place of peace and acceptance, where people openly showed care for each other, where they used her name? It was like something out of her dreams from the early nights of her time in Nanda Parbat. It was overwhelming. Oliver most of all.

She knew how life could change a person. She was the proof of that firsthand, and it scared her. Did he really care for her or just the woman he hoped she still could be? And was there anything left of the man he’d been, flawed as he was yet nevertheless her first love? Or were they both strangers trying to fit into a life that wasn’t theirs anymore?

Sara seemed just as ill-suited to her life since returning home. Laurel didn’t know much; they hadn’t really spoken on the ride over to their father’s, just a question about how he had been and the answer that he had lost his job — that hurt, knowing she should have been there, should have helped him see his way through his anger and grief better. How much worse it would get if he knew all the things she’d done.

Laurel didn’t know if she would see Sara again. Would she just go back to Dinah? It would be easier if she did, easier for Laurel to just keep hating them both. Because the longer that she looked at Sara’s thin, fragile form, the harder it became to hold onto that hate.

As angry as she wanted to be at her younger sister, as much as she knew it was her very right, she could see Sara hadn’t escaped from her time as a castaway unscathed. Laurel remembered her mother’s excuses, that Sara had been assaulted by men. It turned her stomach when she allowed herself to think about it. Had she gotten help? Did she have someone to talk to about any of it?

Laurel also knew, however, she was not prepared to be that person. Not in this moment and perhaps not ever. The betrayal was still raw, even after all these years. Seeing everyone from her old life again had dragged all of those memories and feelings back up to the surface. It was clouding her thinking and her judgement.

It was why Laurel had asked for work that kept her within earshot of Oliver’s mission. Apart from needing an income, she felt it might best ground her in this daydream her life had suddenly turned into. Keeping her mind and reflexes sharp in case her fortunes turned again.

She couldn’t help smirking to herself. It was Nyssa’s voice she thought of saying those words. It brought an ache to her chest, wondering where her friend was and if she’d ever forgive her. She’d done what she’d thought best at the time, but now she wasn’t sure.

Laurel hadn’t really known the truth of what Malcolm Merlyn was capable of until Mrs. Queen had explained in halting, haunting detail. To know he was now in charge of the League chilled her bones. Ra’s had been a terror to behold, but had he merely been replaced with a worse evil?

The others wouldn’t want her to worry about that. They believed Malcolm to be many miles away and no longer a concern of theirs. They didn’t know how far the League reached. They just wanted her to be happy and free. A task she wasn’t sure she was up to.

A soft knock at her door had her turning sharply on her heels, moving into a defensive posture.

Oliver’s head poked inside. “Hey. Sorry, I just wanted to let you know dinner’s just about on the table. Raisa says it’s all your favorites.”

“Oh.” Laurel straightened back up. She tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear to avoid looking at him straight on. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “Was that, um, The Beatles you were humming? I thought I heard a little bit, wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” he added when she blinked at him.

“Yeah, I, um, got into the habit, I guess. Didn’t realize I was doing it.” She came around the bed and followed him out into the hall. “It might’ve been The Beatles. They had a song called ‘Blackbird’.”

She didn’t miss the long look he gave her. “Yeah? I remembered the tune, not so much what it’s about.”

Laurel shrugged. “It’s just a guy singing. You know, about broken wings and learning to fly again. To be free.”

“And how does it end?”

They both paused at the top of the stairs. Laurel turned and faced him fully.

“I don’t know.”

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Chapter: 8/18 Word count: 2165 Summary: When Tobirama is exiled from the Senju clan without warning, without even the chance to plead his case, it feels like his life is over. What does he have to live for now without his older brother to believe in him? Captured by the Uchiha in his moment of weakness, Tobirama slowly learns to live again with the last people on earth he would have ever expected to care for - or to fall in love with.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the blog header!

Chapter 8

“Did you have an aneurysm?” Tobirama continued to stare in bafflement as Madara snorted.

“Is that any way to talk to the man offering you your freedom?” he asked. Tobirama pinched his brows together and hesitated, unsure if he should speak his mind or not.

“Perhaps not but is it the best idea to offer your worst enemy free rein of your home?”

“I wasn’t offering you free rein,” Madara corrected him with an overly casual shrug. “And you’re hardly our greatest enemy now. You’re not a threat and you’re not a bargaining piece; actually you’re kind of alright to have around, much as it pains me to admit that. So I figured I would make the offer.”

Running his fingers across the seals on his wrists, Tobirama watched the other man closely for any signs of duplicity. “The offer that I can stay and live here with you. In the Uchiha compound. In your house. As…what? Your new pet?”

“Why are you making this so difficult? Ugh, just give it here!”

Madara grabbed his arm and began to pick at the seal with his own hands, looking for the right characters to push his chakra in to in order to deactivate them. It took Tobirama clearing his throat and using his other hand to point it out for Madara to set him free with a simple press of one thumb. He took care of the second one just as quickly and then unlocked the cuff-style bracelets while Tobirama was still settling in to the sensation of being able to access his own chakra again.

Taking his arms back, Tobirama rubbed at one wrist with the opposite hand and dipped his head to stare at the ground while his mind raced.

“So you’re asking me to, what? Become an Uchiha?”

“Fire and flames, no!” Madara huffed out a startled laugh. “Half a minute ago you were in cuffs, I’m not about to slap an uchiwa on your back and call you brother right out of the gate. But…your situation is quite unique and if I must explain myself for you to understand then I have to admit I’ve grown sort of – maybe a little – fond of your presence.”

“Oh. Right.” His lip stuck when he caught it between his teeth but Tobirama paid that no mind, chewing harder with thought. “Would I be expected to…”

“No. I would not ask that of you.”

He looked up to see all traces of amusement gone from Madara’s expression, replaced with solemn understanding, and relief crashed through him with unexpected force. Until now he hadn’t realized that was even a worry but now he acknowledged that it had always been there in the back of his mind, the possibility that he might someday be forced to attend the battlefield and face his own kin.

Or the ones he used to call kin.

Nearly three months had passed since his exile, just under two months since he had been sealed and put to work around the Uchiha compound. Thinking about it now, he wondered if Madara had simply pitied him or if even then he had intended for Tobirama to stay. It wasn’t something he cared to have clarified but it was something he knew he would be turning over in his mind a great deal from now on.

“If I stay,” he began slowly, “I would like to earn my way. Just…not with laundry. I’ll stay if you promise I don’t have to scrub your dirty underwear anymore.” Something thumped pleasantly in his chest when Madara tossed his head back to roar with laughter. It felt a lot like his heart, jumping and fluttering with a feeling strangely close to fondness.

“Deal. No laundry except your own.”

“I suppose I can live with doing my own.”

“Nice!” Izuna tumbled in to the room then, entirely giving up the pretense that he wasn’t listening at the door. “Now we can spar, right? I’ve been going crazy without any good sparring partners. Aniki likes to sleep in when I like to train and Hikaku is always busy running around with the patrols.”

Tobirama tried to bite down the comment but it slipped out anyway. “Are you sure you want your ass kicked by a former slave? Can your ego even survive that?”

His old rival’s offended squawk was all but drowned out when Madara began to laugh again, bent over double with no shame and clearly not intending to defend his brother’s honor in any way. Tobirama smiled faintly at their antics. Staying here might not be the worst decision he would ever make.

Adjusting to life in the Uchiha compound didn’t sound like it should be a difficult task when he had already been here for months and yet to Tobirama it felt like removing the seals from his wrist had thrust him forward in to yet another completely foreign world. The clan members within the compound looked at him differently. Not in a friendly sort of way of course, not at first, but at least mostly without the hostility and suspicion he had almost grown used to. Moving around outside the house no longer ended with him hurrying back to avoid the stares that followed him everywhere he went. It seemed they had finally had enough time to get used to his presence.

Now he was met with cautious nods and children wound around his legs just the same as they did to all the other adults, no longer warned to stay away from him. Izuna dragged him out to an open forest clearing within the grounds specially set aside for sparring every morning that he could. And when they returned to the house they usually worked together to cook a massive breakfast for when Madara finally managed to drag himself out of bed.

During the day he spent his hours rifling through the surprisingly well-equipped library Madara unlocked for him. By the layers of dust he could tell that not many had bothered with the treasures within for a long time but they found a new life in his hands as he learned the clan’s history, learned the truth of the rumors other clans told about them to cast them as villains. When he wasn’t learning he used the ink and paper freely provided to him and painted seals – proper ones, not the slapdash copy method they had been using until now. Never anything that could specifically be called a weapon but earning his place by making things useful for travel and for everyday life. A massive difference from how he had spent his time before, his efforts going always to methods of death.

The biggest changes came at night, though.

It took weeks to get used to having one or both Uchiha brothers lounging against him like some kind of body pillow as they all ended their day in the den, sprawled out on the couch or around the kotatsu, passing the evening with easy conversation or simply spending time in each other’s presence while they each entertained themselves with something of their own. It reminded him of his childhood, the days when he had three brothers to pull his head out of the library he’d grown up in and bully him in to playing silly games with them for no reason other than that they wanted his attention for a while.

Now he was grown and there were two men with unruly hair, both of them with a bad habit of snickering to themselves or gasping out loud when they were reading a book, who seemed to understand somehow his distaste for the idea of being alone, something most people misinterpreted. While he did indeed enjoy his privacy and the time he spent with nothing but his thoughts, he had also spent his entire life surrounded by family. He needed human contact just like everyone else; he just happened to be more selective about the humans he was happy to spend time with.

Five months to the day since he had been sent away from one home Tobirama looked to his side at Madara, peacefully sleeping with his reading glasses knocked askew by the book his face was resting on, and felt his heart skip several beats at once. It was possible he had built another without realizing it just as this man had advised.

“You’ve got that panicky look on your face again,” Izuna informed him from the other side of the kotatsu, covered in cards and the small handfuls of pretzels they were using as gambling chips.

“I’ve gotten attached,” he murmured back.

“Must be a good hand.”

“Not to the cards, you idiot. Although yes, this is a fairly good hand, you should fold now if you want to keep your snacks. But that isn’t what I was talking about.” Shifting on his cushion, he looked over at Madara again. The fool was drooling on his book. It should not have been considered adorable in any way and yet that was the only word he could think of.

Frowning at his own hand of cards, Izuna waffled back and forth before dropping them to the kotatsu with a sigh. “Alright so what did you mean then?”

