#why is ducks with flower hats so world shattering?

[riversebb]

if i had ducks(and/or other domesti-fowl). and those ducks happened to be inclined to participate. i would put little flowers on top of their little heads like little hats.

[ao3usertaliax]

Rating: G Word Count: 1204 Summary: Larry and Geeta meet for the first time, in the depths of Area Zero. Larry doesn't want to be here. (Larry is Giratina AU)

XXX

Larry is Normal. He wakes up at a normal hour of five AM. He wears a normal suit, complete with a normal tie. (Until the future where Geeta “gifts” him the Flying tie, of course. It would be abnormal to refuse without a good excuse.) He carries a normal briefcase engraved with his normal name to finish off the normal look. He orders normal rice balls when on break from his normal job. He retires for the evening in a normal bed inside a normal apartment.

Larry is Normal. And he’s worked exceptionally hard to keep it that way.

Which is why it’s exceptionally frustrating that the Distortion World sees fit to spit him out in the most abnormal situations.

He almost thinks he’s been stranded in the Distortion World, when he blinks into a cavern studded with glimmering crystals and lavender-and-indigo flowers. But there are too many pokémon—Zweilous and Gargnacl—and the waterfalls all flow in the same direction, down to a pool deep below. 

If he’s in the real world, though, what is the strange energy this cavern’s crystals are emitting…?

His hand reaches towards one, but he quickly snatches it back. He’s Normal. Arceus—curse Them—only knows what touching a magical crystal would do to his physiology. The Griseous Core is the only gem he’s had a reaction to in the past, but now’s no time to be careless.

“If I receive a pay cut for this…” he mumbles to himself, not daring to voice his greater fear. 

He really, really doesn’t want to get fired again.

Holding a job has been one of the strangest normal things to adjust to. It’s taken him several tries to find a decently-paying career where employers won’t question his sudden disappearances or dubious history. The challenge was almost enough to put him off from this facade. 

If he’s managed that, surely he can manage to escape wherever he’s landed this time.

He closes his eyes, blocking out the distracting aura of the crystals. He needs to focus if he’s going to get home without losing too much time. Normally, he would have Staravia fly him out of whatever situation his curse landed him in, but that isn’t an option this far underground.

He takes a deep breath. It’s harder in this form, but he can still feel it—the shadows stretching out from beneath his feet. Not Normal at all.

But, before he can step into the lengthening darkness—

“Bisharp, Iron Head!” 

A woman’s voice shatters his focus. He ducks behind a crystal before remembering that it’s clear enough to see through. His cheeks warm with embarrassment.

Normal. I’m Normal.

It’s just as well. The long-haired woman hasn’t noticed him, it seems. She’s pointing her pokémon towards… one of the flowers on the wall? 

No, he was mistaken. The “flower” is a pokémon, one he’s never seen before. Arceus has had an eternity to run out of creativity, Larry guesses.

The pokémon’s petals unfurl in order for it to deflect Bisharp with a powerful beam attack. …Alright, hat’s a bit more creative than Larry gave Arceus credit for.

Larry stands back, captivated by the sight. It isn’t normal in the slightest, but… he can’t help being intrigued by pokémon battles. Especially now that he’s on this side of them. 

At first, it had been disconcerting, but he couldn’t appear normal in this world without having at least one pokémon partner. So he’d asked a Starly to accompany him before leaving Sinnoh. It was nice to have one friend who could understand him perfectly, and who didn’t judge him in his embarrassing early attempts at being Normal.

“Not this time,” the woman says evenly when the flower pokémon releases a spray of toxic spikes.

Though he’s not too close, Larry hops back. Unlike Bisharp, neither of his types are immune to poison.

“Hmm?” The woman looks over her shoulder at the sound of his soles on the stone.

Drat. He’s too good at being normal. This would’ve been a useful time to have ghost-light steps.

She sees him, of course. Judging by the shock on her face, him being here is Not Normal. Before he can come up with an explanation, though, she stiffens her posture and begins talking.

“Pardon me. I am here by request of Professor Sada. In preparation for her research team, the area must be cleared of hazards. My work is not yet complete, as you can see.” She gestures to the pokémon she’s fighting.

Larry frowns. He is not familiar with a Professor Sada, but at least this woman isn’t questioning his presence here. 

“Now if you will excuse me, I must—Bisharp?” Worry lines the woman’s dark face as she turns back to her pokémon. 

The flower creature’s hits are barely scratching the Bisharp’s steel exterior. Still, it’s strange that the Bisharp isn’t even bothering to dodge. Larry angles his head to listen.

“My Queen—my movements, they have been—” Bisharp growls while trying to tug his legs free of the stone floor.

Oh. 

Guilt flushes Larry’s face. He’ll have to work on suppressing that normal reaction.

“Bisharp, are you…? No, it can’t have Arena Trap…” The woman’s brow furrows. “Can you use Iron Head?”

Bisharp tries to obey. His feet are still trapped, but the flower pokémon floats close enough to be nicked by the short-ranged headbutt.

“Stranger. Do you see this?” she asks Larry. 

Her dark blue eyes are too piercing, her irises too round. Is that normal?

“I see your pokémon is trapped.” He tries to look innocent. As innocent as he can in a strange place, with strange pokémon, observing a strange phenomenon. 

A phenomenon that’s most likely his fault.

“We should retreat,” Larry says, before clearing his throat. “Ahem. I will retreat. You can do what you want.”

More of the flower pokémon are circling around, and while Bisharp may resist their rock-type moves, Staravia won’t. Besides, he doesn’t need to get roped into whatever this mess is.

“Curious… I will have to inform the Professors about this. Though it would not hurt to have proof.”

Larry freezes, but she just tosses an Ultra Ball at the flower pokémon. If she wants to blame the Distortion on it, then he won’t argue, even if he does feel guilty still. He’s been blamed for far worse without reason.

The ball shakes once. Twice. Three times—

And the earth shifts, throwing his vision askew. It’s as if he’s staring through the transparent earth, layers and layers of crystal caverns stretching above and below. 

It might’ve been beautiful, if it weren’t so Abnormal.

“What in the—?” The woman’s gasp unfortunately confirms that the Distortion isn’t limited to his point of view.

But it’s an opening. The Distortion World calls out to him, and he flees back through it like the coward he is. Hopefully she’ll assume he was just a figment of her imagination, or of whatever “glitch” befell her Bisharp. Regardless, he’s unlikely to see her again. He has worse problems to deal with.

Like appearing directly in front of his boss, who’s staring at him with a mix of confusion and horror. 

He sighs, heavy and long. So much for keeping this job.

[the-broken-truth]

The dimitrescus, Donna and Mother Miranda x 👨 reader. Reaction when reader is working out shirtless? (Love your works by the way, can't stop reading all of it!💕)

Broken Truth (Looks at Ask): This is interesting...LET'S GO!!!

- Alcina Dimitrescu -

Alcina was walking around the castle, looking for her lover.

When she woke up - he was not in bed.

When she went to the kitchen - he was not there either.

She searched the garden (He loved tending to the flowers), the library (He would read there with Bela), the armory (Daniela loved showing her father figure all the weapons she had), and the study (He would pat with Cassandra) - he was not in any of those places and none of the girls had seen him.

Then she remembered that her lover had been having a hard time lately when Mother Miranda commented that he didn't look like much and wasn't worthy of being by Alcina's Side.

He spent most of his money on him - none of Alcina's - to purchase metal contraptions to 'become worthy of his wife'.

He had been in that room for hours on end for about 5 months now.

'He might be in there.' Alcina wondered as continued down the hall to her Husband's Workout Room.

The closer she got to the room - the door was open and the light was on the room - the sound of grunting and metal clanking together got louder and louder.

She ducked her head a bit and walked into the room - holding her hat to make sure it didn't fall off - and rose to her full height. She opened her mouth the speak but once her sight was no longer obscured by the brim of her hat, her jaw dropped, her face began to warm up, and her body tingled.

Before her - her husband stood: his back was to her and he was wearing nothing except his boxers - his very tight boxes; she would see his defined butt and it was amazing.

In his hands were large weights that he lifted and flexed his muscles - Alcina could see every muscle flex.

His skin was shining with sweat and the smell of his musk was driving Alcina crazy - she wanted to jump his bones. So very bad.

What she didn't know was that her beloved had developed a sense to detect her and knew she was watching him...so he decided to tease his Lady and Mistress.

He dropped the weights in his hands and raised one of them opened palmed to the sky before summer suiting forward and landing on that hand to where his feet were pointing to the ceiling before beginning his set of one-handed push-ups. This time - facing her.

Alcina's eyes widened at her lover's chiseled body - the drops of sweat flowing through the cracks of his abs and biceps...then she made the mistake of looking up and saw the large bulge in his tight underwear.

That's it - she had enough.

"Beloved." She called out, making the man look at her with a smirk - her face was bright red and she was biting her bottom lip.

"Alcina, My Love. When did you arrive?" He asked faking confusion.

"That doesn't matter. I need you to accompany me to our bed chambers. Now."

"Our Bed Chambers?" The man asked as he flipped him to stand upright. "It is breakfast time, is it not?" He raised an eyebrow as he walked closer to the tall woman - his scent flooding her nose.

"Well..." Her eyes glowed dangerously, "I'm having Blood Sausage for breakfast."

She grabbed his wrist and marched to their room with him in tow, locking the door, and refused to leave that room until she was pregnant with the Latest Dimitrescu Spawn.

- Bela Dimitrescu -

Bela was bored and in need of some cuddles so she went looking for her lover - the only man-thing her mother and sisters approved of.

She looked at the grandfather clock and saw it as around 9:45 - her lover would be in his workout room to burn off any extra energy before showering and going to bed.

She floated down the hall to her husband's workout room and walked into the room without knocking - it was her man and she could do whatever she wanted regarding him.

What she wasn't prepared for was the sight on the other side of that door.

Her Husband was boxing with the sandbag.

In nothing but his boxers.

She could see everything - from the singular drops of sweat that ran down his sculpted body to every single flex of muscle with every move he made.

If the sight didn't have her done it - it was his smell.

The room was filled with the smell of musk that he was giving off and it was intoxicating - it radiated power and it was making her hungry.

"Darling?" His deep voice returned her from her fantasies of all the ways she wanted him to rock her world but the fact she could see his imprint from his shorts sent her mind back into the gutter. "Bela, is there something wrong?"

"Do you always...working out like this at night?" She questioned as she walked slowly to her man.

"Yes, it's hard to move in clothes; I keep my boxers on just make sure I don't scar any maids."

"Scar Them?" Bela tilted her head with a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well...the one time I worked out naked, a maid came in without knocking and she looked like she saw a ghost."

Bela was pissed.

"A maid saw you naked?!" She hissed. "Where is that harlot?!"

"Your Mother turned her into wine 3 nights ago."

'Good, I won't have to kill her myself. As for you..."

"NGH!" He clenched his teeth as Bela's hand wrapped around his throbbing manhood.

"You're going to learn to lock your door when in this room...and punishment for failing to inform me about that whore."

The Next Morning - Bela & [Y/N] weren't at breakfast.

- Cassandra Dimitrescu -

Cassandra would already be with her beloved because they were each others' sparring partners.

Cassandra would be doing push-ups while her beloved would be jumping rope.

She would look at him and smirk - she loved the way his body moved during intense workouts and the smell he gave off was perfect; it made her hungrier and hungrier with each passing moment.

When it would be time for the spar - her lover would use one arm to test himself more than he needs to for he wanted to be worthy of dating a Dimitrescu Daughter.

While sparring - Cassandra would try to pin him and have her ay with him - whether that would be drinking his blood or having him devour her like a full course meal.

This time - it was different.

She threw a punch at him but it was grabbed by his free arm and used against her to wrap around her neck, once he was behind her, he used his knees to the back of hers to make her fall to them and then lay on the mat.

Once his other hand was free, it snaked around her body and into her shirt, where it grabbed and twisted one of her nipples - making the girl squirm under him.

"D...Darling? What are you...?" She began but was cut off when his teeth locked into her neck.

"Every time we train, you make me submit to you. This time - you're mine, Cassandra Dimitrescu."

And his was exactly what he made her.

Daniela walked down the hall looking for her sister when she heard moaning coming from behind the door leading to the training room - she leaned in to listen and went to find her mother.

"Mother?"

"Yes, Dear?" Alcina asked as she looked up from the book she was reading.

"Why didn't you tell us Daddy was coming to visit & he brought presents?"

"Darling, you don't have a father."

"Then why did I hear Cassandra saying "More, Daddy! More!" in the training room?"

Alcina went wide-eyed as the glass in her hand shattered and the one thing she thought was...

'I'm too young for grandkids...'

- Daniela Dimitrescu -

CHOMP!!

"OW!!!"

She smelled something delicious and followed that smell to her lover's training room and found him completely naked with the exception of his undergarments, shadow boxing himself.

He looked like a full snack with the sweat making his body glaze and his muscles looking like beefcakes - he was just begging to be bitten and that's exactly what she did.

"Daniela? What was that for?" He asked her as he looked over his shoulder at his wife - who was clinging to his back like a koala with her fangs in his shoulder blade.

"I couldn't help it, love. Your scent was driving me crazy and I was in the mood for a snack." Daniela tried to say but her fangs were still in his skin.

"Dani, I was training, and as much as I would move to be your mid-morning meal; I need to get back at it if I want to keep the form you love so much."

"I love you for who you are - the body is just a plus. I don't want you to train, I want you to take me to bed and cuddle me."

"But..."

"Do you love me?" Dani asked.

"Yes, without a doubt." He answered.

"Would you do anything for me?" She asked again.

"Without question." He said.

"Then I want you to stop training and take me to our bedroom so that we can cuddle and make little vamp-babies."

"...Okay."

- Donna Beneviento -

Donna would be walking around Beneviento Manor - looking for the man who stole her heart. Who accepted her and her dolls and loved them all equally.

He wasn't in his normal spots but she did remember that he recently got interested in getting in better shape and asked her if there was anywhere in Beneviento Manor she would be alright with him making it into a workout room - she gave him one of the rooms on one of the floors under the house floor.

Donna walked down the hall without Angie as she followed the sounds of something grunting in effort echoing down the hall's walls.

She reached the opened room but didn't want to just walk in and disturb her love so she peeked around the corner and her eye widened while she let a gaspy moan escape her lips,

Her lover was laying on the weight bench with a long metal bar in his large hands - giant iron circles on each end.

She looked closer at the circles - 500 Pounds. That made her shiver - she knew he was strong but to be able to bench that much was...alluring.