“I was talking about you two idiots. You know, I still say this is all a big trick. You’re lulling me in to a false sense of security, making me care about you, and then one day–”

“Bam! We attack you with hugs and affection and other disgusting things!”

“No!” Tobirama rolled his eyes but couldn’t resist the smile trying to grow.

He was about to say something else when Madara gave a light snort and jerked upright, blinked around the room and then settling his gaze on the man at his side. After the short moment it took his sleep-addled senses to recognize who he was sitting next to his whole face lit up in a way it wouldn’t have if he were fully awake. Tobirama stared back at him, feeling his insides melting. He’d never seen Madara look at anyone like that except his own brother.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“No, no,” Tobirama protested mildly. “You just closed your eyes and we shut off the whole world for you. It was no trouble, really.” Madara shook himself a little to clear his head and huffed indignantly.

“Rude.” Despite his apparent offense, he still shuffled over and draped himself against Tobirama’s side.

From what he could tell it seemed to be an Uchiha thing, showing affection through copious amounts of physical touch: leaning against each other, brushing fingers against arms during conversation, even tucking hair behind each other’s ears. The first time one of them had touched his hair Tobirama had spent the next fifteen minutes puzzling over the action before finally caving and asking what the hell just happened. Even after they explained it to him it had taken a while to sink in that they kept touching him for no other reason than that they liked him.

Which was a whole other basket of eggs to upset. The members of his own clan had oftentimes deliberately avoided him. He wished he knew what quality he had which these two seemed to enjoy that few others had before.

“If you’re tired you should go to bed,” Tobirama told the spiky black hair now resting on his shoulder.

“But I’m comfortable here.” In deliberate protest Madara snuggled even closer against him, unbothered with the way he tensed suddenly at the gesture. He still wasn’t used to being touched so easily by anyone other than Hashirama. Even Touka had projected her movements as much as possible whenever she got close to him. That was just how shinobi acted around one another.

“Unless you are planning to sleep on me I think a bed would be the better option.”

“Well, if the offer’s open…” Madara was asleep again in the next moment.

Tobirama appealed to Izuna with a confused expression but the other man only covered his mouth with both hands to muffle his pitiless snickering. When he looked back down at his shoulder he couldn’t help but notice from this angle that Madara was blessed with fantastically long eyelashes. They fluttered when his eyes moved under their lids, brushing against his cheeks, and Tobirama had to look away when he noticed his hand was halfway lifted to see if they were as soft as they looked.

Clearly he was not the only one who had gotten attached. Tobirama reached for his cards with one hand and smiled as he turned them over, revealing the crappy set he’d been holding.

“Thanks for folding; can you push the pot my way? I would hate to disturb him so soon.”

“You lied!”

“It’s called bluffing and of course I did. What sort of shinobi reveals his hand so easily?”

Staying here definitely looked as though it had been the right decision, more and more so with every day.

[jesatria]

Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 4

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 3,026 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

I finally got this chapter done–it only took me over 6 months! I will try to not go so long without updating again.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

Chapter 4: The Triumph

         “That was some triumph!” Baudoin declared. He took a large gulp of wine. “Everything was perfect. I do believe I could get used to this.”

         I sipped my own wine. “That makes two of us. The entire scheme worked out perfectly.”

         “It was a good idea. We ought to do it again sometime.”

         “I’d be happy to assist you on your path to this throne,” I replied. That had been the reason for the entire scheme. I’d let the Skaldi through the passes at his suggestion, allowing him to conveniently swoop in and defeat them while visiting me at Aiglemort. Baudoin had always been ambitious and no longer bothered to hide his designs for the throne. The guilt I felt over betraying Camael’s sacred trust for his sake was quick to disappear in the aftermath of our victory. My father would never have approved, but he was dead. Baudoin becoming King would only be to my benefit.

         He put an arm around my shoulders. “I’m so lucky to have you for a friend! Never could’ve done it without you.” No, you couldn’t have, I thought but declined to mention. He took another swig of wine. “How about we head to the Night Court to celebrate?”

         I started at my glass, considering his offer. It had indeed been some time since I’d visited the Night Court or bedded any woman at all. My duties, along with the fighting and subsequent triumph, made it impossible to visit Lombelon. I’d been too busy to dwell on it much, though in quieter moments I thought of Anne. Could word of my victories have reached her at Lombelon? I’d not had time to write her during the madness of the preparations for it. “All right,” I said, “a visit to the Night Court sounds like the perfect way to celebrate. Which house did you have in mind?”

         Baudoin smiled. “I’ll let you choose this time.”

         I pondered the choices for a moment. I had only visited half of the thirteen houses and didn’t have a particular favorite. After brief consideration, I elected to visit one of the houses I hadn’t been to before. “I believe I’m up for a visit to Jasmine,” I answered with a grin.

         Baudoin chortled and squeezed my arm. “An excellent choice. Let’s see if we can outlast a Jasmine adept, eh Izzy?”

         I frowned at the nickname—Baudoin had an extremely irritating tendency to call me that when drunk. He never seemed to remember it afterward, because I told him not to use that obnoxious nickname more than once. Eventually I just gave up and tolerated it. Baudoin wasn’t exactly the most considerate person. One grew used to it after spending a great deal of time around him.

         We were greeted quite enthusiastically in Jasmine House. The Prince and the Duc d’Aiglemort would’ve been welcome any day, but today the entire city was fairly buzzing with excitement over our triumph. The adepts flocked to us and tried their best to earn our attention. Baudoin positively basked in their attentions as he always did on these occasions. I wished I could get used to such treatment, but instead I sat stiffly on one of their couches while adepts paraded themselves before me. I ultimately selected a woman with a figure like Anne’s, though she didn’t resemble her at all otherwise. I was not at all sorry to leave Baudoin behind when she led me to her room. Lying on a sofa with his arms around two adepts while a third sat on his lap, he’d be well-occupied for a while.

         The night proved to be a very satisfying one. I soon learned that all the rumors about the stamina of Jasmine adepts were true. When we were done, I went looking for Baudoin. I found him in a well-appointed bedchamber, reclining on a bed with the same three adepts from earlier draped over him. A flagon of wine stood on the nightstand. “Izzy?” he slurred drunkenly. “Done already? Don’t you want another go?”

         “I’m well-satisfied. I thought I’d return to my chambers in the palace.”

         “Why not stay here?” Baudoin retorted. “The company’s so… pleasant.” He punctuated his statement by patting the arse of one of his companions.

         “I’d rather return to my own bed, by your leave.”

         Baudoin waved a hand. “Very well. You can take the carriage back. I’ll be spending the night here.”

         I smiled. “In that case, enjoy yourself.” With those words, I took my leave of him and returned to the palace. I collapsed into bed immediately after undressing, my mind filled with thoughts of glory. They had cheered me at the triumph, as much as they had Baudoin. That was a new experience, as most people immediately focused on Baudoin and paid me little mind, even after I became Duc d’Aiglemort. No, they noticed me now, and I liked it.

         The next few days only proved that point. Crowds of admirers clustered around me wherever I went in the palace. Many were filled with admiration, but quite a few of them were obviously interested in me for other reasons. All of that was still somewhat unfamiliar territory for me. I supposed I would never get used to it.

         “Oh, you’re so much more handsome up close,” cooed a Namarrese baroness I’d seen at court before.

         “Thank you,” I replied, giving her a polite smile.

         “It must’ve been so dangerous, facing all those savage Skaldi,” she continued, moving closer to me. “You and Prince Baudoin are so brave.”

         “I am a Camaeline. It is my duty to fight the Skaldi.”

         “Of course.” She laid a hand on my arm. “But surely war isn’t the only thing you’re skilled in.”

         I moved my arm out of her grasp. I had no particular desire to take any new lovers. “I’m afraid I’m not giving any demonstrations.” I’d never been one for playing the game of courtship and sleeping with a good portion of the court, and I was not inclined to start now. The Namarrese baroness took my meaning and pouted. It did nothing whatsoever to alter my decision.

         “There he is! The man of the hour!” Marmion Shahrizai’s voice cut through the crowd in the noisy salon. He made his way through my cluster of admirers, followed by several of his kin. The Shahrizai always moved in packs. Melisande was among them. I’d thought she’d be with Baudoin, but on second thought he was probably still sleeping off last night’s indulgences. Marmion put an arm around my shoulders. “Well done Isidore! We’re all proud of you.”

         “Thank you, Marmion,” I said with a small grin. “I’m beginning to get used to the attention.”

         He laughed. “Never thought I’d hear you say something like that. When you were fostering with us, you were always more content to stay in the background.”

         It was true—when I was sent off to the Shahrizai, I’d preferred to avoid attracting much attention to myself. It had been hard enough fitting in with them when I already stuck out like a sore thumb. But that had changed in the time since. Victory in war brought with it fame and glory and I was beginning to realize I had a taste for both. “I’ve changed since then,” I said to Marmion.

         He laughed. “Come back with us to the lodge tonight. We want to properly celebrate your victory.”

         I’d been around them long enough to know exactly how a Shahrizai party typically went—a night of debauchery culminating in an orgy at Valerian House. One visit with them had been enough for me. “What do you have in mind? Baudoin and I already celebrated in Jasmine House last night.”

         “Oh, just a nice, small fête at the lodge, you and the family only. Does that suit you?”

         That was somewhat of a relief. “It would suit me very well.”

         “Then I’ll see you there tonight.” Marmion clasped my arm briefly, then took his leave. Most of his kin followed after him, pausing to offer me brief congratulations before leaving.

         “At last you have the recognition you deserve,” Melisande purred after we exchanged the kiss of greeting.

**

         The Shahrizai fête was subdued, as far as Shahrizai fêtes went anyway. It was a pleasant evening of dining and drinking and passed without any of them heading to the pleasure chamber. When it started to wind down, I took my leave before any of them suggested a visit to the Night Court. The attention I was receiving was certainly appreciated, but I found myself longing to return to Lombelon and see Anne. Had she heard about the triumph? Lombelon wasn’t far from the City and word spread very quickly. I hoped she hadn’t so I might tell her myself. That I’d let the Skaldi in the passes deliberately was irrelevant. I resolved to keep that bit of information secret. Only Baudoin and I needed to know the truth.

         Another week passed before I was able to get away. Ganelon summoned me more than once to discuss shoring up the border defences. During the conversation I had the distinct impression that he knew exactly what Baudoin and I had done, though he said nothing openly. He dared not take action against Houses Aiglemort and Trevalion. Our houses were too powerful and Baudoin and I too popular right now. The realm thought us heroes. Besides that, I had my own personal army in the form of the Allies of Camlach. No, the King would not target me openly, no matter what his suspicions were.

         I was glad to finally leave the City. Though I had enjoyed some of the attention and praise I’d received, I found myself eager to be away. It was, in many ways, the complete opposite of the City. As we grew close to the estate, I sent a rider ahead to give them some warning that I’d be arriving shortly.

         Sure enough, Anne was waiting at the front door when I arrived, along with a handful of others. She wore a fawn-brown cloak, which covered her from head-to-toe. Her face brightened as I rode up to the door and dismounted. This time I didn’t bother exchanging pleasantries with Bargot or anyone else; I made straight for Anne.

         “Your Grace,” she breathed. I noticed then that her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. It was a very appealing effect. “You are most welcome to Lombelon.”

         “I am very glad to be here,” I replied. “I’ve been away too long. There has been increased activity on the border as of late.”

         Her eyes widened and she tensed. “The Skaldi?”

         I nodded. “They came through the passes of Camlach, but Prince Baudoin and I were able to drive them back.”

         “Thank Camael you were able to do so.”

         I smiled. “I’ll tell you all the details later, when we dine together.”

         A broad smile came across her face. “You’d like me to… dine with you? Actually sit at the table and eat instead of serving you?”

         “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t desire it. It feels somehow wrong for you to continue serving me at meals. I’d like you to eat with me.”

         “I would be honored to accept your request,” she replied with a smile, stepping forward to wrap her arms around me.

         Later, I seated myself in the dining room and waited for Anne to join me. It didn’t surprise me in the least that she was not already present when I arrived—it was unlikely she’d be excused from her usual duties to dine with me unless I specifically requested it. Even so, I did not have to wait long for her to appear. The doors opened and Anne entered, accompanied by our dinner. “What is this? Did you forget we’ll be dining together tonight?”

         “I didn’t forget,” she answered, “I simply insisted that I handle the serving.”

         “Why?” I honestly couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want some time away from her servant duties.

         “Well, there’s always jealousy directed at me from the others whenever you are here. They were hoping they might catch your eye,” she explained.

         “I see. I was unaware that I was the subject of such attention.” It was true—I’ve never been particularly good at noticing such things.

         “Oh, you were. Still are, in fact. A significant portion of the staff here are jealous of me for earning your attentions. I didn’t want to endure the stares from the other ladies any more than I already do every day, so I offered to do the serving myself.”

         I chuckled lightly. “Very well. We might as well begin then.”

         “So what was it like?” Anne asked after we began to eat. “The battle, I mean.”

         I had to pause for a moment and consider my response. How exactly to describe battle to someone who’d never even come close to experiencing it? I did not think Anne the sort of woman who’d want to hear all about the glories of war and less about its unpleasant realities. I’d dealt with plenty of the former in the City after my triumph and I’d had quite enough of them. The truth, then. “Bloody,” I answered earnestly. “War is an ugly, messy business. In this case there was little contest—my forces and Prince Baudoin’s fell upon the Skaldi after they broke through the passes. We were able to defeat them easily.”

         Anne’s eyebrows rose. “The Skaldi are fierce fighters, are they not?”

         I nodded. “They’re barbarians who live for blood and battle. Fortunately, strategy is not a strength they possess. They lack cohesive leadership.”

         “What do you mean by that?”

         “I mean they aren’t ruled by a single king the way we are in Terre d’Ange. The Skaldi are a bunch of disorganized tribes, not a united people. Their loyalty is to their own chieftains. Sometimes one of the stronger chieftains will manage to unite a couple of tribes, but it never lasts long.”

         She watched me with wide, fascinated eyes. I suppose no one spoke of the dynamics of Skaldi society to L’Agnacite gardeners as a rule. “That’s all very fortunate for us if they are as fierce as you say, but what if they did find a leader who could unite them?”

         It took me a moment to decide how to answer her. Should I tell her that there were rumors of such a figure emerging? No, best not to trouble her unnecessarily. Here in L’Agnace any threat from the Skaldi seemed far away. “It is… unlikely that any single leader could unify the Skaldi for long. They are a fractious people who place loyalty to their tribe above all else.” She relaxed slightly at that. “As Camaelines, it is our sacred duty to protect Terre d’Ange. We are more than capable of dealing with the Skaldi,” I assured her. The role I played in deliberately letting them through the passes so Baudoin could play at being Prince Rolande I kept to myself. It was better that she not know these things.

         When the meal was over, we retired to my bedchamber. Both of us were quite hungry for each other, this being our first night together after some time apart. Later, after we were sated, Anne lay in my arms, her head resting on my chest. I pressed her body tightly against mine, savoring the feel of her. In that moment I found myself feeling more grateful for her than ever before. It was an entirely different life in Lombelon with her, as far as possible from the life I had in the City. It was more like to Camlach than to the City, but there were several key differences, the lack of warfare being the most significant one. Yet despite the differences, there was a certain similarity as well. When the border was quiet, life in Camlach could be a country idyll, perhaps even moreso than Lombelon due to its remoteness. Anne and I were alike in that we were both creatures of the countryside. Of course she’d never been to the City, despite living only a short distance from it. I couldn’t imagine her fitting in well at all there. It had been that way for me when my father brought me to the City as a child. I was overwhelmed by the crowds, the sights, the smells—but most of all the crowds. Camlach is sparsely-populated compared to the rest of Terre d’Ange and lacks any large cities. Aiglemort might’ve been the ducal seat, but the number of people there was small in comparison to the population of the palace. Time had helped me grow used to these differences, but my preferences remained the same.

         “Would you like to see the City, Anne?” I inquired, curious.

         She stirred and lifted her head from its resting place on my chest. “The City of Elua?”

         “Yes. Have you ever thought about it?”

         “A few times. My father told me about it—he’s been a handful of times. He always said it was a sight worth seeing, but he would never want to live there. I think I would likely feel the same if I ever visited it,” she answered.

         “I see you take after your father in that regard. Both of you are far more comfortable here among your country gardens.”

         “And are you not also a creature of the countryside, your grace?” she asked, almost as if she’d read my earlier thoughts. “Your words about Camlach indicate as much.”

         “Guilty as charged,” I replied. “I suppose this shared disposition makes us suitable for each other.”

         That marked the end of our conversation, as she soon fell asleep and I followed not long after.

**

         My visits to Lombelon took on a familiar routine after that. I went whenever my duties permitted, which never seemed to be often enough. You might say it was turning into something of an addiction for me. The entire thing had taken me somewhat by surprise, as I never thought I’d take such a liking to the place, or to a certain woman who lived there.

Note

I’m back! I’m sorry I took so long to update this fic. I never actually forgot about it--this chapter has been written for a while, but I was too lazy to type & edit it. I don’t intend to go so long between updates again. I’m in a Kushiel mood right now & feeling motivated to write fic in this fandom again.

[the-tales-of-the-fold]

The Mystery of the Fold (Eliza 1)

There were two dragons in the cave, a large one and a small one.

The large one was a pale color, easily mistaken for white, when she was actually the pale pink of an albino, her scales lacking any sort of pigment, her body white tinged with pink where it should have been black, her markings red where they should have been brown. Her horns, however, horns and claws, and teeth as well, every sharp part of her body, was the deepest of blacks. It was not pigment which made them this way, however. It was the material they were made from, a rare sort of metal found only in the skeletons of her kind. If you cut her open, you would find her bones black as well.

The small dragon was like the large one, at least where coloration was concerned. But there were differences in her body, how she was built. She stood on her hind legs, though from time to time she could use the claws of her wings as additional feet. Her forepaws had taken on the role of hands, and were little use for walking around. Her ears twitched as she looked up at the larger dragon, her brown eyes uncertain.

"But if we know where the dragons are coming from," she asked, "why must I go to the Fold? Why can't I go to the native worlds instead? Besides, we already know about the Novak, and the Pernese, and many of the others. What more is there to learn?"

The large dragon blew out a bit of green smoke at the small one's questions. "You are not going to study the dragons themselves," she said. "You are going to study the Fold itself. It is a curious phenomenon, pulling dragons from all over into itself, and I want to learn more about it and its world. How the cultures operate in their new home. That is what you are going there to study. Understood?"

The smaller of the pair was suitably chastised, falling silent for a moment before she spoke again. "I can't go as I am," she said. "The Fold is...particular with what dragons it lets in. I cannot be what I am. And it has no native dragons it can call its own." The larger dragon gave a black, fang filled grin.

"Then I will need to remake you," she said. "I have a few creatures in mind. The Fold seems to feed off the imagination of humans and other such creatures, so I was thinking of turning you into something like that, something like an Elderling or an Ityasaari, something like that."

The smaller one shook her head frantically. "No!" She pleaded. "Don't take away my wings, make me anything else, don't take away my wings."

"Very well," the larger dragon said. "Then I won't."

With a flick of her claw she broke the smaller dragon down, bit by bit, until nothing remained but a memory, nestled safely inside the mind of the larger. She then began to build, keeping in mind the request of the young one, and the rules she had bound herself to.

She formed a shifter's body, made something which was dragon, yet could walk in the form of a man. Or, in this case, a young woman. The body was not overly large, a bit bigger than a tiger, maybe the size of a bear, and it bore the white scales and black horns that marked the young one as kin.

When she had finished Landilizandra, for that was the great dragon's name, smiled down at her creation.

"What do you think?" She asked, the goddess looking down at her remade Avatar. "Are you ready to complete your task?"

Eliza, the younger of the pair, opened her new eyes, and looked down at her new body. She found it suitable. "Yes, Mother," she told the great one. "I will not fail us."

--

Eliza awoke in the dark, her tail curled around her body and her wings tucked tight against her sides. She shook the sleep out of her head and looked around, unsure how she had gotten there. She remembered traveling to the Fold, remembered traveling into the Fold, and then...nothing. She was waking up, as if from a nap. Odd. Perhaps it was just part of the nature of the rift.

She shook herself off, stretched out her wings, and found them bumping into what felt like book shelves. She paused, folding them back against her body, and shifted into her human form, a pale thing with brown eyes and brown hair. She lifted a hand, taking one of the books from off its shelf, but it was too dark to read. She considered taking it anyway, figuring she could always read it when she found a source of light, but instead she placed it back on the shelf and knelt, opening her pack and blessing her Mother's foresight to send her with a Viper Suit, Talon made clothes enchanted to shift with her. All she needed to do was put them on once, and from there she could shift back and forth without needing to worry about flashing anyone.