She looked at his shining skin.

Listening to her man's grunts with each lift of the bar.

The define lines in his muscles with each movement he made.

It made her hot. She rubbed her legs together before she hid behind the wall completely and pressed her forehead against the cold wall.

She needed to get a hold of herself - she was like she had no control of herself but when she was around him, it was like she forgot all she was and wanted nothing more than her man.

She was so focused on keeping herself from relieving herself right then and there that she didn't notice she was no longer alone until a familiar weight pressed against her back and she was completely pressed against the wall.

"It looks like you have a very serious itch, My Love." his voice growled as his hand moved closer and closer to her throbbing organ.

"I...I can explain..." She blushed in her weak, gasping voice; she was embarrassed but having her lover so close with his body radiating power made her weak.

"Let me...help you with that, My Lady." He growled before one hand reached the buttons on the top of her dress and the other was cupping her womanhood while she bit her lip in hopes of being silent.

A few moments later - he had her on that same bench that was still drenched in his sweat and scent, her hands gripping the metal poles that held the long rod over her head' sweat dripping from her body as she was stretched apart.

She was pleading for him to continue to Beneviento Bloodline with her.

Begging him to make her family's bloodline stronger than it ever was before.

Crying for him to make her a mother.

Who was he to deny his lady what she wished?

- Mother Miranda -

Miranda stood n her lab, looking at the results from the latest experiment and possible host for Eva but once again - it wasn't good enough and it makes her angry.

Once again - so close but so far away.

"Miranda? Love?" A familiar male voice called out to her.

She looked up at was met with the shirtless, bare-chested, sweaty body that was the man she entrusted her heart to.

He stood there in the doorway with a towel around his neck while one hand used an edge of the towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

The Village Leader blushed but then looked away from him to keep from looking upon her face.

"[Y/N]. Darling. I thought we talked about you walking around the lair like that. It's rather...distracting." She said.

"I do hope you'll forgive me but I sensed that something was bothering you and I wanted to make sure you were alright." The man said as he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her stomach and pulling her back into his bare chest.

"Your...concern for me is welcomed, Darling, but I must return to work. Please, do prepare yourself for dinner; I shall be down in a moment." Miranda said as she reached for a book, only to her lover's hand to stop her.

"Miranda." He turned her to face him - worry and compassion in his eyes. "You've been working on this for over a week straight; you haven't taken any time for yourself...or for me." He was sad - afraid his lover had forgotten about him.

"My Love, I'm sorry I have made you feel this way but...I'm so close, Darling. I can return her to us and...MPH!" She was cut off by a deep kiss. She melted into it before he pulled away from her.

"Enough of this for one night, My Love. Let me take care of you...and make you see you don't need to Cadou for a child. Just...me" He kissed her again and she wrapped her arms around him; submitting to his command and desire.

It would be a year later that Miranda would invite the Lords to meet Eva and Ethan Winters arrived in the village - only for his wife and child to be given back to him and escorted out of the village; never to be seen again.

[grim-faux]

2 _ 22 _ A Flawless Order  

First

 The factory was alive. Parts and sections once cold and silent, now howled with the intent of struggling through a monotonous existence in a world that would forsaken it. After however many years it lulled since the contraption ground into inactivity, it is remarkable that the place still mostly worked. From within the bowls of the construction arose indignant grinding and screeching, the whole of the operation not entirely seamless. It might yet come undone at the seams and rip itself apart.

 For the time, he supposed, the child was on some sort of mission. Or something. It was too much to hope that the boy was not in the heart of a prelude to a disaster.

 Hunched awkwardly in the doorway to the office, the Thin Man scrutinized the reverberating clashing and mincing with a raised brow. He wondered what the factory produced… or what it once created. Certainly not televisions. The Signal Tower provided those. He did feel an inkling of sympathy for the lost children.

 The pummeling din dampened a great deal when he shut the door. It was far too much activity, energy, such a… racket. He would wait for now, let the child fulfill his compulsion for exploration. When the kid was ready, he would resurface. That’s how this usually worked.

 Beside the little package of food tossed onto the desk, an intercom receiver and control pad lay embedded in the dusty surface. It didn’t matter if the device forgot its purpose, could no longer carry the current and fulfill its role. For so long the device has been inert, lonely and neglected.

 He swept his hand over the tarnished panel, the lights beside the scribbled slots blinked. The static thrummed, physically manifesting in vibrating particles.

 “M͘҉͟o̡͡no͞,” he projected, through the receiver. From beyond the thick cinderblock wall, his projected call reverberated with a metallic echo. The Thin Man sat at the desk and bent forward, as if he needed to speek directly into the contraption. “P̧a̶gi̢͢n̷̡͞g̡̕͠ ̛M̴o͘͡n̸͝o͢.̵ ̵̨̕W͏̢͝o͢u͠l͟d҉͡ ͜Yo̢͜u̡ Has͠t̸̵̸e̶̸n̢ ̶̕Y͞o͝u͞͏r̴̶͟ ̶C͏u̷̶r̸r͟e̡nt͟ Ą͡cti̢v̴͝i̴̕͝t̴͞ies̴͏,̴͢ A̧n҉d̸ R͟e͟p͢o̴͡r̢̧t͘͜ To҉ ̸̷T̸҉h̢e͏̨ ͠Ma̸͢͞n͜a͏̢ger̶̨’̵s͜ ͠O̢̡ff͠i̸c҉҉ę.̷”

 Perhaps the child would get a kick out of that. Or not. It might remind the boy that he was still waiting. Alas, some things never changed.

 __

 On the other side of the factory, or more to the middle, or off center of the near center.

 The strange flower growing from the cement pillar garbled some speek. Mono paused on the catwalk and gave it his attention, but hesitantly. Only because the flower was unusual and sounded like the Thin Man, but he wasn’t certain what it was saying. It was distorted. Also, why was the flower speek? Trick? Did flower catch the Thin Man?

 For a while he stared down from his perch with his hands on his knees, tilting his head. It couldn’t get him from up here, he thinks. The flower didn’t say anything else, but maybe he wasn’t moving. Some nasties only reacted to movement. It didn’t know where he was.

 He pushed up into standing and hurried away, checking along the metal grate for something he could lift. Some pieces of metal, a little bit of pipe (too small), this ratty old glove. He spied a canister a little ahead, and rushed to snag that. Racing back over to the flower, he chucked the canister off the platform and managed to knock the whole funnel off the wall. Direct hit!

 On a path below choked by vapor, emerged the mechanic, glaring down at the shattered flower spread across the ground.  

 Yeek!

 Mono ducked back a step, but it was meaningless. The Mechanic turned its glare upward, and if he could easily see the creature below through the grate, then there was a good chance it saw him as well. This suspicion was confirmed when the heavy clatter of boots began pounding below, a snort trumpeted out. A ladder was somewhere down there, but he didn’t remember specifics. He took off on the walkway in the direction he had initially been going, gaze sifting for a way down or cover. The catwalk was tol, and ahead the rail bent aside.

 An earthquake shook the surface beneath his feet and he nearly lost his balance; walking on the uneven and porous surface was challenging, now he was at a full dash with a boulder rebounding across the floor. If that wasn’t enough, a bleating crack tore out and a large metal tool smashed against the rail. Right above his head!

 Mono stumbled and grabbed for his hat. Though the metal piece was quite large and very solid, it’s impact would easily scatter him to the furthest corners of the city. Fortunately, it ricocheted over the handrail and zipped out of sight. Far off into the factory.

 Plenty more where that came from.

 Mono grabbed the support bar at the bend of the walkway, striving not to lose speed as he whipped around onto the new path. He leapt a sequence of steps and roughly hit the bottom rung, but with a little grumble recovered and stole back his pace.

 Steam gushed and the machinery squealed, heaving pistons thrummed around him; it was hard to breath with how thick the air was. He wasn’t used to being so heated through, and the sauna seeped into his lungs, choking out his ragged breaths.

 Nonetheless, his pace never faltered. Not even when a fuse clattered against the floor, too near and much too loud. The crash splint his hearing, and suddenly the rumbling groan of the factory became distant. The vibrations through the platform rattled up his thin legs, threatening to splinter his bones right inside his body. If… he had bones, like Her, that is. That was still a mystery....

 The Mechanic is catching up. It’s catching up, it’s pace quickened as it closed on its quarry. A bellowing cough tore through the space between them, the force of it blunted by Mono’s impaired hearing. But he can feel it; the rocketing footfalls thrashing his swift but shorter strides. The creature has something in its clutch, he’s certain. He can’t see, won’t look – Flee! It’s right on top of him, but hasn’t decided if it should kill outright or maim him beyond recovery.

 Off the side from the platform, a section of moving parts of the machine lumber methodically through their mindless operation. Mono doesn’t second guess the leap and dives off the side, aimed for one of the gears a little below. As he falls and his coat swooped around him, the dilemma of his timing surged through his mind.

 Was too soon? Too late? Low. But is far!

 Nonetheless, he braced his body for the impact trusting he had momentum. He dropped short, his fingertips barely catching grip of the eroded tooth of a gear. It swings upward in its clockwise motion, carrying its feathery cargo. Mono heaved up, trying to fit himself into the dip before the other tooth of the reversed gear can clench—

 The tool swatted against the gear, an inch beneath Mono’s toes. His fingers popped loose, and he fell, first smacking his shoulder against a bolt in the center of the gear, then spiraling three or five full turns in his terrible descent. Somewhere in the vortex of his plunge he smashed into a corroded slate, with wires strapped across the length. In a panic he grappled for a hold, but the steam and grease wouldn’t permit anchorage. He skid backwards reaching still, and suddenly nothings beneath him….

 Falling!

 He crashed to the floor at last, landing somewhere beneath a canopy of winding pipes. Without allowing a brief to recover, no he shoved himself upright and scrambled for better protection among the sprawling networks. In some patches the pipes have a base extended to the cement, massive bolts skewer a plate in place. These clusters Mono shuffled around or beneath when he could, some expelled waves of heat. Other pipe bundles have a lattice frame built around them, while others have caved over time. Patches of light from the factory ceiling gleamed down, he can see enough to get around without several concussions.

 Little by little, his hearing began recovering from the calamity it endured. The wheezing of machine guts and rattle of something within the pipes, pilfered through his muddled senses. It wasn’t totally restored, everything was more off and he couldn’t recall how booming the place was before the short reprieve.

 His musing is abruptly shattered when a ragged gloved-hand stuffed down into a space of the pipes, not far from where he was hunched low. For a moment he stalled and held his breath, holding perfectly still. Through the clog of machinery, he couldn’t figure where the Mechanic was now. The thick, cracked fingers clawed at the gravely floor, stretching and poking to their extent. Blindly.

 If move, see? Did see but didn’t grab? Miss?

 Mono wasn’t sure, but if he stayed put for much longer, an eye might peer into the opening. The blackened fingers still grappled at the vacant space, sensitive to movement, maybe even smell?

 Right when the hand began shuffling away, he made his move. Easing in closer to the pattern pressed into the dirty floor where the hand had clawed… he zipped by and kept going! Faster and picking up as much speed as he could, while in his half-blind-folded stance. Above somewhere a breathy snort carried over the racket of hissing pumps, the hammering boots trailed his swift trajectory somewhere to the side. The pockets of scarce radiance flickered against the swift dash of the Mechanic, bearing down on the knotted canopy but barred from an opening. 

 Mono didn’t chance a glance, all his focus maxed in diving in among the pipelines and anchors punched into the cement. He dropped and skid on his knees, upon reaching a barricade loaded with debris. He scrambled over himself, backtracking a few feet and took an opening in the mesh of a grate. The hole wasn’t large enough for him to push through, he barreled into the rusted metal and kept going when it vaporized with minimal resistance.

 A screech shot forth overhead, too close! The pipes arched above him caged him from the Mechanic and a clear reach – maybe-MAYBE it could squeeze its hand into a gap – but not quick enough to grab for the flighty Mono. He barely glimpsed up, only to check once where he was headed in relation to his cover.

 It was a little too late for him to register that the next opening he squeeze through led onto the open floor. Not even a pathway, but a break between one collision of mechanical limbs chugging away, and another Tetris of gears and hydraulics hammering away. All at once he was free of the overbearing heat, the steam evaporated and the confining embrace of the pipes shrugged away from his coat.

 Mono spun around, his dry coattail swept across his knees. Go! GoGoGo!

 He darted to the other side of the metal amalgamate, charging at an open portion beyond a narrow trench. A gasp of steam chuffed a meter or more off, but what caught his attention was the heap of melted skin and chains creeping through. When Mono locked view with it, the Mechanic dove toward him.

 With every ounce of his dash power, Mono peeled towards what he hoped was a narrow opening beneath the grate. He stuffed his shoulders through the fence by the path and tumbled, barely making it back to his feet as he galloped awkwardly toward the crevice. The fence slowed the Mechanic but a moment, he simply hopped it and was once more clomping towards his target, gasping on the acrid fumes.

 The opening was narrow and too small for the Mechanic to reach within. However, it was also very not long. It was a trap he would be cornered within, and Mono didn’t even hesitate to take in what was beyond the little tiny haven before he was hurtling out once more.

 For a second, the Mechanic was stumped. It grumbled to itself, voice becoming distant and distorted by the howling conveyor belt shrieking nearby. Mono was still in the open, but he had the chance to take in the area. Get out of sight for a wink. Enough to lose the grotesque focus of the creature.

 Thick cables rose high in his path, the eventual end fading from view high above. He stuffed himself between the narrow space, nearly swimming as he heaved through among available spaces. The narrow passage at least too miniscule for the Mechanics reach, quite possibly, beyond its vision. From elsewhere, a gruff bark announced its agitation. That still sounded too close.

 The floor gave out suddenly, and Mono lost his grip. He toppled down a steep incline into a lower basin beneath the chugging machinery. With haste he rolled over into a crouch and gave the area a sweep with his eyes, searching for movement through the veil of fumes and ripples of heat. The edge of his hat was saturated with sweat and his scalp drenched, be blinked at the salty sting in his eyes while he struggled to peer through the blur. He thought the Mechanic was nearby again, but it hadn’t made a sound yet. It could be prowling….

 Or could be sneaking up behind him!

 Nothing was near which should warrant any panic. Mono kept skimming his gaze around the thick pillars, swinging machinery, all-in-all, whatever was moving. Before rising to move, he pulled back his coat from his leg and checked his knee.

 A red blotch stained the pants. It didn’t hurt, or he couldn’t feel it. The cut might’ve reopened, but he did fall pretty hard. For now, he left it alone and made note on it. Worse would happen if he didn’t keep his wits, got distracted with pointless distractions.

 He weaved through a pillar thicket, following beside the steep slope he skid down. At times he climbed over a broken gear or other castoff equipment, such as pipes or a random tool – usually rusted and coated in thick grease that had a foul odor. Even the twisted body of a Viewer found its way down here, but likely toppled in from the ceiling. By now, the factory was so thick with fog he couldn’t see hardly anything beyond the spires of cranking metal limbs.

 Movement to the left, behind a stairway and a mesh of fortified scaffolding, spooked Mono into diving low. Even if he’s too far away and likely obscured by steam, he takes no chances and tracked the malicious shadowy patterns drifting beyond the barrier. He’s certain it is the Mechanic by instinct (and how his luck has been today), and abruptly began sifting among the pipes and dips in the floor. He detached from following the side of the slope and opted to cut directly through the corroded jungle, to the best of his ability. Down here there lay no landmarks, everything was the repeated meshing of mechanical portions gushing steam, twittering, or bellowing heat.

 It takes a while of his dodging and cautious navigation – every time a pipe hissed he tucked down and hid, even if he knew it wasn’t the Mechanic - but finally, he reached the other side of the dip and another ramp. With no indication of the Mechanic, and going a while without catching that horrible thunder of boots, he’s feeling much safer. Make no mistake, Mono knows he will never be safe – him or the Thin Man – with the creature sneaking around. It lost his trail, but that wouldn’t last.

 He had a hard time trying to scale up the slope, to the regular floor. It’s not that steep, but the surface has a fine swill of grease and dirt, and his feet are sort of wet too. The drama is actually tiring him out, and he relented for a while to pick his way further along and find a space that wasn’t so icky.

 The floor proves to be as much of a hinderance as the Mechanic. He probably doesn’t skid around on the flat surface, on account of the layer of dirt. He can’t climb up the slant by conventional means, but it’s okay. He climbed the side of a section of scaffolding near the slope, and from there gained enough height to leap off and nearly reach the edge. When he hit the peak of the incline, he flailed his arms but managed to flop forward. With a tremendous heave, he vaulted over the slant and stands on flat ground. At last!

 Where is he? This place is different, but it’s all the same factory. Vibrating wheels, tugging long conveyor belts above the floor – sometimes higher. Pipes with the little round things sprouting like weeds. He hiked along, crossing through an open path and went to the fence on the other side. So far no sign of the Mechanic; that is not good. He’s happy to not do the flee, but now where is it? Somewhere, watching?

 Mono turned his gaze up, and spun around as he moved among long metal vents stretched across the floor. One of the elevated pipes forced him to crouch down very low, the surface and air about it heated, and broiled his skin through his ever faithful coat. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this dry, he felt like a crispy leaf discarded from a tree.

 The boundary of the drumming machinery ebbed little by little, and he reached another fence. Nothing on the other side appeared out of place, aside from it looking much more open than a pathway. First confirming no movement among the fringe of heated vapor, he squeezed through the bars and examined the floor. A path was still open, but it was much wider and littered with ruble; from the ceiling, he thought. Through the haze above, something hovered, like a walkway, but higher. He followed a clear path towards a sequence of steps, which rose to a platform upon a cement block.

 From this new vantage point, he gave the portions of the surrounding factory a hurried scan. With his scout satisfied, he checked on the tall stand fitted to the platform. It was almost too high to reach, if not for the chair anchored beside it. He hoisted himself onto the ratty seat and from there leapt to the slanted surface.

 The corroded panel carried colored buttons, like a television remote. But many-many more. He accidentally knelt on one, and a rackety clunk rebounded from the fog above.

 Mono nearly jumped out of his skin when a chain thudded to the cement floor, generating a head-splintering crack, as well as forming a shallow crater in the path he had been on.

 LOUD!

 He fumbled on the controls, something he hit or knocked made the chain recoil by an inch or more off the floor. Not so loud, but still! Flee!

 Carefully he let himself down from the stand and took off, sliding beneath the rail and dropped to the gritty floor. He made it to the nearest fence and zipped through the bars, exactly when a racket of boots bombarded the scene. A little more cautious and not as panicked, Mono maneuvered low among the pipes and coils of wiring stretched beneath a layer of rotten, black texture.

 Out there and above, the boots descended into view from a ladder he previously overlooked. It was directly behind the podium he was clambering all over!

 In the dark he crouched, watching as the Mechanic plopped heavily to the floor and orbited the platform. Snuffling, grumbling to itself. It rubbed at the knob of its head beneath the cap. He hoped this time he didn’t drop anything, but he didn’t linger around to find out. He crammed himself between a narrow space among the wiring and kept going. Ever and always mindful when large pipes broiled, or a random space gushed a thin thread of steam.

 For a very long while, Mono lost track of the Mechanic. A feat which never ceased to make him nervous, but he kept silent and more astute of whatever he was handling, if he had to leap onto something else. It was mostly navigate the floor beneath the machine, and one other time he climbed a chain to reach the height of the catwalk which stretched above the factories convoluted shape. Somehow in all this exploration, he didn’t hear or see trace of the creature.

 He did find a doorway! More like a large bay entrance, it is something he recognized from a book. A supply entrance, for stuff to make goop! Or to send colorful boxes away. Whatever it opened up for, it was a way out to somewhere else. He found it by following a big path, which was a kind of a small road. But not like the chewed up roads that lay among the cities crumbling buildings.

 A lever to the side wall should open it, he thinks. The stretched cords go to the doors at the top. Unfortunately, when he dangled from the lever, nothing happened. It drooped under his weight, but… it needed a fuse.

 He let go and inspected the current fuse in the slot. It had nothing in it, he could tell by just the feel of it. Mono had hoped he was wrong, but no. Another fuse had to be around, a good one. Maybe he could take the one that awoke the factory.

 But how far away was that? And dragging it, among the ruble and collapse? With the Mechanic lurking? That would be hard, if not disastrous. He’d keep the option open and try to find his way back, but the course encircling the factory was not without hazards. The whereabouts of this door remained a mystery, but if he followed the wall as closely as he could, he might manage to make it back to the other fuse.

 In places, a portion of the wall caved in. Didn’t collapse entirely, but it was a wall within a wall, and not a way out. Some paths lay bloated with ruble, or parts from the machines interwoven pieces. With all the swirling fumes, he couldn’t see far, and didn’t know exactly… where he was, at any time. It was impossible to maintain a sense of direction, but a strong unknown power might be at work.

 When he emerged from a division among the pipes and twisting vents, he found an area of the wall intact. Which left his route open for exploration. What caught his interest immediately was an open door and what looked like a window, but the glass was dark. And there was no rain of boards on it. Some sort of clothing or uniforms, like what the Mechanic wore, lay draped on the floor and across a bench by the wall. Belts too, with a few tools. The Mechanic did have a fuse at one point, maybe he’d find one here!

 However, approaching the open doorway did spook him a bit. It reminded him… of the Hospital, for some reason. Maybe being alone, and it was dark inside. Did the lights not work? The fuse woke up the factory, but didn’t make the bay door work. The office light came on, because of the Thin Man.

 Mono blinked at the ceiling. Slowly he raised his hand toward one of the lamps dangling by a cord and tried to focus, on ‘asking’ the light to come on. Asking may not be right. The Thin Man didn’t do anything, he just stood there. How did—

 The first two bulbs burst in a firework of sparks, and Mono catapulted backwards. He scooted back on his butt scrambling to get up, but a sound – a not too scary noise – ensnared his attention. Poised by the bench, he looked around. It was very faint, beneath the howl of the gnashing and hiss of the factory itself. Sounded like metal-on-metal clink. He looked up.

 It was easy climbing up onto the bench, and there he found a box. A shut up box with two clasps on one side, and hinges, with a little strap atop. He leaned against the side and tapped.

 Nothing. Hmm. He shuffled and scooted the box, trying to get an easy reach at the clasps.

 Something inside moved! He heard it!

 Mono bounced back and crouched at the bench edge, glaring at the box. Something was inside that. Something alive. Maybe an animal. He kind of knew it wasn’t any sort of animal. But… it could be just an animal. It could.

 Inching over to the box once more, he shifted it around until he could view one of the clasps. Whatever was inside thumped around, the random settling of weight there or here made it difficult to really move the clunky thing. At last, he could fix a firm grip on one clasp and tugged it. This or that way, the thing was latched hard. Like glued to the container.

 With a sigh he stood back, and gave his area a good search over. He needed to stay focused, getting caught wouldn’t help anyone. He could always come back. If he got the— no, that was a dumb idea. Even without the Mechanic getting up to no good, it wouldn’t work. The worst could happen, and he didn’t want to think about that danger.

 Electing no grace, Mono just rammed his shoulder to the container and let it plunge to the floor. It wasn’t a far fall, but unexpected it would be. The clasps still faced him, and now faced skyward. He plopped down onto the front and pried at the sturdy latches. With every ounce of his mightiness, he braced his feet and knee to the surface and heaved! Shoved!

 Clack!

 One undone. He paused to catch himself and rally up for round two! Good thing he ate before leaving. With a firm struggle, grinding his teeth, nearly losing his grip twice, the second clasp sprang free. He toppled over the lock, a little winded and sore, but completely fine. He just needed to gather his wits.

 The lid was open, but he didn’t hear anything inside. He shuffled over to the opening and pried at the now visible crease, forcing it wider by a foot.

 “Hey,” he whispered. Maybe it was just an animal. Whatever, he wasn’t about to climb down in there. “Psst?” he hissed. “Hai?”

 At last, the whites of something eyes peered back up at him. Mono gazed in, and the contents of the box glared back. He shifted on the top of the box, forcing the lip up a bit more. The face was dirty and cheeks gaunt, he couldn’t make out the clothing. Rags, it seemed. The eyes felt so barren and accusatory, as if he invaded. Was it just the one kid?

 Must’ve been, because they shot out through the side of the container, away from Mono, and hit the floor running. As he recoiled backwards, he watched them veer off to the fence and the machinery beyond, until the figure faded in the choking haze.

 That wasn’t weird or anything, he reflected. Briefly, he checked around and within the container – only a peek – in case there were other kids. That… he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not. He settled on not thinking about it.

 At least he didn’t have the awkward dealing with a kid that wanted to pack. Not that he didn’t want to pack, it was confusing right now. It would’ve been nice to have someone to help, and keep an eye out. For a little while, at least. Until they didn’t want too anymore, or something like that. He would understand this time. Sure.

 Mono slipped off the container and ventured in the direction the other kid went. They likely found the space he came out of, but he needed to find another passage through the machinery. He would try and reach the office, and check if he missed any fuses.

 First however, he slipped between thick cement pillars and scooted into a substantially cluttered space, overburdened with pipes and thick vents. Sleep was impossible with the sweltering fumes and the churning machinery, but he needed to stop moving for a bit. Curl up by a pipe and rest his eyes, but no sleep. Not even half sleep.

 The kid bailing didn’t bother him. He understood. Getting locked up like that. Caught. Doomed. Kids helping other kids out of traps and cages wasn’t a thing. Risky business, and why bother? The kid got trapped, they were pretty bad at the one rule. Caught, you��re as good as dead. Some didn’t get as far as caged.

 He shuddered.

 All in the past. Focus here and now. He can’t let his guard down. He nestled down in his coat and pried one eye open, again searching the fog swirling among the cables. Clear. No movement. Alone. No one to watch. No second set of ears. No one to catch him if he fell. Just him.

 Mono.

Next

[dhiabori]

ARRIVAL ―

CW ― sensory overload; very lightly implied child abuse/neglect

TIMELINE ― after ‘sonya wakes up’

St. Petersburg is, apparently, hot. Sonya steps out of the train carriage, tucked into Pyotr’s side, and is hit by a wall of sticky heat. It’s made all the worse by the throng; he’s never seen so many people in the same place, so many black coats, so many bowler hats, so many footsteps. So large a mass of humanity, roiling in opposite directions.

Pushing through it feels like pushing through a storm, anxiety fluttering in his chest. He doesn’t understand how Pyotr navigates it so easily, when it’s all too much, too many sounds, too many sights — snatches of conversation, the patient died on the table, what are you bringing to Vova’s, oh it was hilarious, you should’ve been there. Cameos of people: a woman with a sharp, vicious laugh, a man with a scar. Each image only builds, and builds, mingling with the smell of smoke, the cooing of pigeons, he’s dizzy with it all —

And suddenly they’re out. Suddenly the light of St. Petersburg summer hits him, too bright, enveloping him in a moody city warmth that’s only marginally worse than the cloying station. Suddenly Pyotr’s bundling him into a troika, jumping up beside him and giving the driver an address.

St. Petersburg is hot, and it’s so grand it hurts to look at. Houses that look like wedding cakes, continental yellow with colonnaded facades; trade buildings, carved and imposing, glowering down from squares filled with people. When the lines of buildings part, Sonya can catch glimpses of the sea in the gaps between them. When he can bring himself to look up, squinting against sunlight that burns his eyes, he can see the spires of a fortress looming against the sulky summer sky.

Peter and Paul Fortress, Pyotr tells him — somewhere in the back of his mind, Sonya realises he’s been keeping a running commentary going, a litany of place names that sounds like a prayer. Almost all of them simply wash over him, subsumed by the city’s magnificence.

Eventually, the troika driver turns off onto a quieter road. The houses here are grand, swallowing up whole swathes of streetfront; you could maybe fit a whole village in just one of them.

“Here we are, little one,” Pyotr says, as the driver stops in front of one of the — palaces might not be the right word, but it isn’t far off. “Home.”

Sonya’s stomach twists a little as he’s handed down, fingers tightening around Pyotr’s hand. Whatever the building is, with its columns, its balconies, its deceptively salmon-pink exterior, it hardly feels like a home. 

If anything, the door reminds Sonya of a mouth as it opens; he almost freezes on the threshold, but Pyotr hustles him through.

Home. It’s blessedly cool inside, like a church — only the church from a shard of Sonya’s memories could come close to approximating the grandeur of the entrance hall. Smooth, lacquered wood beneath Sonya’s feet; red on the walls, laden with paintings and lavish tapestries. A twin staircase branches out, upwards, delving into the bowels of the house. Shafts of light from the windows fall on its steps, illuminating them with hazy summer sun.

“What do you think, then?” Pyotr nudges him, almost playfully, knocking him off balance. “It’s a far cry from that filthy little shack, isn’t it?”

“It’s, it’s nice,” murmurs Sonya, still lost in the intricacies of the newel post. It’s carved in the shape of a lion, eying him hungrily. 