Once she was dressed she threw her pack over her shoulder and started walking down the library's halls, hoping to find some way out of it soon. As she walked she thought back to what they knew about the Fold, and about what her Mother had said. Something about it seemed to rely on Draconity, not just on The Touch, or on Awakened, but specifically dragons, no matter how arbitrary that word was. What was a dragon in one place wasn't in another, and some creature could be more closely related to a dragon than another dragon, yet fail to earn the title?

Yet despite this, there were some who argued there was something more to it than just a word, that Draconity was something deeper, harder to touch yet still there. Eliza wasn't sure what camp she belonged to, but her Mother thought this world could help. Even if it didn't, it would still be an interesting subject of study.

And yet, as she walked she found herself troubled. Not only did the Fold rely on Draconity, but it seemed to bring humans and their ilk into itself to feed off their minds, off their dreams.

Conventional wisdom often held that dragons and humans were opposites. One were primordial serpents of magic and the elements, as large and as ancient as their worlds which birthed them, while the other were young apes, tool wielding and machine building, soft skinned and short lived.

Eliza new better. The creation of man's ancestors lay in the fins of a sea dragon, one which had, despite his wishes, weaved more than a bit of himself into them when he forged their souls. There was a controversial classification, known as Bonded or Bound, which described those Touched which had been spiritually joined to the ilk of men. Eliza knew Mother did not believe in them. Eliza was sure she didn't as well, but there was some doubt in her mind. Perhaps that's what Eliza was, in the end. An avatar of doubt, sent forth to learn the truth about everything, to see if they were right or wrong.

"Hrrr." Eliza stopped when she heard the noise, dropping down onto all fours and shifting back into a dragon. Her clothes vanished instead of shredding, and her pack, thankfully, shifted with her, the straps changing themselves so that they could more easily fit upon a dragon's back. She would much prefer to face whatever this was as a dragon. She'd be far safer as a dragon.

"Hrrr." The noise repeated itself, and into her field of vision a tiny dragon flew. It was too dark to make out her coloring, but Eliza could see she was small, and that she had four wings. "Hrrr," the dragon repeated, and though the tongue was largely foreign, Eliza understood the intent. The smaller dragon wanted her to follow her, which Eliza decided she may as well. There was no point in wandering around lost, after all.

The small dragon let Eliza to a flight of stairs and motioned towards them, hrrr-ing all the while. Clearly, she wanted Eliza to go down them. Eliza looked over at the stairs, a bit skeptical. They were narrow, not too narrow, but clearly not built for a dragon. In fact, nothing here seemed built for a dragon, at least not a large one.

"Thank you," Eliza said anyway, glad she was making progress. "Hr-rrR-r," she added, though she suspected her accent was atrocious.

Eliza descended the flight of stairs, which seemed to widen slightly to better accommodate her wings. But only slightly, and she doubted a larger dragon would be able to make their way down the stairs.

At the bottom was a circular chamber, lit by pale, glowing pillars, and full of eggs of all sorts. Some she recognized, some were foreign to her. There was a pool in the center, with more eggs (ones belonging to more aquatically inclined varieties) held within. Near the pool, her silver scales reflecting in the water, was a Silver Dragon, a kind Eliza had heard of long ago. They fed off moonlight, used it to power their wings. She wondered how long this one had been trapped here with the eggs.

"Hello," the dragon said, giving Eliza a polite nod. "It has been a while since other dragons have made their way into the library. Most start outside of it, or come as eggs. What is your name? I am Maria."

"Hello," Eliza said, returning the nod. "I am Eliza." She looked around, taking in all the eggs before turning back to the larger dragon. "What is this place?"

"This is the Library," Maria replied. "This is where the story begins, both your story and the story of the egg you will choose."

"Choose?" Eliza asked, starting to feel uneasy again. She began to sense this was some cache for Riders. "Who said I'm taking an egg?"

"The eggs cannot leave the Library if they are not chosen," Maria said. "As someone who has entered through the Library, it is your destiny to take an egg. If an egg does not leave with you, it won't leave at all."

"What if someone else takes it?" Eliza asked. Surely she would not be the only hope one of the eggs had of freedom. Maria shrugged her wings.

"They might," she said. "They might not. The not seems more likely to me."

"What if someone took all the eggs?" Eliza asked. "What if I took all the eggs?"

"That would be a lot to carry," Maria pointed out.

And a lot of hatchlings to tend to, Eliza thought ruefully. She had been sent here with a purpose, she couldn't give it up just to go stealing away eggs.

"What happens when every egg is taken, though?" Eliza asked. "If enough people come, and take all the eggs?" Maria nodded towards the stairs.

"Then I will finally be able to leave."

Well then, that left Eliza with a bit of a dilemma. She could refuse the egg, but in doing so she may curse both it and Maria to an eternity. Or she could take the egg, and let another dragon fly free.

Or, perhaps, she could keep the hatchling close by, at least at first. Lucy had not been able to come with her this journey, and Eliza missed the small primate's company. Her studies would be lonely, if she went about it on her own.

"Alright," Eliza said, turning back towards the larger dragon. "I'll take one of the eggs." She turned away from the dragons and went to examine the eggs, looking over each ones carefully. She passed over any she wasn't familiar with; while that would prove to be an enlightening opportunity, she had a job to do and couldn't be preoccupied in learning how to best raise a newborn dragon. She also passed over any eggs which she knew would overly large, for she had wings of her own, and no need for a mount, which is what she suspected most who left the library used their dragons for.

As she was looking over the collection a small egg, caught her attention, and without thinking she reached over and picked it up in her talons.

"A Mew," Maria said, sounding pleased. "A fine choice of egg. I think you two will get along quite well."

"What?" Eliza asked, the other dragon's words catching her off guard. "No I was only looking at it. I didn't...pick...it..." Except she had, she had looked at it, and touched it, and lifted it to examine more closely. What else was there to call her actions, if she hadn't selected an egg. "I suppose you're right," she acquiesced, before looking back at her egg. A Mew. Now that was a dragon she was plenty familiar with. She knew the Draconeans of their world had trained them, that they took to the instructions of other dragons far better than they did humans. They could be taught to hunt and herd, which was exactly the sort of companion she needed. It would probably be feral, but she could handle that. She was familiar enough with feral dragons to manage.

“Before I leave,” she said, setting the egg down gently, intent on placing it in her pack later, when she would be able to shift, “what can you tell me about this world? I am not sure where to go.”

"There are five directions here, rather than four, and there are four islands you need to know about to tell these directions," Maria said. "Below us, the bottom most island is the Sea, held in the coils of Jormungandr." A name Eliza recognized, she wondered if it was the same one, a coincidence, or a multiverse duplicate. "Up and Down are told in relation to this island. Down is going towards the Sea, up is going away from it.

"Then there is Wyrmbergia, a mountainous island where many dragons live." Which sounded to Eliza to be the best place to go. "If you want to head towards this island, you are going Wyrmward. Next is Niflheim, the island of ice and night. You are going Iceward if you head towards it. Finally, Muspell is the island of smoke and fire. It is also where you will find most of the Nightmares. Its direction is given as Firewards."

"What are Nightmares?" Eliza asked. It sounded like an important detail.

"Nightmares are creatures of evil," Maria explained. "The gods try to destroy them, and have managed to destroy most, but those which remain are angry. I can assure you, they are no friends to dragons. I would avoid them if you can."

And Eliza had every intention of avoiding them. She was here to study the dragons, not whatever malevolent creatures existed among them.

"Thank you," Eliza said. "I think I may stay in the library, until my egg hatches, so that I can learn a bit more. Is that allowed?"

"Of course," Maria said. "Gina has beds for anyone who wishes to stay."

"Thank you," Eliza said, picking the egg up gently in her jaws and heading back up the stairs to where the library and the beds were.

[divine-colossus]

One-shot: Relics

Hello there!

This is the first thing I’ve done in a while, but I wanted to write Div and Marthus actually meeting, and I realized that they don’t really age like humans do, so I felt the need to actually complete Marthus’ story. Hope you enjoy!

Until next post!

-Divine Colossus

An army of thousands massed in front of a local lord’s castle. The mud that churned beneath them was a mix of the pouring rain, the dust of the battlefield, and the blood of their opponents. Few moved past the front shield-wall, either because they knew they would be targeted if they did, or couldn’t care anymore. Rain dripped from the General’s helm, but her eyes were focused on the light that gleamed from the other side of the valley. It flashed for a moment, and then was gone.

The enemy army had set siege engines there, on the opposite bank of the river that cut the valley like a raging rift in the land. The armies had clashed in those torrential waters, and it was there that the General had lost most of her men. Nevertheless, the enemy was losing morale, and their engines of war had been crippled. A cold smile spread across her face. They would either turn and run, and be cut down, or throw themselves against her shield-walls and be slain there. The Moon King’s army was finished. Unless... No, they have not brought the Bulwark. It is hundreds of miles away.

“General? Are we to wait for their action? Prepare the troops as we discussed?” The General of the Triaam Host’s tactical brilliance was well known, and had led her to victory over many of their Emperor’s rivals.

“Indeed. Make it so, and then we shall wait.”

The glint came again, and this time there was no mistaking it. The General felt fear for the first time in years. We are all doomed.

“Pull back to the castle! Now!”

As the Triaam Host turned their backs to the enemy, argent scythes of radiant energy leaped across the valley, burning their way deep into the army. Hundreds died instantly, and the rest scattered, fleeing east and west down the valley, their discipline broken. The General lay in the churning mud, attempting to staunch the bleeding from her severed left leg. What a disgrace, to die like this. But she survived long enough to tell her tale to the Emperor’s messenger.

“The Bulwark... will destroy us all...”

==O==

In a dimly lit tavern, a bard strummed gently on a lute and sang a song of the Silver Shield. The story had been told many times, and the ancient man in the corner, who wore his graying hair up in a messy topknot, had heard it even before this bard was born. But it was always a good story. Once a spirit from another world, the Shield was made when a legendary hero tricked the spirit, and plunged it’s burning heat into the depths of a holy lake, solidifying the spirit and trapping it’s power within the newly forged buckler.

The bard strummed on, now telling of the hero’s great exploits, before his unfortunate and untimely demise at the hands of his own wife. The old man in the corner leaned forward, listening intently for any hint of the detail he was looking for. Not many knew it, but there could always be a new take.