Pyotr chuckles, putting an arm round Sonya. “Nice. I’ll give you that, little one, though most people go for magnificent.”

Sonya nods — but his attention has been captured by movement on the stairs. 

The man descending is, quite possibly, the most beautiful man Sonya has ever seen.  More beautiful than any of the faces he can dredge up from his memories, at least: he’s tall, with an easy grace to his movements that make him look like he’s stepped out of one of the oil paintings on the wall. Certainly, the Divine Artist has made him a masterpiece, accentuating his fresh complexion with brown curls and rose-blushed cheeks. The duck-egg blue suit he’s wearing only serves to make him stand out against the red walls.

“Ah, отца!” he says, hurrying down the stairs. “We weren’t expecting you back until—” Whatever he was going to say withers away when his gaze meets Sonya’s. “Who’s this?”

Sonya feels Pyotr stiffen, perhaps out of annoyance. Perhaps jealousy; up close, the man looks all the more like one of God’s masterpieces. 

“Leoniy,” Pyotr says, voice icy with disapproval. “You’re not a kicked puppy, there’s no need to run and greet me.” 

“But—”

“Save it. This is Sonya,” Pyotr gives him a proud little squeeze. “I rescued him from a somewhat sordid incident involving starving peasants;  he’ll be staying with us for a while.” 

Starving peasants. Sonya wants to say he doesn’t remember anything like that, wants to stand by the unease twisting in his gut — but he doesn’t remember even a single sliver. Pyotr’s words mean nothing, and everything. 

“Welcome,” says the man — Leoniy — stepping forward to offer Sonya his hand. “Leoniy Petrovich Zaytsev — but since you’re staying here, you can call me Leosha.”

Pyotr nudges him, and Sonya shakes Leoniy’s hand, chest fluttering at the contact. A son, then, not a friend or rival.

“Why don’t you show Sonya to his room, Leoniy?” says Pyotr. 

“I was just about to—”

“The cream one will do; I need to make arrangements with Masha.”

With that, Pyotr gently pushes Sonya towards Leoniy, striding off down a corridor. 

Leoniy sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I was just about to go out,” he says. “Never mind. Follow me, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. 

Sonya trots after him as they begin to make their way up the stairs; without Pyotr, he feels even more unmoored, bobbing around in a storm-tossed sea. He doesn’t belong here; the gilded opulence of the house makes that clear, the intricately-plastered ceilings, the vibrant carpet underfoot. 

He isn’t even good enough to walk in Leoniy Zaytsev’s shadow, let alone sleep under the same roof. If the poverty of his memory wasn’t proof enough of that, the fangs that nudge at his lips are, the bubbling animal instinct in his chest.

“So,” says Leoniy, as they walk through a series of opulent doors, a series of even more opulent rooms. “You’re from the Volga region?”

“I, I guess.” Just like Pyotr’s story, the word falls flat, shattering against the blankness of Sonya’s mind. 

Leoniy laughs, soft and uncomfortable. 

“Is it bad there?”

“Um—” Pyotr had told him on the train, there was a famine. Sonya guesses that does make it bad, though the yawning chasm of his memory stretches out across the concept. Bad means a flash of his brother’s face, a glimpse of terror. Bad means watching his mother kill a deformed calf. Bad is the way their names slip through his fingers. “Maybe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sonya swallows, shame heating his cheeks. “I don’t, don’t remember.”

“Oh.” Leoniy pauses at another door, giving Sonya a strange look he could almost call pity. “Well, I’m sure you’ll make some more memories here.”

Opening the door, he reveals a room almost as big as the cabin of Sonya’s past. There the similarities end; he can’t help but gasp a little at the sight. The walls are a dreamlike cream, to match the bedding — the richest bedding he’s ever seen, pillows plump as clouds against a dark headboard. There’s a wardrobe, too, and a large window, spilling the summer in. 

This can’t be his room; he doesn’t deserve the inviting bed, the gauzy curtains buffeted by what little breeze there is. A stable would suit him better. Or a kennel.

“Are you alright?” Leoniy asks, snapping Sonya out of the haze he hadn’t even realised he’d fallen into.

“Yes, Leoniy Petrovich,” Sonya says, keeping his gaze fixed to the floor. Trying to forget how warm Leoniy’s hand had felt when he shook it. 

“Just Leosha, please.” He can hear the smile in Leoniy’s voice, patient and a little sad. It makes him want to look up. It makes him want to hug him, to cry against his chest, to tell him how very far he is from home. 

“Sorry, Leosha,” he murmurs, doing none of those things. Just standing there, staring at a carpet he isn’t worthy of standing on.

“It’s alright. There’s no point in formality when we’re living under the same roof, is there?”

Sonya shakes his head, gaze drifting to Leoniy’s boots. They’re brown leather, only marginally lighter than the receiving room floor. 

“Well, I suppose I’d best be getting on. There’s probably a troika waiting for me.” Those boots move past Sonya, Leoniy’s breath tugging at his ear for a moment.

Turning to watch him go, Sonya’s eyes linger on the back of Leoniy’s head. The tilt of his shoulders, proud and free.

Halfway down the corridor, he turns around, and their eyes meet.

“Actually — if you ever need something — really, something you can’t ask of my father — keep following this corridor until you find a door with a pressed bouquet of flowers on it, and knock. I’ll do what I can.”

Sonya nods, numbly. Drops his gaze, settling on a mole just below Leoniy’s left eye. Even when he turns and heads back down the stairs, Sonya’s gaze still lingers there, as his heartbeat hammers in his ears. 

He turns back to the room, walking inside like a visitor to another world. Even sitting on the bed feels like a transgression. 

It hits him, then, with expensive sheets beneath his fingers and a stale city breeze kissing his cheeks. He’s so, so irrevocably lost.

[superwolfiestar]

Satisfied (one shot)

"Okay okay! Everyone! Attention please!" Drake Marshall chirped, raising his champagne glass in the air. The loud clunk when the spoon hit the transparent glass echoed. Wide smile; everyone smiled back to him, listening with anticipation.

With a mic he was handed from the DJ he said out loud, atmosphere light with a hint of excitement, "Please welcome! The groomsmen! Panchito Pistoles and Jose Carioca!"

Everyone clapped and whistled when the Panchito and Jose walk to the empty dance floor. With both soft smiles Panchito accepted the mic from Drake with a glass of wine in their hands.

Panchito inhaled deeply, the sweet scent of cookies and delicious cake hit his beak, “A toast to the groom," Panchito said, raising the empty transparent glass that glistened. Donald gave him the iconic bunny smile; cheek reddened, he shyly nodded when all the guests looked to him.

Looking handsome with the black tux and a beautiful flower attached to his left pocket. Panchito never sees a man as handsome as he is tonight.

Jose let out a deep breath, he forced out a smile; he thanked himself for being a good actor at the time like this from College. His jaw flexed but changed before anyone can notice his uncomfortable expression.

"To the bride," Jose smile at Daisy as she given him a boxy grin, laughing happily and bowed politely to the guest of her wedding. She didn't mind the way Jose addressed him, the groom and the bride turned into tomatoes for a moment.

"From your best friends," ah, Panchito's fond gaze. Donald was his best friends, no one can replace him in their life. Both Jose and Panchito felt sick, they hate themself.

"Who is always by your side," Panchito kept looking at him like he was a god. The friend that always protect them that always provide them with a shelter. A perfect figure, just if Panchito know what's going inside his head. The rotten soul of his, the trust that will remain untold forever no matter what.

"To your union and the hope that you provide," Jose sang, his chest hurt like crazy. He was going insane, the pain was stabbing his heart. A pang inside his heart, he felt cold in the warm day. Even the sweetest wine will never cure the sourness inside him.

"May you always," They held their breath, they was going to say it, "Be satisfied."

The image suddenly flashed before their eyes, the image they wanted to erase from their memories. The scene they adores and despised so much. It rewinding by itself, out of two Caballeros control.

They remembered that night, they just might.

They remembered that night, the night they will regret for the rest of their days. The black spot that tainted their souls and creating a huge hole they can't cover up.

The night when those ladies came and tripping to get praises from them.

The dreamlike candle lights, the chandeliers, and a dream you can't quite place. The dazzling pictures of perfection, a night they will never forget.

They will never forget they both have a crush on Donald.

They has never been the same.

Intelligent eyes face full of hunger for something new.

Pure curiosity with a target to be the number one.

Passion clearly portrayed, eyes you wouldn't find in your everyday life.

When Donald said "Hi" they forgot their freakin' names.

The boy with an adorable duck smile, he set his fellow friend Caballeros heart aflame, he lights every corner of their heart. The fire that will never die, no amount of water can help their burning heart.

This wasn't a game. The two Caballeros knew they were head over the heels for the duck.

'Strike us, as a man who will never be satisfied' they said, Donald frowned. How arrogant the boy to talked impolitely to him; Donald wasn’t just a normal person in a huge luxury party.

He gave a murderous glare to them, hands clenched his wine glass, 'I'm sure you don't know what you mean, you forget yourself,' he blurted out coldly, smile so bitter like a glass of vodka.

The two Caballeros shook his head, chuckling softly, 'you're like us, Donald. we’ve never been satisfied,' for a moment, two Caballeros left Donald speechless. Nobody ever knows what's happening inside their mind. How the people around him always disappointing him, how he always yearning for something new and extraordinary. He alway have his bad luck in his way. He was greedy and he wanted more.

Satisfaction was something Donald never know, something unimaginable.

The duck swallowed, throat dry, he licked his plump lips before he said, 'Is that right?' his voice wavered, laced with excitement he never know existed. Thinking that his friends were just drunk or whatever. His lips trembled, he smiled too wide to the boy who grinned back to him.

Walking closer, two Caballeros was slightly taller than Donald. Even when they were taller, the Duck didn't flinch back; he was totally okay with Panchito and Jose intimidating aura. The duck gazed back at them with a firm face and shining eyes. Confident and full of determination.

'We have never been satisfied.'

Stepped back from them, his twin sister suddenly drag him with her, 'just you wait, just you wait!' They said as Donald was out of their sight.

Heart skipped a beat, their eyes sparkled. They covered their mouth to hold back a happy shout. This was what it felt to match wits.

The feeling of freedom, when someone is at your level! When someone understands what you want the most; when someone knows what you desire.

The urgency, the boat sailed together.

The urge to tell him more, to share what inside your soul and mind.

The conversation last three or maybe four minutes, Panchito and Jose wanted more of Donald Duck. They already missed the boy’s presence.

The way Donald averted his eyes and bit his own bottom lips, they found it to be adorable.

Panchito wanted to take that handsome boy to somewhere far away from this place. With no one but them, they was ready to do it actually. The pictures where them and Donald talk for hours, sharing their thoughts. Drinking while joking, performing the unbreakable relationship.

He was so ready until Jose suddenly grab him by the arm, Panchito look at him. Jose look seem to be heartbroken as he pointed his finger at something. Panchito look confused as he turned around and saw their Donald and he is-

Helpless.

And they knew he was-

Helpless.

And, his eyes were just-

Helpless.

Suddenly they realized that Donald was in love with a female duck, three fundamental truths at the exact same time. His eyes went blank, face stoic like a statue, everything turned grey. The world lost its color and Donald chuckled dryly.

Number one, He was a Duck in a world which his only job was to marry love, to bring happiness to him.

To build and keep his goal as strong as possible.

Keeping his dream at the bay, holding them together in this messy universe.

He was the youngest twin brother of Della Duck, the one who has a huge responsibility to take care of his sister. To keep her safe, to provide her with a comfortable shelter in McDuck Manor. A safe place from the cruel world, a replacement of their deceased parents.

He was the social Duck, the one that can steal people heart with just a simple smile. He was the one that can pull up his family and climb the dangerous cliff of social status.

Donald was penniless, he can't runaway from his responsibility and ditch everything so he can waste his precious time with them.

But that didn't mean they wants Donald any less.

Number two, the young girl was after him because he was a nephew of Scrooge McDuck. She needed Donald to get a high social status, she will use him to survive in the middle of the chaotic world. Donald’s name will boost up his status, the girl was too naive to put that aside. How stupid to be blinded by a simple smile.

Maybe that was why these two decided to introduce Daisy Duck to their dear friend, Donald.

Maybe that was why they walked calmly, searched for the face of Donald first love; the love of his life. Grabbed Daisy's hand easily, leading her across the room to Donald's place.

'Where are you taking me?'

'We’re about to change your life.'

'Then by all means, lead the way boys.'

They were smiling like a good friends. Didn't forget to give a teasing wink to them when they left both of them, they smiled proudly even when their heart shattered into pieces. Jose gave Donald a wave to assured the young man that he was doing great. Donald introduced himself, playing with his sailor hat while Daisy smile at him; they locked their gaze. Donald lost himself.

Now their precious crush is sitting beside his beloved wife.

Nice going, Panchito and Jose.

He was right.

Jose was right.

Donald will never be satisfied.

Number three, they knew their best friend like they knows their own mind. He knew everything about Donald like the back of his palm, he took care of the lovely duck throughout their adventure. He knew how Donald always play with his sailor hat if he is nervous or when he stutters in front of strangers.

He knew when a duck laughs; the young man's eyes always turn into a beautiful moon. You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind like Donald. Donald is the rare person, the type of person that will jump and risk his own life for his family and friend, and a total stranger. The person who always find good inside every mammals being.

If they tells Daisy that they loved Donald, she was sure that she will silently resign. She will leave Panchito and Jose with Donald and the image where three of them kissing will come true but that's also mean the future where Daisy cries alone heartbroken will also come true. They will never forgive themselves if that happens.

Daisy is a nice woman but she will suffer and they don’t like seeing people suffer.

Daisy will say ' I'm fine ' with her kind smile, but Jose will notice the way Daisy hand clenched into a fist; how her eyes twitch because she is holding back the tears; She'd be lying.

When they fantasize at night, it's always Donald's eyes. The playful glint, full of passion and kindness at the same time. They drowned with the bitter-sweet memories while their beloved crush and Daisy cuddled on the couch or living room. Jose cried while the couple had a nice candlelight dinner. Panchito bit his lips until it bleed when they exchanged sweet kisses.

As they romanticized what would happen if they hadn't sized Donald up so quickly. They were glad they took Daisy to Donald because they never sees Donald so happy like that.

At least his dear Donald is his first love's husband.

At least they keep their eyes in their life.

Once again, Panchito and Jose were back to the reality. All guests were waiting for them to finish their short speech.

Huey raised his eyebrow, Dewey and Louie on the corner while Scrooge put down his wine glass.

Ah, they can hear their own heart breaking into pieces again even when it's already so broken to the point he believes it will stop working soon. He cleared his throat, looked down to his expensive shoes for a second and suddenly raised his face with a really wide grin on his face.

"A toast to the groom!" Jose shouted, gripping the mic as tightly as possible. All guests raised their glass together with them.

"To the bride!" Panchito announced, all of the wedding guest followed them and cheered for Donald and Daisy.

They left the empty dance floor, given the mic back to the DJ and let the waiter took his champagne glass. They took several long strides to the couple’s table.

With warm tears on the corner of their eyes, Donald cupped Panchito wet cheek.

"From your best friends,” Panchito said, eyes brimmed with tears; nobody knows the true meaning from those tears, thinking it was just a tears of joys. Even Donald himself wasn't sure.

"Who is always by your side," the way they voice cracked, his crooked fingers wiped Jose's sweet tears. He kissed the Donald forehead softly, he let out a shaky breath. Why all of this tasted so fucking bitter, his aching heart wanted to scream and shout out his pain.

"To your union and the hope that you provide," he opened his arms, welcoming Donald’s figure that trembled with happiness and Daisy for having a great friend and her utopia as his wife. Panchito can feel Jose’s hugged his waist, he hugged back as tightly.

"May you always," he whispered to the duck ear.

"To be satisfied."

They left the reception as Jose suddenly embraced Panchito, when his beloved friend cried against his broad shoulder; when he hiccuped and Panchito closed his eyes softly; drowning with his Jose sobs and the clapping sound was heard.

[“And I know.”]

[“He will be happy as her groom.”]

[“And we know he will never be satisfied.”]

It was their eyes that they saw the newlywed couple smiling to each other and kissing to each other.

["We will never be satisfied."]

[themurphyzone]

Absolutely Disastrous Ch 11

Ch 11: Milo’s First Gym Battle! The Unpredictable Substitute Gym Leader!

Classes ground to a halt whenever a gym battle took place. Every student and teacher in the school gathered in the bleachers surrounding the battlefield. Even a class of six-year-olds from a nearby primary school had come over to watch. Their teacher wasn’t too pleased with the disruption though. She was busy giving Mrs. Murawski, a teacher at the Rustboro School and referee for the gym battle, an earful about the proper times to allow a gym battle so her students could focus on their lessons. 

“-YOU TRAINERS, AWFUL AT REMEMBERING THAT MATH AND READING ARE JUST AS VITAL!” 

Mrs. Murawski sighed dreamily at the desk she’d carried down herself, ignoring the other teacher completely. 

“-STOP FONDLING THAT DESK LEG AND PAY ATTENTION! MY STUDENTS CAN’T EVEN GET THROUGH A SIMPLE BERENSTAIN BEARTIC BOOK CAUSE OF YOU!” 

Since the gym battle would be delayed until those two sorted out their drama, Melissa and Lydia took the opportunity to review strategies with Milo, while Zack and Amanda distracted Scott from potentially overhearing them and coming up with a counter. 

Supersonic had finally worn off on Zack, but he seemed just as confused as to why Scott was throwing empty candy wrappers into the air like they were flower petals. 

“Don’t let him tire your Pokémon out,” Lydia suggested. “Principal Milder used the same tactic earlier on a boy’s Shroomish. He lucked out, you know. Effect Spore decided to activate when she tried finishing the battle with Tackle. Nosepass went right to sleep and couldn’t block Bullet Seed. If you ask me, he didn’t deserve that badge.” 

“Black hair, glasses, sarcastic, and rude?” Melissa asked. 

“Plaid gray shirt too,” Lydia shuddered. “No fashion sense at all.” 

“I can hear you!” a voice protested from the stands. 

Milo waved at Bradley, who scowled back fiercely. His Shroomish and Minun were playing an odd game of rock-paper-scissors together, ignoring their trainer’s grudge against Milo. 

Well, it looked like rock-paper-scissors, but Milo wasn’t sure how Shroomish managed the appropriate shapes without hands. 

“Hey, you came!” Milo exclaimed. “I bet you’re just as excited as me!” 

“I’m excited to watch you lose,” Bradley said, adding an eye roll for good measure. He turned his attention to Lydia. “And this shirt is part of the Gothitelle Boutique winter line. It’s fashionable.” 

“Sure, if your definition of fashionable includes rainclouds hanging above your head and spreading a mission of doom and gloom,” Lydia retorted.

Bradley flicked his hand dismissively and sat down, still glaring at Milo while he scratched Minun’s ear.

Milo wasn’t sure if Bradley was trying to emulate one of those jerk rival archetypes from Sara’s favorite anime, because he seemed to run more along the lines of grumpy guys with soft spots for non-humans. 

“You’ll do great,” Melissa said. “Just remember, Zack and I are right behind you...and the protective shield.” 

The shield was mostly there to protect spectators from barrages of dirt, water, and other attacks, but it would be good protection against Murphy’s Law as well. 

“You can do it, Milo!” Amanda cheered. Minccino squealed in encouragement, perching on Amanda’s head for a better view. 

Milo took his position on the battlefield. Diogee stood next to him, his front legs trembling with excitement. Milo grinned. 

“You’ll get your chance, but I’d like to lead with Mudkip,” Milo told him. 

Diogee fixed Milo with a red-eyed stare, his chest heaving in a deep sigh.

“Save the best for last, remember?” Milo asked. 

Diogee’s chest puffed out with pride. 

The irate primary school teacher finally gave up berating Murawski and stalked off the field, muttering some very unkind things about Milder’s hiring choices. 

Murawski draped herself across her desk, holding a megaphone in one hand while supporting herself with the other. Milo took the opportunity to set her up with a protective shield of her own as she announced the rules of the gym battle.

“This is a match between Scott, designated gym leader, and Milo, our challenger!” Murawski shouted into the megaphone. “This will be a two-on-two battle and no-SCREEE!” 

Her last word turned into a high-pitch wail that made everyone cover their ears. 

“Sorry! Technical malfunction! Happens all the time!” Murawski giggled nervously, a strange snort coming out of her nose. 

Once he was finished with the shield, Milo set two extra megaphones on the ground next to her desk. “You’ll want those,” he said. 

Murawski took it in stride and shooed him back into position. 

“-no substitutions are allowed. Scott has been given authority to issue the Stone Badge if the challenger wins.” 

“Pumice or feldspar?” Scott asked, digging around in his hard hat, which appeared to be full of small rocks. 

“Do you even have the Stone Badge on your person?” Murawski asked, aiming the megaphone in his direction. 

“My person is Mildred!” Scott exclaimed. 

Murawski stared at him for a few moments, and when he offered no further explanation, she turned her attention to a group of students in the stands. “Allison, grab a Stone Badge from Milder’s office. It’s in the desk, first drawer on your left.” 

Allison ran off and came back with the Stone Badge in record time, evidently not wanting to delay the match any further. 

Murawski stored the badge in her desk for safekeeping. “Commence the battle, and I swear if any of you hurts my little desky-poo...” 

She let the threat hang in the air, then raised a green flag to signal the beginning of the match. 

“Mudkip, let’s do our best!” Milo shouted, sending the Poké Ball flying. Mudkip used Water Gun on his Poké Ball in a display of power and sent it hurtling straight for the megaphone in Murawski’s hand. 

“Save me, desk!” Murawski shrieked, ducking underneath for cover as the Poké Ball shattered the megaphone upon impact. The megaphone released a final screech as its final cry before falling silent. 

“The blue-finned one’s your new friend, Cynthia!” Scott exclaimed, gently setting an orange juice carton down several feet in front of him. 

Milo glanced at the audience, but most of them didn’t look too surprised at Scott’s choice. Zack, Lydia, and Amanda all had to strain Melissa from marching down to Scott and decking him for breaking the sacred rules of battle. 

“Scott, the rulebook clearly states that orange juice cartons are not Pokémon,” Murawski sighed. “Neither are motorbikes, cupholders, or Pikipek.” 

“You mean the native bird of Alola?” Melissa asked, looking up from the notebook she was writing in. 

“Pikipek are evil. They will devour your desks in seconds and have your backup desk as dessert. They are not of this world,” Murawski’s voice dropped to a low hiss, stunning everyone into silence. 

Except for Scott, who just threw his arms up in the air. “It’s the inside that counts!” he exclaimed. 

A green pile of goo oozed out of the carton, reshaping itself into a blobby Pokémon. It smiled at Mudkip, revealing two peg-shaped teeth. 

Milo was no stranger to Grimer, since they lived inside the caves surrounding Mt. Chimney. But he’d never seen a green one before. 

“Milo!” Melissa shouted from the stands. “Alolan Grimer are Poison and Dark type! It’s even more weak to Ground than the ones at Mt. Chimney!” 

“Don’t give him info!” Bradley scoffed. “I’m trying to watch him lose!” 

He was immediately met by four outraged protests. “Quiet, Bradley!” 

Bradley sank further into his seat, grumbling about unlawful interference. 

“Use Mud Slap!” Milo shouted, deciding to open with a super effective move to see how Mudkip fared. 

Mudkip slammed his paws into the rocky ground and released twin jets of mud, which arched towards Cynthia. 

“Make yourself pretty and share your makeup with the blue-finned one!” Scott yelled. 

Cynthia’s body glowed blue and vanished in the blink of an eye. The mud streams hit the ground, leaving a rather ugly splotch of greenish-brown gunk. Before Milo could blink, Cynthia materialized behind Mudkip and spat a glob of acid at him. Mudkip yelped as the sludge hit his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” Milo asked as Mudkip staggered. 

Mudkip nodded. He wasn’t poisoned for now, but that could change at any moment. 

“Make yourself even prettier!” Scott exclaimed. 

“Try another Mud Slap!” Milo yelled. 

Mud Slap clipped Cynthia’s arm, but didn’t cause enough damage to surprise her. 

Unfortunately, the protective shields did nothing to protect spectators from attacks above their heads. Screams erupted from the stands as people used backpacks, jackets, and each other to block the sludge Cynthia haphazardly lobbed as she zoomed all over the gym. It splattered all over the protective shields, making Murawski shriek and cover her desk protectively. 

Cynthia bounced off the walls at high speeds, leaving small piles of goop behind wherever she landed. Diogee ducked into a small area under the bleachers, dutifully avoiding the sludge piles as he curled up. 

“I’ll call you when it’s your turn!” Milo shouted to Diogee, quickly putting on safety goggles to protect his eyes. 

Scott chuckled at the chaotic scene. “We’re making art! Don’t forget your subject, Cynthia!” 

Cynthia lobbed several globs of sludge at Mudkip, but Mudkip blocked them all with well-aimed Water Gun attacks. However, this didn’t deter Cynthia in the slightest. 

Milo knew he had to do something before Mudkip got too tired to track her. He flicked a stray candy wrapper that had blown onto his shoe. 

There were a lot of candy wrappers on the ground. 

Vaguely, Milo recalled his dad’s wise sayings about Grimer. 

“Grimer love trash of any kind. So if the Bouffalant painting behind us mysteriously disappears one day, I deny any involvement in allowing a Grimer to eat it.”

Granted, the Bouffalant painting hadn’t disappeared under mysterious circumstances yet, but the point still stood.

While Cynthia and Scott were fixated on creating an acidic portrait of a Dustox on the shields, Milo called Mudkip over. Mudkip bounded him up to him, shaking the sludge off his tail. 

“Mudkip, I want you to gather every candy wrapper you can find and put it into a pile. And don’t call Scott’s attention to you,” Milo said. “We have to get Cynthia in one place to hit her. She’s too fast with that double Rock Polish.”

Once Mudkip collected a sizable amount and piled it all into the middle of the field, Milo ordered a Water Gun to get Cynthia and Scott into battle mode. Mudkip stayed near the pile of wrappers, dodging Sludge attacks until Scott finally called for Bite. 

Now that Rock Polish had mostly worn off, Cynthia wasn’t as swift in her movements and Mudkip easily sidestepped her gaping maw. Cynthia crashed into the wrappers, though she wasn’t hurt by the impact and immediately started munching on the wrappers. 

“You’ll ruin your dinner!” Scott shouted. “Don’t you want roast leftover meatloaf on a stick?” 

Cynthia paid him no mind. 

Milo grinned. “She’s in position! Fire at will!” 

Just as Cynthia dropped the last candy wrapper into her mouth, twin jets of mud smacked into her mucky green body. 

Mudkip cheered at the direct hit, but his elation didn’t last long when an enraged Cynthia tried to drop a giant rock on his head. 

“Target practice! Head worth fifty points, fin worth forty, body worth twenty, and limbs are five!” Scott exclaimed. “Bet you can’t beat my record!” 

As a matter of fact, Cynthia really wanted to beat his record. Mudkip panted, crouching low in front of a rocky pillar. Cynthia stretched her slime so that she rose above Mudkip, holding a giant rock above her head with amazing strength. 

“Mudkip, get out of there!” Milo warned. 

Cynthia brought the rock down, and Mudkip’s body suddenly became enveloped in a blinding white glow. His front legs stretched, growing longer until the rock was firmly in his grasp. The form grew larger, then the light died away, revealing a light blue Pokémon with a bipedal stance.

“Let’s finish this off, Marshtomp!” Milo shouted. “Mud Bomb!” 

Marshtomp wrenched the rock out of Cynthia’s grasp, applied a much stronger Water Gun to the rock to break it into dust, and flung the muddy projectile into Cynthia’s torso. 

Acid and mud splatted everywhere, and Cynthia laid unconscious, her peg-like teeth exposed.

Murawski blocked her desk from further attack with one arm while she used the megaphone to announce the results. 

“Grimer is unable to battle!” she proclaimed. 

A resounding cheer came from Milo’s friends. 

“Into the orange juice carton, Cynthia. We’ll dumpster dive for your reward later,” Scott said, coaxing her into the container he’d first thrown onto the field. Once Cynthia was out of sight, Scott grinned widely at Milo. “Have I ever introduced you to Mildred?” 

Milo shook his head. 

“Oh, I haven’t?” Scott looked sheepish. “Whoops, guess I’ll have to fix that! Methuselah, meet Mildred!” 

He placed a milk carton on a flat piece of rock at his waist level. 

Milo waved awkwardly. “It’s Milo.” 

“Sassa-oh no, it’s sorry! Sorry, Mikey!” Scott said. 

Close enough. 

Murawski lifted her megaphone again. “Scott, milk cartons are prohibited from participating in an official gym battle.” 