A final chord faded as the bard wrapped up the tale. “The Aegis was lost to time, sealed in the same palace that Catara was slain in. No one has seen it since, and personally, I believe it better lost than found.”

As the bard slithered around the edges of the room, jingling a hat already heavily laden with coin, the old man stood and approached him. A sword hung lightly at the elder’s hip, and he moved deceivingly quickly for his age. The bard turned, and began to scoff at the thought of the old man actually having something valuable to offer, but shut his mouth when he saw the fire in the man’s eyes.

“Who taught you the story of the Aegis?”

The bard grinned nervously, raking reddish hair back with slightly trembling fingers. “My master, elder. His name was Jareth, but he’s long dead now. You want something from me?” As if realizing how ridiculous it was to be scared of an old man, the bard straightened up. “Or are you here to start something?”

“You’re lying, lad. I knew your master, knew you when you were but a babe. The only thing that man would never tell me is whether he found the Aegis when he went hunting. There’s an end to every legend, and that thing hasn’t reached its own yet.”

“Damn you I am not lying! I know nothing! And if you think otherwise, seek an answer from my knife!” On the last, the bard drew a wickedly sharp dagger.

“You’ll cut yourself with that. Watch your back.”

The bard’s eyes flicked towards his left shoulder, questing for whatever this old man was warning him of. It was only a moment, but in that moment the knife disappeared from his hand and went directly into the center of a target placed on the opposite wall for darts practice.

“W-who are you?” The bard asked in a quavering voice, doing his best not to wet himself.

“Another legend without an end.”

With that, the old man walked out. He hadn’t even touched his blade.

==O==

As the sandstorm abated, a cloaked figure rose from the side of a dune, their beige cloak matching their environs. An ancient blade, tempered by worse conditions than this, hung on their back. In the distance, a temple shimmered half out of view. Likely a mirage, but maybe not. And it was the “not” that the traveler was hoping for. A sigh emanated from within the cloak, and the trek began. Sand slid under their boots in dry, cascading waterfalls, and the sun cast it’s fiery gaze down from the sky above. After a few minutes, the traveler reached inside their cloak and pulled forth a lengthy piece of metal, shaped like a long oval. Upon reaching the top of the next dune, the traveler ran a gloved hand over the underside of the metal, leaving glowing runes engraved there. A scroll was produced, and the traveler made a few strange whistles before tossing the scroll into the air, where it disintegrated quickly. Peering over the edge, a glance revealed a sharp drop and a steep slope below. Winds began to blow hard from behind, threatening to push them over the threshold.

Without further inspection, the traveler threw down their sheet of metal, climbed on top and pushed off down the hill. Sand whipped past, carried on the wind, and the wind itself snagged the traveler’s hood and pulled it off. An old, scarred face, complete with gray hair tied up in a messy topknot, now faced the elements unprotected. A quick spell, however, and the sand diverted around the man, leaving a massive wake of particles behind him. As the slope leveled out, he continued to slide forward, carried on the front of the sandstorm that had formed behind him.

Scudding along at the front of a massive storm that stretched across the plain, the traveler approached the ruined temple quickly. He smiled grimly. This would be a fitting end to this great story. As the plain began to shake, massive coils of some ancient beast writhed beneath the sands. The old sword was unsheathed, brought forth from an age-old scabbard, and wielded by a warrior older still. In his other hand, he held a necklace with a cracked and worn pendant.

The great sand drake spiraled up, it’s intertwined heads corkscrewing up through layers of sediment and sand to explode outwards and upwards in a gorgeous spectacle of glass-like iridescent scales and shimmering granules of white sand. The sun faded behind the man as the sandstorm caught up to him, and the winds began to circle the pair in a vortex of sand. The board of metal was cast aside, now useless.

“You have come to fight my master, old warrior. I am posted to ensure he does not fall to you. Marthus Starslayer, I hold no fear in my eye when I gaze on you.”

“I killed one of your kin once. His name was Aberos.”

The dragon’s rumble contained an almost audible raised eyebrow. “You slew Aberos?” A low purr emanated from the left head as it weaved back and forth in, always opposite it’s fellow. “He was once my rival, a firedrake without compare. But he was torn between worlds by a great sorcerer.”

“He ended up in mine, slain first and then brought by to life by higher powers. I slew him on the second, and his master, as you already know.”

At this point the two were circling, the titanic creature dwarfing the ancient warrior, who seemed tiny in comparison. Sun glinted off of talons and sword alike, and in the blink of an eye, the sand drake charged. In the split second before they collided, a shimmering husk of gilded armor formed around Marthus, shielding him from the deadly piercing talons. They tumbled end over end, with the drake eventually pinning Marthus by the pauldrons of his armor.

“So you are one of the avatars.” Despite their battle, the drake kept a calm tone, as if this was nothing more than a friendly chat. Both heads, glassy scaled and yellow-eyed, drew close to the faceplate of Marthus’ helmet. “Why do you seek my master, then, if not for power?”

“I was an avatar. I am not anymore and I am not a hero now. I no longer serve a purpose in these worlds, except to fight.”

At this, a spear of light lanced out from the horns of the helmet, refracting in the scales of the drake but forcing it onto its back. A quick leap upwards, fueled by adrenaline and a gust of wind, left Marthus with a sword at the drake’s leftmost eye. With the sun beaming down from behind his attacker, the dragon gazed upon one who had once fought at the will of a god.

“I shall leave you. My quarrel is not with you, great beast.” At that, Marthus leaped off the sand drake’s chest and landed upon the metal disc from his earlier approach, pushing off again towards the temple.

==O==

Inside, among the great pillars, the atmosphere was cool. The scorching heat of the desert outside was no more, instead giving way to the sheltered chill of the temple interior. The architecture reminded Marthus of a long lost religion’s temples, back in his homeworld, 500 years and universes away. High arches were fitted with geometrically carved stone buttresses, and the same patterns laced the windows to the outside. No easy way out. Surprisingly little sand made it inside, given the checkered quality of the outer walls. A musty smell suffused the air, matching the atmosphere of the ruins. For the most part, the floor was clear, huge polished slabs taking up the bulk of the space. Good. Less chance to slip. At the end of the long hall of descending arches, an altar sat.

A silver set of armor sat there, kneeling before the altar. A massive, delicately engraved halberd floated next to them, hovering in midair. The armor itself was made up of many overlapping plates, likely unimaginably heavy but also incredibly strong while allowing good mobility. If you can even stand for longer than a minute, that is. The white metal, probably Heaven’s Joy, glistened in the light filtering in from some invisible skylight above, a beam that also illuminated a ring around the altar. Motes of dust and sand drifted gently through the air like butterflies, settling on the floor and around the figure, but no grain marred the fervent shine of the armor. It was as if an invisible shield deflected anything that could mar the beauty of the silver metal.

“Bulwark. Aegis. Div.”

“That’s my name, Marthus. We met, a long time ago. Victubia, if your ancient mind can even remember that place.”

“It was my birthplace. Please, Div, one last battle. You already knew this was coming.”

“You are too old for this.” The Bulwark rose, turning and hefting the great halberd.

The air sang as test strokes were taken by both sides, and Marthus sank into the familiar warmth of the divine armor, golden light suffusing his scarred features and sending a great bell-like chime ringing throughout the temple. The golden sheath of sharpened light condensed, turning the longsword into a one-handed greatsword. Opposite him, silver lines fractured the air as the halberd made piecemeal of the atmosphere, even slicing single grains of dust in half. The warriors shifted into the circling guard, so common among fighters in all worlds.

The Bulwark made the first move, a charge with halberd leveled, propelled by a massive gust of air behind him. Marthus’ eyes widened as the point drew close, and the former Islingr was forced to cartwheel towards the edge of the room to avoid the deadly tip of that blade. Div slammed headlong into the wall, the halberd sinking deep into the stone, as if it was putty rather than granite.

“You’re faster now!” The tinny voice of Div sounded from inside the vaguely avian helmet.

“We’re both getting old!” snapped Marthus, bringing his sword back in front of him.

Div pulled the halberd out of the wall as easy as picking a blade of grass, and set his guard again, a diagonal line bisecting his body with the shaft of his halberd. The dust danced around the warriors as they traded blows, sparks flying as the blades clattered and glanced off of one another. Parry left, loop overhead, leap back. Launch a blast of light, dodge right. Marthus had learned much in five hundred years, but Div was infinitely more experienced. Even so, Div had not needed to fight in a human form in his last life, and it seemed to have him disoriented.

“Tired... yet?” the Bulwark inquired, panting but unfazed by the lightning fast blows that rained on his guard.

“Hell no, I’m just... warming... up!” A series of triple overhead slashes battered Div to the ground, Marthus grinning triumphantly above him, his expression hidden under his horned helm.

The towering halberd skittered across the floor, coming to rest at the foot of the altar, where it lay, it’s splendor lost without it’s ancient wielder. Div lay with the point of Marthus’ blade at his chest, the sword point hovering centimeters above his breastplate. The Islingr was hesitating, unsure of himself. Behind the faceplate, a single bead of sweat made a lazy track through the dust that had filtered in through the eye slits.

“Godsdamnit. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” Marthus sighed, almost sounding angry.

“What do you mean?”

Marthus gestured with his free hand, leaving the sword tip near Div’s chest, although it was more of a symbol of victory than an actual threat, given the hero’s distraction. “All of this... wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to die gloriously, fighting another hero created by the gods themselves.” He turned back to his fallen foe. “I thought my story ended long ago, but then I heard about you.”

“We shared much the same journey, you and I. How much do you know of my tale? Understanding mine will help you understand your own.”

At that, almost as if Marthus knew this was coming, the grizzled warrior began pouring out both his own story and the saga of the Bulwark. Amidst the floodtide of ancient epics and traveler’s tales, Div could begin to find the threads that tied them together. The Bulwark had held for many eons before his betrayal, and while Marthus had held his vigil for a fraction of the time, they fought the same threats. Both left their post, by force or by choice, and they had wandered in search of new purpose, until finding each other again.

“Do you see how our paths run side by side, Marthus? You have purpose still, but your soul will perish before your duty is done. Such are the lives of mortals, and to my greatest regret, I cannot save you from this fate.” Div pulled himself to his feet, reclaiming his halberd as Marthus walked by his side.

“I know. It is why I wished to end it here, and save myself those twilight years of wretchedness. I didn’t want to be useless.”

They stood beneath the altar now, the sunbeams pouring down, illuminating the upturned helmets that gazed upon that star’s radiance. The armor melted away, slowly, dissipating into energy that dispersed on the slight drafts crisscrossing the inside of the temple. Two scarred and ancient faces gazed on one another, one a divine creature in human form, and one a human touched by the gods. They stood like that a while, white eyes to green, before Marthus spoke.

Marthus smiled, the wrinkles of his cheeks exuding an expression of great contentment. “All this time, I thought I would fall to the darkness. Never did I think I would fall to light.”

That last was almost a whisper, a final breath as the warrior laid down his blade for the last time, the sword sticking into the sand. The light dissolved him, incandescent particles of energy pouring forth from Marthus’ eyes, ears, mouth. A brief pause at the Sigil on his neck, but even that talisman became radiant. The light condensed and formed a gem, one that Div plucked from the air, and set gently into the pommel of his halberd.

“We will serve our purpose, friend. You have not fallen to light, only become more pure within it. Rest well. Your vigil is done.”

Within that temple, two legends died, and became one.

[dotbammie]

Protection// Im Jaebum(Part 6)

Pairing: Jaebum x Reader

Genre: Supernatural, Vampire

Summary: After being saved from an absolute stranger, you find yourself in a different world; A world you never knew existed, a world where you find yourself less protected than before.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry for the wait! But I believe that this is one of my favorite chapters yet, so please enjoy!

xoxo Sara

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12

You had felt as if you had regained all of your strength during the first week that you stayed with the boyd, but yet, you weren’t allowed to leave the confinements of the underground basement. You had memorized everything in the apartment by now; the cracks in the black brick walls, the way some swirls in the rug on the floor of the bathroom don’t seem to line up with others. You even noticed the cleanliness of the boys; how Youngjae seemed to keep his room the cleanest, and how Bambam never seemed to leave his.

Over the days you had stayed with the four boys, you had learned about each of them more and more. You had assumed that they were all similar when you first met them, but over the time you observed them, they were all quite the opposite.

Jackson was the loudest of the group, it seemed; he was always laughing and giggling loudly, screaming over the blaring music that came from Bambam’s room when the others would only whisper. He seemed to be the mood maker of the group as well. If anyone need any cheering up, Jackson was the one to do it. He took the time to learn about all of the things that you liked, even the small things. Whenever you felt as if you were so sad you simply wanted to break free, Jackson was the one who went out and bought you your favorite candies, or maybe even a blanket, just so you would feel more at home and less of an outsider while you were staying with them.

Youngjae was the kindest of the group to you. He was the most accepting of you when you first came, and like Jackson, he always wanted to make you happy, even if it was just by doing the little things. He even set you a place at the table where they usually ate their dinner, inviting you over to eat with them and giving you some of the food off of his plate, saying you would need it for strength if the time of a battle ever came. He seemed to like to be with you as well. When Jackson and Jaebum had left during the day, both doing odd jobs to make money and doing more investigation on The Kin, Youngjae stayed on the couch with you and watched TV, all the while comforting you over the fact that you weren’t allowed to leave. On the days where you were so anxious to escape, Youngjae would sit with you and almost make you feel as if you were a part of the pack.

Bambam seemed the most difficult to get along with, and you hadn’t the slightest idea as to why. He seemed very off put by your stay with them, and he simply wanted you to leave the house, and leave his sight. You tried to talk to him many times,always trying to strike up a conversation as he sat on your couch-bed watching tv, but he never seemed to want to talk to you. You could tell by how his demeanor changed when you were in the room, that he wasn’t normally like that. He wasn’t normally so angry and cold. You didn’t know why you had all of a sudden made him angry and cold, but you did, and it made you curious to find out more about him.

And last was Jaebum. You hadn’t gotten to spend any moments with him alone, due to the fact that he was the soul provider of the house, and was usually out on jobs, but whenever he was home, he seemed to take care of you. He made you dinner and made sure you were always comfortable, and he even offered to let you take his bed, because he knew how hurtful the couch could be on your back. You politely declined, though, not wanting to make it seem as if you were completely okay with the fact that your fate was practically set in stone, and that you were you meant to be with him. He leant you some of his clothes to wear during your stay, even though you told him it was completely fine for him to go into your apartment and quickly grab some of the things he would think that you need. Though you were never really alone with him, besides of the first night you stayed there, he always seemed to know what you needed. If you needed a mug of hot chocolate, within minutes, Jaebum would have one for you, even if you didn’t say that you needed one out loud.

Upon your request, Youngjae bought many books from the other world for you to read; informational books on the evolution of vampires, where they came from, how to become one, and all of the bodily chemistry about them. You had wondered why your mother was apparently so intrigued about vampires, and you finally found out why; the chemical reactions that occur inside of them when they gain blood or change another human into a vampire is incredible. You learned the reason as to why their bodies stop aging once they’ve been changed and why they react so harshly to sunlight.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Youngjae hummed one day, entering the living room with a new book in his hand, “I have a new book for you.”

“Oh, give it,” you smiled, reaching out for it. He placed it in your hand and smiled at you.

“It’s a book about your mom.”

Jackson had made you realize that, the mother you had when you were younger, wasn’t actually our mother, but it was Yugyeom’s. You read about your actual mother nightly as soon as Youngjae began bringing book upon book about her from the other world; reading about her sweet and kind demeanor, how she often cared for anyone who needed help and how she would do anything to help another living soul. You read about how she came to the throne and defeated the ones who ruled before her, how she was a scientist and how she had a lab underneath the castle she stayed in, where she kept all of her secret potions, ones that weren’t stable for both the human and vampire world. You had even seen pictures of her; and she was incredibly beautiful. She had long, flowy hair, beautiful lips and, as Jackson had said, a nose eerily similar to yours.

You had often fallen asleep while reading about her, the book often lying on your chest as you rested your back on the couch. Jaebum came home one night, late from working a job to earn money, and he found you sound asleep on the couch in that position. He found it heartwarming, how you were so interested in the vampire world now that they had told you about it, and how big of a roll you played in it. He also found it heartwarming how much you wanted to learn about your mother, and all of the tiny quirks that she had that you had maybe taken after her. He took the book from your hands, making sure he wrapped you tightly in the blanket, before he left for bed himself.

The next morning after you woke, you  were determined to get Bambam to open up to you. You had no idea how, but you needed to. You were sick of the coldness that radiated off of him whenever you were near him, and you were determined to put an end to it, no matter if it took a week, or three years.

You began thinking of ways to get alone with him, somehow, but you hadn’t had the slightest idea on how to execute any of your plans. He was always in his room with the door locked, blasting music until he fell asleep. He only came out to eat, and even then, as soon as he was done, he would head straight back into his room.

You sat at the table with him and Youngjae in silence, watching as he dug into his cereal, when you saw Jaebum come from down the hallway.

“Youngjae,” Jaebum said, patting down his coat as he looked for his keys, “Get your coat on. You’re coming on a job with Jackson and I.”

Following Jaebum’s orders without hesitation, Youngjae walked over to the coat rack, leaving you and Bambam at the table.

“What, and I don’t get to go either?” Bambam hissed, looking at you through his peripheral vision before looking back at Jaebum, “Am I babysitting her or something?  Is she not old enough to watch herself?”

“Hey,” Jaebum said sternly, looking at Bambam as he reached for the door handle, “It’s not babysitting. Give her some respect, yeah? We know, you can’t stand her. But you have to stay with her to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. She may have some vampire in her, but she hasn’t learned how to channel it properly and safely. Until then, she is our responsibility and we can’t let her get hurt. So today, you’re watching her while us three are out on a job.”

“That’s bullshit,” Bambam growled, standing up abruptly from the table and taking his bowl along with him as he went to the sink, “Why can’t Youngjae stay with her then, if you know I don’t like her?”

“Because, Youngjae is stronger than you Bambam. No matter if you want to admit it or not, he has more experience in the sun than you do, and this particular job requires us staying out in the sun for long periods of time with little to no breaks. Don’t be a cry-baby and just watch her, won’t you? She won’t bother you.”

You looked at Bambam slightly, catching his stare before looking away.

“Do I have to stay in the same room in her?”

“Yes,” Jaebum said, “And that’s an order. God forbid if the Kin were to break in and you were in your room, blasting music without knowing what was going on.”

“And what, do I have to follow her when she takes a piss too?”

“Enough,” Jaebum growled, slamming his fist against the door, startling you and Bambam enough to shut him up. “Why are you acting so immature today, Bambam? Are you really upset that you can’t go on this job with us? Or is it all because you harbor negative feelings towards (Y/N)? And, why do you even feel that way, anyway? She has never done anything personally to hurt you. Is it because you still believe in your head that she took away your best friend without meaning to? Is that it? Because trust me, if we were all allowed to be angry over something so trivial and useless like that, then I would be furious at her too. Grow the fuck up, Bambam. I didn’t think the fact that you were turned at such a young age affected your mentality.”

Jaebum looked at Youngjae with a stern look while Jackson came walking in behind them, fixing his coat along the way. Jackson noticed the tension in the room almost instantly, making him raise an eyebrow at Jaebum. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Jaebum said lowly as he opened the door, “We’ll be back later tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

Without even another glance at Bambam, Jaebum left the room, Youngjae following behind. Jackson looked at you both hesitantly.

“Wh-”

“Jackson,” Jaebum called from down the hallway before Jackson could get any words out, “Come, now.”

Jackson sighed softly, walking over to the door and looking back at you again. “You’re going to tell me later.”

And with that, the three boys were gone, leaving you alone with Bambam. It was what you wanted originally, but you could tell that Bambam was not in the mood.

It had been around an hour or so since the three left you alone with Bambam. You sat at the table, continuing to read the books Youngjae had got you, while Bambam sat on the couch, traveling through the channels without a care in the world. You decided to stay out of his way for a little bit, waiting until he seemed to physically calm down. You didn’t want to go and talk to him and accidentally set him off, causing him to hate you even more than he did.

You looked at him constantly, just to quickly look away in fear of him catching your stares. You weren’t sure what made him tick, but what Jaebum had said before he left had rang your head the whole time you were reading.

‘Is it because you still believe in your head that she took away your best friend without meaning to’

‘Who was his best friend,’ you asked yourself as you zoned out, ‘Who could I have taken away from him?’