Scott blinked at her. “Wow. You guys are like, really discriminatory to cartons.” 

The carton glowed red and released a Miltank, who stomped the ground with such force that Milo could feel the tremor. While Milo was curious as to how Scott managed to get a discarded carton to work as a Poké Ball, he didn’t get a chance to ask since Miltank body slammed Marshtomp into the ground without a prompt from her trainer. 

Marshtomp was knocked out instantly. 

“Marshtomp is unable to battle!” Murawski declared. “Both trainers are down to their last Pokémon!” 

“C’MON, MILO! YOU CAN BEAT HIM!” Amanda screeched. She leaned dangerously over the railing. Zack and Lydia hauled her back to her seat, but she barely noticed. 

Bradley muttered something Milo couldn’t make out, but Melissa didn’t look too happy and she ‘accidentally’ jabbed him with her elbow while standing up to cheer for Milo. 

“Looks like you’re up, Diogee!” Milo called as he returned Marshtomp to his  Poké Ball. 

Diogee crawled out from his spot underneath the bleachers and took up a position on the battlefield. 

“No roughhousing!” Scott yelled. “Play nice, Mildred!” 

Mildred took her trainer’s order as an excuse to body slam Diogee, who barely dodged in time. Milo sidestepped to avoid being steamrolled by a charging Miltank, and she crashed into the wall that separated the field and bleachers. 

The spectators behind him screamed as the bleachers shook and collapsed. 

“We’re okay!” Melissa yelled. 

“I can’t feel my appendix!” Zack complained. 

“All of us except Zack’s appendix are okay!” Melissa amended. 

Mildred grinned dizzily, charging back onto the field. Diogee aimed a Cut attack in her direction, but it barely slowed her down. 

“Right hoof, let’s stomp!” Scott yelled as he did some weird jig that involved a lot of leg-shaking. Mildred stomped on Diogee’s hind legs, making him stumble and lose his balance. 

“Are you okay?” Milo asked. Diogee staggered away from Mildred, sending an affirming nod to Milo. “Good! Let’s try Bite!” 

Diogee darted forward, avoiding another Stomp and landing Bite on Mildred’s shoulder. Mildred cried out and tried to shake him off, but Diogee held on tightly. 

“Scratch while you’re in close quarters!” Milo shouted. 

The tips of Diogee’s claws elongated into long, thin strips of light and scratched Mildred in the face and stomach. 

“Good job, Diogee!” Milo praised. 

Diogee broke his Bite attack to give a pleased look at Milo, allowing Mildred to fling him off. 

“Snack break!” Scott exclaimed, wolfing down a can of beans at a speed so fast that Milo was sure he’d choke. He tossed a milk bottle to Mildred, who happily gulped it down. In a few moments, it appeared as though Diogee hadn’t gotten those close quarter hits on Mildred at all. 

“Is that legal?” Milo called to Murawski, who was too busy carrying her desk out of the room to pay attention. 

“You saw the destructive power of that Body Slam!” Murawski shouted. “There is no way I’m risking my desk’s life!” 

“Keep rolling, Mildred!” Scott called as he wiped bean residue from his face. 

Mildred curled into a pink ball and spun in place, building up enough energy to propel her to Diogee. Diogee unleashed several Cuts, two hitting their mark and three that crashed into the ceiling, sending several chunks raining down. 

Milo opened an umbrella to protect himself from the dust. 

Mildred slammed into Diogee, sending him sprawling. Then she continued to roll past him at high speed, ricocheting off a wall as she rolled into him a second time. Diogee retaliated with another Cut, which prevented a third Rollout from connecting and sent Mildred spinning toward Scott’s side of the field. 

Mildred crashed into another wall, and Milo decided that he’d better end this match before the building collapsed. 

“Diogee, cleave a furrow into the ground with Cut!” Milo shouted. 

“Pass the roll and butter, Mildred!” Scott called. 

A well-executed Cut cleared enough rock to form a shallow groove in the ground. 

“Dodge and ready your Razor Wind!” Milo called as Mildred barrelled straight at Diogee. Jumping to the other side to avoid Mildred, Diogee’s horn began to glow white as the winds whipped through his fur. 

Mildred crashed straight into the furrow, her body still a pink and black ball, as if she hadn’t realized she was trapped. 

Once the wind was sufficiently built up, Diogee released it, and the air blades crashed straight into Mildred. She uncurled, panting heavily and making no effort to climb out. 

“Finish with Bite!” Milo yelled. 

The resulting Bite drained the little energy Mildred had left, and she collapsed as soon as Diogee carried her out of the furrow.

Melissa hopped over the railing and grabbed a megaphone that had somehow avoided the line of fire. “Miltank is unable to battle! The winner is Diogee! The challenger wins the match!” 

With the exception of Bradley, the spectators cheered. His friends ran onto the battlefield, loudly cheering for Milo’s victory. Bradley sullenly followed behind them. 

Bradley scowled. “You’re not an official referee!” 

“There’s a rule stating that the family of a gym leader could act as referee if an official ref is unavailable,” Melissa replied with a smirk. “It’s obscure now because the League wants to avoid nepotism, but never officially repealed.”

“Your friend is kinda scary,” Lydia remarked. 

Milo couldn’t reply because Amanda and Minccino were nearly choking him in their enthusiasm. 

Once they allowed him some breathing room, Milo released Marshtomp from his Poké Ball. While Marshtomp would need more rest before battling again, he was well enough to celebrate their victory. 

“You two were awesome today!” Milo exclaimed. 

Diogee and Marshtomp puffed their chests out in pride. 

“It shouldn’t count,” Bradley muttered. “He wasn’t even battling the official leader.”

Lydia left briefly to retrieve the badge from Murawski, who still refused to enter the arena while Scott and Mildred were around. They still had the capacity to destroy her beloved desk. 

Because Scott was the designated gym leader, Lydia had to hand off the badge to him so he could officially present it to Milo. 

“This stone makes you our leader!” Scott declared, dropping the Stone Badge onto Milo’s head. “Cynthia, Mildred, and I are at your command! Who would you like us to trap underground?” 

“Well, there’s someone who owes me money...” Melissa began, but Zack put his hand over her mouth to indicate that they weren’t trapping anyone underground. Scott and Mildred seemed rather disappointed. 

Milo plucked the Stone Badge off his head, passing it around to his friends so they could see it too. Minccino wouldn’t let Amanda give the badge back to Milo until it received a proper cleaning. 

“I just got...A STONE BADGE!” Milo exclaimed once Minccino was satisfied, holding his badge triumphantly in the air. Marshtomp and Diogee struck victory poses. 

“Really?” Melissa asked as Milo stored it in his badge case. 

Milo shrugged. “It looks fun when they do it on TV.” 

“Well, Mildred and I must be off!” Scott saluted as he and Mildred squeezed into a large pipe that had been exposed during the battle. “Those dumpsters ain’t diving themselves!” 

“The next gym leader better not smell like sewer...” Bradley muttered. 

“And then I said ‘girl, that’s not a Trubbish! That Pokémon is way cuter than your hairstyle!’“ Lydia finished, bowing low to a round of applause as they exited the Rustboro School. 

“Trubbish are pretty popular with Dr. Magnezone fans,” Milo said. “Problem is there’s so many nicknamed Trubbishdroid that they can never tell them apart!” 

Zack and Lydia broke into hysterical laughter, and Milo laughed too until he felt someone crash into him. Milo fell back, rubbing his head where it had collided with the other person’s. 

The pain quickly subsided and Milo offered his hand to the other person, who was whimpering fearfully at the empty briefcase he dropped. The green suit looked vaguely familiar. 

“Hey, aren’t you that businessman we helped in Petalburg Woods?” Melissa asked. 

“You have to help me!” the businessman cried out, looking ready to faint at any moment. 

“Yup, it’s him. Before you faint from sheer terror, mind filling us in?” Milo asked. 

“Red mustache! Gray clothes! Stole...weird hat doesn’t match! No, wait!” the businessman screeched, pointing in the direction of the mountains. Melissa and Bradley shot him exasperated looks. “Other way around! Gray mustache and red clothes! Funny hat! Took my goods! The super important goods! Running into Rusnel Tunturf...Neltun Turfrus...I regret skipping lunch...” 

He fainted. 

“I think he meant Rusturf Tunnel,” Amanda said while everyone stared in disbelief. “It’s east of here.” 

“I’m leaving,” Bradley scoffed. “I have my own things to do.”

Melissa latched onto his arm and dragged him to the east exit, ignoring Bradley’s protests. “You’re coming. Milo’s Pokémon are still tired and we could use the extra help.”

Alolan Grimer can learn Rock Polish via TM. Both types of Grimer can learn Rock Tomb.

The bit with Martin saying he wanted to feed the Bouffalant painting to Grimer came from Disco-Do Over, in which one of Martin’s listed dreams is replacing the buffalo painting in the living room.

Whitney’s strategy in the anime was to just have Miltank steamroll her opponent with Rollout until they fainted. Similar concept here really.

First gym battle is done and Milo has the Stone Badge! Next it’s to Rusturf Tunnel they go!

[coeurdastronaute]

Either/Or: Duck III

Previously on Duck

Even with a full arm cast, the CEO worked hard, choosing to devote herself to the distraction of her job. High in the belfry of LCorp’s tower, she toiled and tried not to count on a hero showing up on her balcony, though every single night she promised herself to ignore it, and yet she spent the day waiting eagerly. The days were spent waiting to avoid thinking about what her future might hold, which turned into a more exhausting job than her already exhausting one.

Work was a different kind of obstacle with a full arm cast, but Lena persevered anyway. It didn’t hurt that she got doted on behind the scenes. She grumbled about it, but the hero didn’t take it to heart at all. Little things had a way of appearing when she needed them. There was extra aspirin and her favorite juice one morning. There were flowers when she woke and little notes that had inside jokes. She was someone who had inside jokes. There were lunches left while Lena was in meetings, and there were homemade baked goods to get rid of the afternoon lethargy.

She got in the habit as well. One of her finished books made its way into the hero’s possession as she left it with a note on the balcony at the hotel. She made a sandwich and left it waiting, wrapped up nicely when she fell asleep early one night. When she went to a dinner meeting, extra dessert made its way back to the hero waiting. Lena was someone who thought of things like that, now.

More important than all of it, there were evenings, the deep, dark nights spent up much too late talking and shivering on the balcony. It was a delicate dance, to talk and not push. It felt more intimate than Lena could remember having a relationship in a long time, if that was what she could even call it. It was how she learned that Supergirl had to eat constantly due to her high metabolism. It was how she found herself telling a superhero about what it was like to be pushed against a wall and strangled, what it felt like to feel like nothing because of her mother’s words. She hadn’t meant to tell anyone those things, she hadn’t meant to think those things. But they came out at night, when the world was quiet and the stars were dancing brightest against the city lights.

The computer monitor on her desk had another spreadsheet on it that was important enough, that needed her attention, but the CEO couldn’t find it in herself to care at all. Instead, she just kept thinking about the way Supergirl looked when she talked about her own parents, this joy and this sorry that was so intertwined, so precise, it was contagious in equal measures. Lena thought about the way her face looked when she confessed her own childhood.

For even more reasons, in that moment, the CEO found herself hating the former Luthor owner. Her big brother would have known. No one would believe her if she told them about Lex near his wife, or how he mooned over her the first day he met her practically laying himself out on Lena’s bed while he talked about the girl with soft, red hair who smiled at him and said ‘You need a hat.’ Those words were on his ribs and when she knit him one three weeks later, he wore it proudly in the snow.

When Lena was fifteen years old, she held her nephew while her brother beamed from the other side of the hospital room. Dressed in his slacks and shirt rolled up at the elbows, he crossed his arms over his broad chest and the angles of his naturally stern face turned almost soft.

If she had been smarter, if she had been paying attention Lena always assumed that she would have seen the insanity right there. But it lingered below the surface, already coming out in different ways, but non obvious enough to warrant worry. Who would worry about the brilliant billionaire with a new family?

In her dreams, Lena stared at her brother's face and she looked for the signs and beat herself up so bad she woke up gasping from time to time, when the guilt got to be too much.

Lena watched it happen, watched him fall in love and watched him lose his mind, and as she crawled into bed after a hug from the hero, she felt the coldest shiver of fear and dread creep up her spine. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was capable of the same kind of evil, if she was capable of losing something she hadn’t considered.

“Ms. Luthor?” Jess asked, repeating herself for the twelfth time, and only finally getting a response from the distracted boss.

“Yes, sorry, what is it, Jess?” she sat up a little more in her chair and tapped her pen a few times against her desk.

“Can I get you anything for lunch?”

“No, thank you,” Lena smiled and leaned forward, suddenly self-conscious. “I brought something.”

It was almost a lie. She had sushi delivered to her that morning, fresh from Tokyo, and it made her heart giddy. For just a second, of course. And then the dred. That creeping fear of what it all meant overwhelmed her entirely and she found herself lost in those thoughts and memories of her brother and his descent.

“Will you get the boys something though? They’re growing lads and need a bite,” she remembered her guards who sat in the lobby, waiting for her to leave or move down the hall.

“Of course.”

New files were put on the corner of her desk, but Lena didn’t particularly care. She had too many thoughts for her office.

“When is my meeting with the Beta team?” she finally asked as she stood.

“Not until two.”

Jess moved around the desk, knowingly pick up what she knew needed refiled, organizing what remained while Lena grabbed her purse and moved toward the fridge beneath her bar.

“I’m going out for lunch.”

“It’s hot out there,” the assistant warned.

“I need some sun. I need to be out of this room.”

“I’ll phone down to security.”

“Just one. I don’t want an entire battalion just to go sit alone at the park.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Could you also call the hotel and have them deliver two large pizzas around ten tonight?”

“Pizza?”

“Yes, you know, that round thing with cheese?” Lena smiled as she moved toward the door. She couldn’t help but recognize a bit of amusement in her friend’s voice. “Sometimes I like pizza.”

“Enough to eat two large ones?”

“Thank you, Jess,” Lena smiled and shook her head. “I appreciate it.”

“Anything else? Maybe some bread sticks? Ice cream? Cheeseburgers?” she taunted.

“Just pizza for now. You’re the one who keeps telling me to expand my horizons.”

“That’s true,” she sighed as she stood behind the large desk and set up the rest of the day. “Have a good lunch.”

Lena wasn’t dumb. She knew that Jess wasn’t either, but she certainly didn’t know where to start when it came to her new friend, and so she took the half-hearted needling and she was thankful Jess was easy enough to not push too far.

It wasn’t even particularly normal for her to want to escape the tower, and yet, Lena found herself doing all kinds of things she never expected recently. That was how her brain now worked.

Years passed before Lena realized she hadn’t had time to think. Life just happened, was thrust upon her. And then her heart fluttered back and her head fluttered twice as hard. Sitting on the bench in the park a few blocks away from her building, she nibbled on delicious sushi and dug out the newest book added to her collection by the hero.

By the time her watch reminded her that there was actual business to conduct, she’d reached an almost state of zen. Children played and ran around the trees. People milled about, the world happened in this tiny slice of life and Lena was actually a part of it, she was actually existing and the sky wasn’t falling.

She dreaded checking her phone, though as she made her way back toward the entrance of the park, Lena found herself compelled to check the damage of her extended absence. Behind her, a behemoth of a man in a suit followed, eyes darting around behind dark sunglasses. It did nothing to make her feel safe. Nothing would. Fate just had a way of smacking her right in the fac--

“Golly, I am so sorry,” a voice hurried as Lena felt herself come in contact with an immovable force. She bounced back a step before strong hands grabbed her tightly.

It was those eyes, she realized, the moment she saw them. All warning signals went off like a submarine about to be torpedoed. It might have even been comical if she had the wherewithal to imagine the controllers in her head scurrying around while red lights swirled and warnings blared over the speakers. Instead, she just stared at those eyes.

“Duck!” she tugged a little as she felt her bodyguard approach and try to swing at the person who was currently holding her tight.

Much too quickly, they were tipped down with ease, avoiding the fist of the protector.

“Oh fuck,” Lena sighed, furrowing deeply as she wound her arms around a familiar neck and inhaled that familiar smell. “Not again.”

“I’m so sorry. I should have watched where I was going, and then--”

Both were speechless, both were terrified, both couldn’t figure out how to move again. That moment, the earth-shattering, life-changing moment they experienced amidst burning rubble and an attack copter, was supposed to be a one time feeling. But they felt it change, for better or worse, right there in the park in the middle of a warm afternoon.

Lena forgot how to breathe, and she didn’t know what to do. She knew, logically, that Supergirl had to exist in the world, and yet, seeing her now, was just completely new and unexpected. It was easier to keep a distance, to not think of this.

“Easy, Peter,” Lena held up her hand as she was righted and the guard fret over her. “I’m fine. Just an accident. Give me some space.”

She waited for him to back up before surveying the girl in front of her. Gone was the suit, the costume. In its place was glasses, soft blonde hair tied up in a pony tail, soft colors and starched shirts. She was anything but super, but standing right there, Lena was positive, and she now intimately understood why she was always afraid to ask about the hero’s real identity. Now it was real. Now it was possible. Now it was there.

Those eyes were wide and worried. All kind of blue and happy and different. Lena couldn’t find the rest of the world to save her life. All that existed was the moment between them when she came face to face with the girl of her dreams.

“I’m sorry again,” the not-so-strange, stranger muttered and adjusted her own glasses nervously.

“Come on, don’t pretend,” Lena shook her head. “Fate made us have the same interaction twice. Surely, that’s a little bit funny.”

“Maybe we’re both so dense it knew we needed a second go at it,” she smiled. Lena would know that smile anywhere. She spent the past few weeks mapping it in the dark. “Is your arm alright?”

The worry was new and still very foreign to her. But as the hero reached out and held the cast, scanning it tenderly, with a kind of familiarity that was normal for them.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” she promised, looking down to make sure it was still attached. When she met Supergirl’s gaze, she swallowed and cleared her throat. “We don’t have to… do this or whatever. You haven’t said anything before, and I respect--”

“My name is Kara,” she interrupted, hand sticking out, waiting for the niceties to be met. “It’s nice to meet you, officially.”

“Lena,” the CEO breathed, taking the hand offered to her.

They stood there shaking hands as if they’d never learned how before. It was almost the most contact they had mustered.

“I never introduced myself because I wasn’t sure you were ready.”

“I probably wasn’t,” Lena confessed. “I’m probably not.”

“I wasn’t either.”

There was a weirdness to knowing someone and not knowing them, one that lingered between them so that Lena felt a tangible need to say or do or be something, though she couldn’t. They knew each other as much as anyone who spent nearly every evening together could know, and yet they knew absolutely nothing. The dichotomy of knowing that the hero’s favorite smell was lemongrass versus not knowing what she did as a day job was baffling and confounding.

“I hope we don’t make a habit out of this.”

“At least nothing’s on fire,” Kara grinned. It was purely to the side and all manner of  mischievous. “Are you just out for a walk? Could I walk with you? Maybe? I was just… I had to go--- I mean. I don’t have to right now. But we could, if you want.”

“I actually snuck out of the office for lunch. Sushi and a good book.”

“Ah, sushi sounds good. Did you know they make the best sushi at this tiny restaurant on the fifth floor of a building in Tokyo? Right on the corner near the fish market,” she smiled wider, proud of herself. “I was just there not too long ago.”

If anyone else had been watching, they might not have recognized Lena Luthor. She couldn’t help it though, and with those words, she laughed, genuinely, honestly, right from the gut, laughed.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind next time I make it over there.”

The phone still clutched in her hand buzzed with warnings and the inevitable reminders from her assistant, but Lena didn’t want to go back. She wanted to run away with this stranger who was anything but, who was funny and geeky and unassuming, right in front of her. Despite how afraid she was.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” Kara murmured, her own smile growing as she watched Lena recover from laughing. “I’m sure you have business to get to. I was just on my way to do something. Um. Run a few errands.”

“Right, of course, yeah,” she nodded. “If this, uh. We should… talk?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“What do you like on your pizza?”

“Um, well, anything, actually,” Kara answered, confused as to the train of thought.

“Try using the front door this time, tiger,” Lena grinned as her phone vibrated, annoyed and ignored and not taking it any longer. “Maybe tonight we finally figure things out.”

“Is this just because we ran into each other?”

“No,” the CEO sighed. “I mean. I planned on…. I planned on having dinner with you tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, still unsure of herself. But Kara’s giant smile helped put her at ease. If she was going to do one thing in this world, she was going to earn more of those. And maybe that was what this entire thing was all about. The thoughts troubled her for a split second.

Lena Luthor liked to be good at things, and this was unchartered waters.

“Could I walk you back to your office?” Kara ventured, despite knowing it would make her late for work, despite knowing the lashing that would come from her editor.

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

Both smiled and nodded and were nervous wrecks, but persisted anyway, diving deep and very aware that they had no idea what the landing was supposed to look like.

The night that Lex Luthor was found in a non-extradition country, Kara spent hours holding back her cousin. And when the League found out, they consulted the government and held him back even tighter. In the back of her head though, her first thought was of a CEO who was undoubtedly glued to the television.

The night that Lex Luthor was found, Lena tried to ignore it and failed. When Jess poked her head in and offered to get dinner, Lena smiled politely and told her to head home. And when she went home, she oddly hoped that no one else would join her.

But she knew her soulmate.

The day she met her, officially, in the park, Lena was a ball of emotions. That was the thing she would never want anyone to figure out and worked hard to conceal, that she was a perpetual roaring river of emotions hidden behind the thinnest dam ever constructed, ready and eager to break at the slightest provocation. That was the thing that Kara knew, despite Lena’s best attempts to prove otherwise, and she hated it, and was in no mood for the weakness of her structurally unsound levee in the torrential flooding of her brother’s reappearance.

After two months, knocking had grown obsolete. But the night Lex Luthor was spotted, Kara hesitated.

Inside the hotel room, she heard Lena pace. She heard her set down a glass that, even from the distance of being behind a door, smelled like vodka. Behind the door to the hotel room, Kara watched Lena finally. Watched her cross her arms and finally go into the bedroom before taking off a work shirt in favor of something more comfortable. Kara blushed and cleared her throat before making her way inside with the key Lena told her to use.

“Hey, Lena, I brought dinner,” Kara called. “I figured you might be busy or maybe forgot and I was in the neighborhood, which is actually a lie. I wasn’t. I was actually in Metropolis, but I remembered you said that this place had your favorite--” she paused as she put bags on the counter of the full kitchen. “Golly.”

Her legs weren’t long, but when they were on display, they were all that mattered. Kara stared, and even though she didn’t mean to, she felt her gaze take a long while as it made the trip up from the ground to the edge of a long shirt that hung just below hips. The faintest edge of shorts could been seen there, but Kara had no time for that fact. Instead, she just stared and felt her eyes go wide.

She stared until she heard the sound of a bag hitting the ground and forgot that her hands held things. Her eyes and seeing took up much more brainpower than previously expected, but when Lena rounded the corner, nothing much made sense.

“Duck,” Lena returned with a smile she couldn’t have imagined all day. But then Kara was right there, and Lena couldn’t help it.

“Sorry, I’m. I didn’t. I didn’t mean to barge in, or interrupt, I was just--”

“In the neighborhood?”

“Yes. No. Wait,” she shook her head and scrambled to pick up the take out. “I was. I thought you might like company.”

“I didn’t think you’d stop by,” Lena shrugged as she put her hair up.

The past few months had been a delicate balance of friendship that neither explicitly knew how to navigate. Kara felt a growing attachment, a natural inclination to care about her soulmate. And she also wanted to kiss her which was growing to complicate things immensely because she was certain Lena was barely handling her being Supergirl.

“I was hoping you’d be… I’ll just. Do you want to put more clothes… I…” the hero turned around and blushed, focusing decidedly upon the bags of food. “I didn’t mean to. Golly.”

“You said that already.”

Without a thought, Lena approached and rested her chin on Kara’s shoulder. She kept her arms crossed, she leaned as best she could and inhaled the new familiar, that Kara smell, of sunlight and something fruity, something like a peach, soft and sweet that fogged up her thoughts.

“Today was shit,” Lena acknowledged. “But this smells good. Is this from Ezio’s?”

“The best clam sauce in the world,” Kara nodded. “I had to test out your rave review. Plus, pasta is the best kind of comfort food.”

For a moment, they looked like a couple. Lena knew it. She saw herself, she felt the pause. Kara swallowed hard and smiled at the feeling of warmth against her back. It was the most intimate they had been, and still, Kara didn’t know how to handle it. Thankfully, her stomach grumbled and she earned a chuckle.

“Let’s feed you then. I’m sure your day wasn’t much better.”

The departure of the chin on her shoulder was oddly hollow. Kara turned quickly and furrowed.

“Hey, you’re… how are you?”

“They can’t go get them, can they?” Her arms wrapped around herself tighter. “It’d be illegally obtained. The courts would side with him.”

Kara watched Lena cock her head and squint, and no one else would ever know what a scared person rested in the confident exterior of the CEO. She just shook her head in response.

“I spent all day holding back Clark. And any free moments, we were trying to find a legal way to go about it, but we didn’t… we tried… I mean--”

“You didn’t find anything.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. It’ll… it’ll all work out,” Lena tried. “At least he isn’t trying to kill me at the moment.”

Kara snorted indignantly before her arms moved on their own. She was already hugging Lena tightly, wrapping around the girl tightly because it was the only way to provide comfort. It felt right, and despite Lena’s tensing, she relaxed a moment later, languidly lounging in the reassurance of strong arms.

“He’s not going to hurt you,” Kara promised. Her lips moved against Lena’s hair, against her temple, against the shell of her ear.

“I know,” Lena nodded.

As she pulled away, Kara’s hands fell to her hips, wrapped around her waist. She felt her hips press against the girl who brought her a dinner she’d mentioned weeks ago, just because she thought it would help. Her palms rested on Kara’s chest, her fingertips toying with buttons and collarbones.

“I was weirdly worried about you, all day,” the reporter finally admitted, when staring at lips was too distracting, and those eyes were nothing but an even worse target to keep her mind from taking terribly arousing rabbit holes of thoughts.

“It’s not weird. What do all of the stories say? We’re linked, now, right?” Lena shrugged. The news was welcomed though.

“I always thought that was just part of the story,” she admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t expect it to be so literal. I see my sister and her girlfriend, and they just move so naturally, I hadn’t expected it to be second-nature, or to realize I’m doing it…. Like thinking about you and stuff.”

“I was worried about you, too,” Lena confessed, clearing her throat and trying to stand up a bit straighter, though there were hands still rooted near her spine. “For the record.”

“So long as it’s on the record, you won’t mind me quoting you in my new article, Ms. Luthor.”

“Wait, what?”

“My article, to be titled Beautiful Billionaire Slums with Nerdy Reporter: Does Fate Make Mistakes?” Kara explained, her hands accenting each word as a headline between them.

“Tad lengthy.”

“You’re right,” she nodded. “How about Hot Genius Reluctantly Accepts Awkward Alien Lover.”

“Oh, is that what we are?”

“Oh, um, well,” Kara blanched and stood up a bit straighter. She adjusted her glasses.

No longer was Lena held there, no longer were arms around her waist, but still, she remained rooted, now the force holding Kara against the counter with just the help of gravity and her own hips. It was  mighty power to hold.

“How about Wonderful, Patient Hero Saves Heiress’ Heart From Lonely Future.”

“Lengthy.”

“Bespeckled, Kind-hearted Angel Thaws Frosty Bookworm’s Future.”

“A bit hyperbolic.”

“Not entirely,” Lena shrugged. Her hands wound around Kara’s neck, her forearms resting on her shoulder. “Fine. Pretty Girl With 1940s Vocab Wooes Pessimistic Orphan?”

“We’re getting closer,” Kara nodded with a smile.

“Quote me for whatever you want then.”

Hovering close, Lena watched Kara’s chest rise and fall quicker, she felt her tense and swallow, she felt her eyes grow wider and yet focus in on her own face quite quickly. It was a lot, it was close, it was a position they had been careful to not find themselves in, and just as Kara had explained, it happened so naturally, without either noticing until it was too late.

“We should eat then,” Lena finally decided, clearing her throat and letting her hands fall away from the hero’s neck. It was safer this way, she decided.

“We should. We should… yeah. We should,” Kara nodded eagerly, still dazed. “Yeah. Eat. Yes.”

Lena felt at ease for the first time in hours, and just because someone brought her dinner.

Much the way a fearsome jungle cat becomes a kitten when it is time for a nap, so did Lena Luthor remind Kara when she grew weary. The graveyard of their take out dinner remained on the coffee table amidst stacks of books and files from work, while a few of Kara’s notebooks and laptop made it to the mountain range of easily dismissed work activities neither felt the urge to traverse once they had full bellies and a comfy couch to share.