“Are you going to stare the whole time you read?” His voice pulled you from your thoughts, causing a blush to stain your cheeks, “Maybe you should take a picture.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, looking back at your book. It was then that you decided, enough was enough. You closed your book slowly, standing up from the table and making your way over to the couch where he sat. You sat down, not dangerously close to him, but close enough to where he couldn’t leave.

“Why are you s-”

“Why do you hate me, Bambam?” You interrupted him, looking at him blankly as you awaited his answer. He looked at you slightly, only to turn back away and looking at the TV.

“You’re a nuisance.”

“How am I a nuisance?” You asked softly, “I don’t do much to you. The only time I bother you is when I need to sleep and you’re out here until four in the morning watching TV. Other than that, I barely talk to you. And Jaebum said something b-”

“He was wrong,” Bambam growled, gripping the remote tightly in his hand, “He was wrong. You didn’t take anyone away from me. I don’t have any friends.”

“But, what about your pack?” You questioned, “Wouldn’t they be upset if they heard you say that you weren’t friends with them? Don’t you care for them? They provide a place for you to stay and food for you to eat after all.”

Bambam looked at you through his peripheral vision yet again, before letting a soft scoff leave his lips.

“They all treat me like a child anyway.”

“Well, because you’ve been acting like one,” you looked away from him, but you were able to feel his sudden stare on you as if it held the heat of a thousand suns on the back of your head.

“And in what place are you to say that i’m acting like a child?” he asked, almost as if he were spitting out venom with each word, “You’ve been here for what, a week? And now you act as if you know everything about everyone in this house. You know little to nothing about them, and you know absolutely nothing about me and my past.”

“I’m not trying to act as if I know everything,” you defended, “I’m just saying what i’ve noticed since i’ve been here, especially towards me. But I want to know more about you, Bambam. Not only because I want to find out about the actual reason as to why you hate me, but because underneath, you seem to be fairly nice. It’s only when i’m not in the room that you turn into someone cold and heartless.”

“Don’t act as if you can see right through me or something. You aren’t some high and all knowing God who can just, tell me what i’m feeling. You’re a know-it-all. Or you’re trying to be one. And it’s irritating.”

“So, wanting to know about someone is considered a know-it-all now?” you sighed, rolling your eyes, “I’m just trying to understand what the fuck I did to make you hate me so much, Bambam? Would you tell me if I annoyed you? If I cried? If I was rough with you instead of being a shy little lamb?”

You had finally snapped; you began pushing his arm repetitively, begging for an answer.

“Why do you hate me so fucking much Bambam? Why do you hate me as if I had taken away the only thing you ever cared about? What did I do to y-”

“Because of you, Yugyeom left our group,” Bambam yelled, slamming the TV remote against the coffee table in pure rage as he stood, “There, are you happy now? He just had to follow the other two into the Kin. His dumb ass had to listen to them when they promised to give him something that he wanted so desperately, even though I kept telling him it was a bad idea.”

Soon the anger began to wash away, but instead, remorse and regret filled his eyes.

“Why didn’t he listen to me? He always listened to me before they came along. Before they got into Jinyoung’s brain, Yugyeom always listened to me. But then they infected Jinyoung with whatever sort of mind control they fucking use, and Yugyeom immediately followed. Why couldn’t he have listened to me?”

You watched as he tried to cover up his emotions. He clenched both his jaw and his fists tightly, keeping eye contact away from you. You were going to pry him open somehow, and this was your chance.

You rested a hand on his arm, causing his attention to waver to you for only a second before it went back to the TV. The static from the TV was the only noise the emerged from the room for a couple of seconds, until you began to speak.

“Bambam...What did they promise Yugyeom? If it was important to him, of course he would go after it… But, what was it that he needed so badly?”

“They promised him that he would be able to see you,” he said after a moment, his grip so tight in his own fists that the veins in his arms began to pop out, “They promised him that he would get the chance to see you.”

He looked at you, his eyes glossing over slightly with tears. “He’s been searching for you, (Y/N). He told me all about you, all the time. How he got to take care of you until you turned four. How after his mom passed away, you were the only family he had, even though you weren’t related by blood. And he tried so desperately, for years and years to find you, but they never let him enter the human world. The Kin promised him a chance to go to the human world, and that he could see you again.”

You felt your heart swell at his words; no wonder why he was so angry at you. In his mind, you were truly the reason why his best friend was swept away by such an evil organization.

“But, they didn’t tell him that he was going to be forced to execute you if he saw you. So now, he’s there miserable because of the fact that he has to kill you, or else he will have to take the fall and offer himself. And i’m miserable here because I know that if he knew you were safe here with us, that he’d take the fall gladly, and i’d lose my best friend.”

[experimentalmadness]

Cin Vhetin Ch. 7: Vornskr

Chapter Summary: Din and Zethu Desh finally clash in a fight to the (attempted) death. 

Bloody fight sequence full of that good good sexual tension between enemies-to-lovers ahoy

Pairing: Din x OC/Reader (however you prefer to read it)

Masterlist: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Ao3 Link

***

“Tell me again why we’re stopping in this hellhole?” Zethu asked as she stepped off the ramp to her Lancer. 

Din leaned against the Razor Crest’s own landing ramp waiting for her. There was a viciousness in her mannerism that seemed heightened now. When they had last been partners of convenience she had carried herself with an almost arrogant, casual confidence—cracking jokes, teasing their inevitable fight.  

“I have a contact who’s ex-Rebel. I don’t care what intel that Crimson Dawn boss gave us, I’m not flying Corewards until I know more. Besides, ” he gestured down to where the kid was hiding behind his legs. “Can’t exactly take this one into a firefight.”

“Guess not,” Zethu agreed, staring harshly down at the child. It made a gentle gurgle of recognition at Zethu, but her expression never shifted. “Fine. Let’s get this done,” she ran a check of her weapons on her belt, sheathing a few extra vibroblades into hidden pockets on both her boots. 

Nevarro’s outpost was not exactly large or exciting, but Din guessed even an outlier merc like Zethu would have made a few stops here in her time. Judging from how she never glanced around at the buildings or its denizens, he supposed he was right. It might be a mistake to bring her here, but he didn’t have much choice. Crimson Dawn’s power may be fading in terms of the larger underworld clans in the galaxy, but their reputation was well earned. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that if they didn’t go through with this mission the fallout would be swift and bloody. He already had to contend with the imps, and if this hunt meant the worst of his pursuers would be within eyesight for a few solid weeks, well...at least he could check one less worry of his list. 

Those concerns were temporarily shunted to the side as Din caught sight of Cara Dune exiting the tavern. He grinned under the helmet at the scowl she wore on her face as she stomped over to him. His hand was out to clasp hers when she sucker punched him on the shoulder. “What the hell?” she said. “Crimson Dawn now? You’ve got the imps out for your blood and you go and get yourself involved with Crimson freakin’ Dawn?”

Zethu’s frame shook with low, growling laughter. “Nice aim,” Din rubbed at his aching arm. “And it wasn’t planned.” 

“You must be the contact Mando spoke of,” Zethu said, head cocked to one side appraisingly. 

The teasing brawling attitude melted off of Cara as she looked over at Zethu. “Is this the merc that says she’s gonna kill you?” she asked quietly. 

“Yup.”

“Any reason why we shouldn’t kill her first?” Cara’s hand went to the blaster at her hip. 

“I wouldn’t.” Zethu’s voice was matter-of-fact, but the threat was there. She never reached for her own weapon.

“That’s funny, cause I don’t see a reason to let you fly out of here alive. We,” Cara gestured to herself and Din, “could just as easily handle the mess you made.”

There was a tense silence for a moment before Zethu slowly smiled, revealing the sharpened points of her teeth. “I think I’m going to like you.”

Din only shrugged in response to Cara’s nonplussed reaction and waved Zethu on ahead to the tavern. Zethu stuck her hands into her jacket pockets and walked on in—backwards, of course. The smile still partially hovered on the corner of her white-gray lips, but it never quite reached her eyes. 

“Ok, what’s the plan here,” Cara asked as soon as Zethu was out of earshot. 

“Complete the job. Get Crimson Dawn off my back. Get some credits out of the arrangement?”

“No, you stupid spacejocky, about the merc!” Cara shoved him. “It’d be easy for us to take her down here. She’s on our turf. Karga could even arrange something.”

“She’s smart, Cara, I think she’s known we could try something like that since she landed with me. Besides, I promised a fair fight. Let’s just get that intel. One step and a time.” Din made his way forward to the tavern. 

Zethu had already gotten a booth and a drink. She was surveying, he knew the look. By now she’d have picked out the best exit, the best cover if things turned into a fight, and the best diversion if she needed to make a sudden escape. It’s what he would have done. She could have refused coming with him to Nevarro. That one sole thought kept him from blasting her where she sat. She could have rendezvoused with him later, but she came anyway knowing she could be walking into a trap. 

He and Cara sat opposite Zethu and Cara pulled out an old datapad. “Gedos Sal,” Cara said. “Now I don’t know the guy that well, but he ran some codes for the rebellion. Shut down a lot of TIE-fighter factories and could get intel no one else could. Always knew he had a bit of shady history but who doesn’t? If he’s run to Coruscant its as decent a place to hide in plain sight.”

Din picked up on the uncomfortable shift in Zethu’s posture. He looked down at the grainy image of Gedos on the datapad. Sometimes it could be hard to deal with near-human species on pictures alone, but it struck him on closer inspection that the white of the background screen almost bled into the skin, and the eyes while he had thought discolored and clouded on his own holoprojector on the Razor Crest, were actually of the same quality of Zethu’s. 

“He’s an Offshoot.” 

Again, that shift of discomfort. “Yeah,” her voice was flat. 

“You knew him?”

“Long time ago.”

“Least that explains the Dawn boss’ snap decision to send you. She just watched you gun down three of your kin, probably figured you’d be good to go for more.” It was a cruel thing to say, but even so Din was surprised that he managed to strike a clear nerve. Zethu’s eyes bored into him. She stood up from the booth suddenly, knocking back the rest of the drink in one go. 

“So that’s it? We good?” She barked. 

“If you want my opinion,” Cara continued, ignoring the outburst. “He’ll most likely being near the tech centers. No idea what he did after the war, but he’s got no reason to run from the Republic. My best guess is he’s still working for them doing much the same he always did. Running codes, and intel on any remnants of the Empire in the Coreworlds. He probably knows you’re coming. If a hit was put out, stuff like that has a way of making its way down the line.”

“Thanks,” Din said, sliding out of the booth. “Oh and one last thing. Could you watch after the kid?”

“You know I’m no good with that kid stuff,” Cara shook her head. 

“C’mon. It would only be temporary. Besides it likes you.”

She gave a grunt that Din took for a reluctant yes. Zethu was quiet as they left the tavern, as if she was still waiting for the ambush. “You don’t have to do this,” Din didn’t know why he said that, maybe her discomfort was annoying him. 

She looked at him as if he was crazy. “I don’t much care one way or the other. It’ll give me some extra credits.”

“You care that little for your own people?”

“They care little enough for me,” she tossed her hair out of her eyes as a hot wind from the lava fields blew through the outpost. “Why? You stupid loyal to every Mandalorian you run into? Not that there are many these days.”

 Din put out a steadying hand on Cara’s shoulder even as the urge to punch the merc rose in his blood. Zethu looked completely unphased. “I look out for myself. I don’t mind being judged for it, because it’s the truth and am still alive because of it.” She stuffed her hands back into her pockets and turned her back on the both of them, heading for her ship and called out over her shoulder. “Maybe I could have banded together with the rest of my kind, done some kind of grand stand against our Arkaninan overlords. That would have really shown ‘em, huh? Then I could be dead like the rest of your Mandalorians.”

“Better dying like a warrior than living like a coward.”

That stopped her cold. Din vaguely became aware that Cara was frantically asking what he was doing, but the blood was pounding in his ears. Zethu craned her head around, one colorless eye glaring at him through the shifting silver of her hair. “I’m not a coward.”

Din wanted to laugh at that. Any honorless, kin-slaying, petty murderer like her was a coward. She gave him no time for any retorts. That vornskr snarl was back on her face as she drew both her vibroblades and launched herself at him. Din easily dodged out of the way seeing Cara draw her blaster. “No!” he managed to shout. “She’s mine.”

He’d had enough. No more truces, no more assignments, more looking over his shoulder for a cowardly merc who always managed to turn tail when they could face off in a fight. He’d kill her now. She wore no armor but her crimson leather jacket and pilot’s gear. She had a blaster on her hip but favored her blades. Smart. The beskar would catch most of her shots anyway. All he had to do was outlast her onslaught. 

And, stars, she was fast! She charged him without a thought, feigning to the left before rising like a lightning strike, her blade clanged against his pauldron. “I’ve killed a lot of people before,” she hissed as she passed him, “but never a Mandalorian.”

A blow to her stomach sent her skidding across the dust. A crowd was forming and Cara stood, grim-faced on the sidelines. The punch didn’t keep the merc down for long. Din somersaulted under her blade swing and cracked another punch to her jaw. She fell backwards, but too late, it was a controlled move. She pulled into a cartwheel, and Din actually felt a red line of pain where her blade nicked between his pauldron and vambrace.

They stood sizing one another up, walking circles around the other. A thin trickle of blood trailed down Zethu’s lips and she looked in satisfaction and the red dripping onto his beskar. He was going to wipe that look off her spacescum face. But, Din had to admit as she readied herself for another strike, perhaps this wasn’t going to be as easy as he first thought.

***

Breathe.

Din swung a punch and sent Zethu to her knees. 

Just keep breathing. 

Exhaustion had burrowed down deep into every bone in his body. Blood dripped from numerous gashes where Zethu’s blade had found gaps in his amor. The merc stood ragged before him, circling, blood falling into the dust, lurid purple bruises splashed across her albino skin. She ran at him. Din gritted his teeth as her blade tore another opening in his skin, but she was losing ground. He grabbed her, glove wrapped around her face and head and slammed her into the dirt, bringing his vambrace into her chest. Air wheezed from Zethu’s lungs and Din was certain he felt a rib give against his armor. He followed it up with a downward strike of his own vibroblade, but he struck only hard ground as she rolled to the side. 

When they had started this brawl the sun had been high in the sky. Now darkness was closing in on the outpost. Why didn’t she stay down? Zethu vaulted back onto her feet, one hand lightly pressed against her injured rib cage. Determination show through her eyes and Din found himself regarding her as a wild animal. Survival was the only thing that mattered. And bringing down her prey. He remember her in the caves on Akiva after the earthquake. Bloodied, broken, and still ready to face him in a fight at the end of the tunnel. 

She tried another run at him, but Din lay cover with a blast of fire from his flamethrower causing Zethu to stagger back away from the heat. That was probably the last of the fuel. He stared across the fighting pit they had created to see where his blaster lay after Zethu and scrambled like a mad creature to disarm him. 

As if sensing his next move Zeth charged him before he could roll to grab his blaster. With a surge of unexpected strength she practically leapt on him, gripping him on either side of his neck before smashing her own head into his helmet. Din heard the sickening crunch as Zethu’s nose broke. Blood consumed his vision, and with a weak laugh Zethu swiped one hand across the blood, marring his visor entirely.

Din stumbled backward, blinded. Was she crazy? Using her own blood to gain the advantage? If he wasn’t the direct target of Zethu’s wrath he might have even found the move admirable. His world had gone entirely red. He could see the silhouette of his enemy standing in front of him even if he could not make out much more than her legs. He tried to frantically wipe the blood clear of his vision but his efforts didn’t help much. “Gotcha, Mando,” Zethu gurgled as he was grabbed roughly by the throat and slammed up against a wall. 

Just because he was blind didn’t mean he was helpless. Din backhanded wildly and was rewarded with a solid impact and a thin cry. He hoped he had hit her broken nose. Relying on touch instead of sight, he reached out and grabbed Zethu by the collar of her jacket before she could fall away from him. He let the momentum carry him down onto the ground, pinning her underneath him.

For a heartbeat there was just the sound both their ragged breathing. Din could not see her fully, the parts that he could bathed her in a bloody red light. “You’re dead, Offshoot,” he panted, pressing his blade to her throat. 

“So are you.”

That was when he felt the sharp tip of a vibroblade nudge just under his breastplate. He wouldn’t have time to pull back, even if he cut her cleanly across the throat she’d still have half a second reaction to stab him through the gut. Din’s eyes went wide. He heard something echo with a crack and he half expected to feel pain blossom through him. But it never came. The thin pinprick of the vibroblade left him as Zethu’s arm went limp and flopped into the dust. 

Din looked up, startled to see Cara Dun standing over them both, her rifle parallel with Zethu’s head as the merc lay unconscious. “I had just about enough of that,” she said.

He pulled himself off of Zethu, sitting backwards on the ground, breathless. He tried to summon up the words to...what? Thank his friend? Taunt her for interrupting his fight? His vision swam and not from the blood obscuring his visor. Every gash and cut from Zethu’s knife throbbed with sudden agony as the adrenaline left him. He collapsed backwards and let darkness overtake him. 

***

She was swimming through a thick, black, inky ocean. Somewhere far above Zethu felt the idea of pain in all of her limbs. Her face felt like it was on fire, but down here in the depths it was muted. She took a deep breath through heavy lungs, knives stabbed into her as her chest rose and fell. 

That was when she felt it. 

She wasn’t certain what it was, just that she was not alone here in the dark. It was far off, distant, but she felt it like a thrumming in her bones, like a ringing in her ears. And whatever it was, it had noticed her. 

And it was coming. 

Zethu awoke with a jolt and immediately wished she hadn’t moved. Pain crashed over her in sudden waves. She blinked open eyes in a room that was entirely too bright for its own good even with the one window. She tried to sit up and regretted it. Her ribs screamed in pain even with the bacta patch draped across them. Her face too, she pinched the patch across the bridge. Someone at least had set the break.

Memories of the fight came flooding back. If she was alive then that would mean—! She tried to roll over off the cot, but was stopped by a familiar figure sitting up in a chair by the door. 

“Hey there.” 

The Mandalorian’s voice was a mockery of her own first greeting towards him and Zethu flopped back onto the cot with a disappointed sigh. “You’re still alive?”

“Just lucky that way.”

She could see bandages poking out from under the beskar. There was no way he was in better shape than she was. Zethu groaned again as she made herself sit up to spite him. “So now what?” just that amount of energy left her drained. “You here to finish the job?”

He regarded in silence and Zethu did not like his scrutiny. She couldn’t see his damn face, but she didn’t need to. What the hell was up with this man? Most marks wouldn’t hesitate to get the drop on their hunters like this. She was without weapons, without strength, and totally helpless. All he had to do was pull the trigger on one of his blaster, strangle her with one hand, stab her in the heart, and it would be over. 

“Why didn’t you use your blaster?” he asked, breaking the tense silence. 

“What?” If this was his way of mocking her, she didn’t care—she’d make herself be ready for round two if she had to. 

“In the fight. You had your blaster. All you needed to do was use it once you closed the gap between us in the fight. Why didn’t you?”

Zethu raised an eyebrow. “Any fool can shoot a blaster. You called me a coward. When I kill you, Mando, I’ll do it with my bare hands.”

He rose from his chair and Zethu’s breathing picked up. There was no escape. She didn’t have enough energy to get to her feet no matter how much she willed her legs to work. She didn’t want to die like this. She didn’t want to die at all. The Mandalorian stalked over to her bedside and she closed her eyes with a hiss. If this was going to happen she hoped it was quick. 

A weight fell upon her injured chest and Zethu blinked open her eyes to see that the Mandalorian had placed her two vibroblades atop her. Bewildered she looked up into that masked face. “Why?”

“You’re not a coward, Zethu Desh. Rest. We’re leaving for Coruscant tomorrow at first light,” he paused as he made his way to the doorway, turning back to face her. “Don’t die before I get a chance to kill you again.”

Then he just...left her. Unharmed. Zethu’s breathing steadied as she collected the blades. She couldn’t, for the life of her, understand this particular mark. He was...honorable, she grudgingly admitted to herself. And no one had gone toe-to-toe with her in a ring for as long as he had. The memory of his blade at her throat rubbed uncomfortably against her. He had nearly had her. Yet, how was she still alive? 

The thought of his pity or mercy made her distinctly angry. She had no time for either. Prey was prey. It was kill or be killed in this galaxy and if that fool Mandalorian was thinking he could get the drop on her he had another thing coming. 

She rubbed the hilt of her blades together, frowning. Something felt off. The weight from one of the blades was heavier than they should have been. She examined the odd vibroblade and felt a leaden weight crash into her stomach. It wasn’t her knife that he had given back to her.

It was the Mandalorian’s.