Normally, a prowling, sleek, menacing man-eater of a panther, Kara watched Lena fight against her exhaustion and her worry, watched her argue against herself until she settled like an innocent kitten against her side. The warmth radiated between them, and before Kara could really take the time to appreciate it, Lena was breathing soft and even, her cheek on Kara’s thigh, her arms wrapped tightly around her calf.

With the smallest of movements, Kara pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over they exhausted CEO who would rather swallow her own thoughts than let them see the light of day, who could never admit how purely exhausted she was, but succumbed to the mere suggestion of comfort and warmth and safety.

There’d been a moment, once, when J’onn spoke of his wife, when he referenced this idea that he was always exactly where he needed to be when she existed. It wasn’t a thought that made sense or seemed relatable, in fact, it often perplexed her, and yet right there, on the couch while some documentary played, Kara felt, for the first time in a long, long while, that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

With only the smallest of stretches, she leaned to turn off the light and settled into the couch, knowing full well that nothing was going to make her move and wake the sleeping executive from what must have been her first solid chunk of rest in --

And then her phone rang.

“Hm? Is that? Where’s my…?” Lena sat up and squinted, frantic and adorable as her hand patted along the coffee table.

Quickly, Kara dug into her pockets, trying to find the offensive device that betrayed what would have been a wonderful moment.

“I’m sorry, that’s me,” she rattled as Lena tried to still her heart.

“I must have fallen…. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. What time is it?”

“I just have to take this…” Kara pointed at her phone and stood, leaving a confused and disoriented girl in her wake who still squinted and watched her move with only one eye open. “Alex? What’s wrong?”

From the couch, Lena looked down at the blanket and only half heard Kara muttering as she moved out of the living room. It took all of her mental processes to figure out how she’d ended up covered up, and why she was so near delirious from waking from such a deep sleep.

By the time Kara made it back in, she had already adjusted her messy hair and felt somewhat presentable.

“Everything okay?”

“Hm? Yeah, sorry. Alex just stopped by my apartment, and I wasn’t there,” Kara explained. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I’m sorry I used you as a pillow.”

“Never apologize for that.”

Though they were quiet, both had words bubbling up in their throats so that they burst out at the same time once they caught the merest look at the other.

“I should--”

“You should--”

Both snapped their mouths shut and stared at the other, willing them to say the next thing they paused.

Lena yawned and pushed messy hair around her head while debating it all. Kara stared back at her and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“I should head home,” Kara finally managed, rubbing her hand anxiously along her elbow, holding herself together as best she could.

Lena felt her lungs pop at the news, wheezing out like an old party balloon. Still half asleep and very disoriented, the facts of the day swept back into her thoughts.

“Would you… I mean. You could stay, if you wanted.”

“Stay here?” the hero asked quickly. “With you?”

“I could leave if that’d make you more comfortable, but that’d defeat the purpose.”

Still in almost nothing, still very pretty, still doing ungodly things to her heart, Lena had no knowledge of the thoughts in Kara’s head, and for that the reporter was the most grateful. She didn't mean to, or that was her defense, but she caught a glimpse of legs, and then she caught those eyes, and she felt warm all over.

“It is late,” Kara wagered.

Somewhere, in a foreign country, stalked by round the clock surveillance from any number of world governments, Lex Luthor, the more infamous of the Luthor siblings, paced through the halls of his borrowed mansion, plotting and calculating and being utterly miserable and all but dead physically, because surely a man like him did not just appear into the world for no reason at all. There was always a plan, always a motive.

Somewhere else, far away, a more and more dwindling thought, the oldest Luthor heir concocted and hatched and schemed.

RIght there though, in the hotel room on the top floor of the hotel on Twelfth street, Lena Luthor, the youngest of the Luthor brood, the chosen, the adopted, the last one standing, she slid into her bed and kept strict to one fourth of it before facing the middle as, for the first time in a long, long, long while, the other side dipped with another body. Suddenly very much alive inside, she huddled under the blankets and calculated all manner of math that did not make much sense because surely she must be dreaming. A girl like her did not just a hero in her bed for no reason at all. She didn’t have anyone in her bed.

Right there, she swallowed and took a deep breath. The one true heir was too tired to extrapolate.

“I didn’t want to be alone tonight,” Lena whispered in the dark.

Clear on the other side of the bed, what felt like miles apart, the other body rolled to her side as well, and faced the honest voice.

“He’s not going to hurt you,” Kara promised.

“It’s not that,” she bit her cheek  and leaned forward slightly. “I just. I’m very good at being alone. But then you… you’re just. I know what it’s like to have someone around now. I didn’t want to be alone.”

God, did it fucking hurt to say things like that.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore, if you don’t want,” a tiny promise came after a few seconds. “There’s no where in the entire galaxy I’d rather be right now than here, in this exact spot.”

With a small smile that she was grateful Kara couldn’t see in the dark, Lena closed her eyes and ran her foot along her calf, adjusting sleepily and sorely into the big bed. For the life of her, she was not sure how to process an emotion like that. She couldn't figure out where to even start.

“That’s a like,” Kara whispered, shifting slightly.

Just as quickly as her mind tried to forget the equation put before her with Kara’s promise, it short circuited. The body beside her shifted closer, until she felt Kara’s knee on her own knee, until she felt soft breath on her knuckles, until she felt a forehead against her own forehead.

“A foot to the left was the real answer,” she explained as she stopped adjusting. “But now, my answer stands. True, too, considering I’ve been to many places in the Galaxy, and the next four.”

“I’m not as well traveled, but I have to say, that on this world, in this moment, I agree completely.”

“Good.”

“Thank you, Kara.”

The only response came in the form of a warm hand gliding along her back, soothing her toward the inevitable sleep.

[thegladelf]

An Open Heart is An Open Wound 12/?

It has been forever and an age since I posted on this story...sorry, real life and other projects got in the way. (Keep your eyes open, btw, because i start posting my CSBB project next Sunday. HP fans are gonna like it.) But I haven’t forgotten this story and I’m back to working on it (finally). Can’t say whether I”ll get back to regular updates, but I’m gonna try not to go six months without another chapter. Hope y’all like it! (Feedback is always encouraged, in whatever form you like to give it.) Special thanks as always to @sammmtacular​ for beta-ing these monster chapters.

Tagging @timeless-love-story @lenfaz@trueromantic1 @pirateherokillian @justanotherwannabeclassicand @somethingalltogether

Last Chapter | From Beginning | ff.net | AO3

Summary: Killian was sent to our world to find a cursed town called Storybrooke, but his quest was derailed when he met Emma Swan. Drawn together by a past that is more similar than either of them realize. For a time, they were family. Then things changed and Killian left to complete his mission. Now, ten years later, Emma has come to Storybrooke and it’s Killian must decide whether he should pick up the pieces. (Alternate universe retelling of Season One.)

Word count: 10.3k

Regina grabbed hold of Emma’s arm, her perfectly manicured fingernails digging into the red leather.

“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?” she accused, face screwed up in outrage.

The sneer nearly convinced Emma to leave Regina sitting in the smoke and heat while she headed out the back way and got help. Regina would be fine up on the landing for a few minutes—she’d probably pass out from smoke inhalation, but Emma preferred her that way. Still, that idea sat like lead in Emma’s gut, no matter how much Regina deserved to sweat a little.  

Emma wrenched away from Regina’s grasp.  Taking a deep breath and throwing her arms up against the heat, she plunged through the battered doorway. Smoke swirled around her, stinging her eyes as she scanned the room.

A flash of red.

Emma slammed her elbow through the glass, remembering her jacket after the fact, but by then the glass was shattered and she had her fingers around the fire extinguisher.

She heard Regina struggling as she prepped the extinguisher and pointed it at the flames. White vapor clouded both rooms as Emma stepped through and thrust her hand out. Almost immediately, heat flushed fingers wrapped around her hand and Emma hauled Regina to her feet, ducking under her arm. The mayor leaned on her heavily as they hobbled toward the main door.

Sweet, clean air filled Emma’s lungs as they burst through. Covered in ash, she gasped and coughed as light and sound assaulted her. She dimly recognized the click of a camera, followed by more flashing lights.

Immediately, Regina started shouting. “My ankle! Set me down gently!” She struggled against Emma, nearly landing both of them on the ground.

Emma resisted the urge to shove the mayor as she let go. “Seriously? You’re complaining about how I saved your life?” She sucked in another stinging breath, ready to continue yelling, but a coughing fit cut her off and it was all she could do to stay upright. Hands braced against her knees, she took slow breaths.

Behind them, the sirens dimmed as an antiquated fire truck drove up.

Regina waved vaguely. “The firemen are here. It’s not like we were really in danger.”

Emma almost laughed, but her anger won. “Fine. Next time I’ll just… I’ll just…”

She dismissed Regina with a flick of her wrist, determined to walk away without finishing that thought. This woman was not worth her time or effort.

“Ah, you know what?” Emma said, turning back. “Next time, I’ll do the same thing. And the time after that because that is what decent human beings do.” She coughed. “That’s what good people do.” With that she sought out the paramedics and their oxygen tanks, hoping that would stop the world from spinning.

Regina continued yelling, at the firemen, at the photographer, eventually she grabbed a phone from someone and made a call, yelling into the phone too. And then she seemed yelled out, nodding and saying a few more words quietly before hanging up. She coughed, staggering as one of the paramedics tried to corral her over to a spot near Emma. Regina handed the cellphone to the paramedic as she followed meekly, finally exhausted.

Emma hopped off the gurney—she had no desire to be anywhere near Regina right now—handing the oxygen mask to the young man standing nearby.

Regina grabbed her arm. “That was Dr. Hopper,” she said, pausing to cough again. “Whoever did this didn’t go after Henry. It looks like it was just an accident.”

Emma nodded. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. “Thank you.”

Regina didn’t respond, her fingers gripped around another plastic mask as she breathed deep.

A crowd gathered, clustering around the firemen pulling debris from the wreckage of the hallway. They piled great chunks of wood and plaster on the concrete.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called. Mary Margaret stood behind Emma, Ruby next to her. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Emma said, her voice coming out rough and spotty. Clearing her throat hurt like hell, but she did it anyway. “Yeah, just smoke.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Let me see if I can find you some water.”

She scampered off, leaving Emma in Ruby’s care.

“You look like hell,” the taller woman declared.

Several more minutes passed before Archie arrived with Henry, who waved at Emma, but obeyed his mother’s beckoning. Mary Margaret came back with a bottle of water, handing it to Emma as Archie and Granny joined them. Her roommate waited patiently, shoving her hands into her coat as Emma chugged down half the bottle.

Granny took the bottle when Emma was done. “On the house.”

“Did you really rescue Regina?” Mary Margaret asked, an incredulous smile on her face. Beside her, Ruby and Archie leaned a little closer, equally curious expressions on their faces.

“She did!” Henry said, running up beside her. “The fireman said it. They saw it.”

“You are a hero.” Ruby made it sound like some irrefutable truth and Emma felt a little swell of pride.

She had done that. She had stayed and helped Regina, despite having every reason not to, and that felt good. It made her feel like she deserved a place right alongside Henry’s storybook princes and princesses.

Mary Margaret nodded, the little flower on her hat bobbing. “We should see if they have a picture of the rescue.”

“We could make campaign posters,” Granny said.

“Oh, people would love that!” Archie said as Mary Margaret spun around, his voice trailing off as the group chased after her without so much as a goodbye to Emma.

She laughed at their enthusiasm, touched that they were so invested in helping her beat Sydney. She knelt before Henry, gravel biting through her jeans, and took his hands in hers. His fingers were cold because, of course, he had forgotten his gloves.

“This is how good wins,” she told him. “You do something good and people see it, and then they want to help you.”

Henry tilted his head, considering her for a moment. “Maybe you’re right.”

“You see, Henry?” She smiled, gripping his shoulder. Under her hand and all the winter layers, he still felt small and frail despite being taller now that Emma was kneeling. “We don’t have to fight dirty.”

The sentence fell flat as her eyes landed on the debris. Sitting on top of the splintered door was an odd piece of twisted fabric. The still air stirred a little, a biting breeze sweeping past Emma and on that breeze wafted a familiar smell.

Livestock.

“Hey, you should stay close to your mom, kid,” Emma said, squeezing his shoulder. “She was really shaken today.”

Henry glanced over to where Regina whispered fiercely at Sydney. “She looks fine.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Henry,” she said. “And people like your mom don’t like showing weakness, especially with everyone watching.”

He didn’t roll his eyes and say she was the same, just nodded and ran over to his mom. Regina jumped when Henry took her hand, blinking down with wide, confused eyes. Emma shook her head. How screwed up was their relationship if simple physical affection surprised her?

Then again, who was Emma to talk?

Crouching, she snatched up the coiled fabric. She grimaced at the sheep stench, but it wasn’t the smell twisting up her insides as much as the piece of fabric. After assuring herself that everyone else was looking elsewhere, Emma pulled out her phone for a quick Google search.

# # #

Main Street was deserted. Even Granny’s sign was off.

Of course it was. Granny was at town hall, trying to find pictures for the campaign. Emma laughed. She should have known better than to think someone actually believed she was capable of something important. She was just a pawn.

“Swan!”

Emma jerked her head up to find Killian jogging toward her, his look of relief half-masked with a joking smile.

She stopped dead in her tracks. “I thought you were going sailing.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t far out when I heard the sirens.” His trademark smirk spread across his face. “Though, I could have her back out in a jiffy if you need a quick escape.” He threw an aimless gesture toward town hall. “That have anything to do with you?”

“Yes,” Emma bit out.

Killian’s eyebrows shot sky high, but he stepped aside.

“Things with Regina went that well?” His nose wrinkled up as Emma breezed by him. “Swan, why do you smell like a wet sheep?”

“I don’t,” she spat. “This does.” She waved the lanolin soaked cloth in his face. “Lanolin. It’s flammable, apparently, and I’m betting Gold knew that.”

He jumped from concern to rage in one breath. His hand snapped out in the next, fingers circling her wrist.

“What happened?” he growled. “Are you alright?”

Emma shrugged away from him. “Yeah, fine. Regina got the worst of it.”

“Henry?”

“Wasn’t even there.” Her anger faded at the flash of relief on Killian’s face. Though she couldn’t explain why, she found herself running through her encounter with Regina and the subsequent explosion. By the time she got to the end of it, he looked gray, but his eyes practically gave off sparks.

“You think he might be coming after you as well, then?” he said, voice strained.

“No, I think he was trying to help me.” Her grip on the greasy wool tightened. “He owns half the town already, makes sense he’d grab for more power when the opportunity arose.”

And she swallowed his lines like a fool. A small voice whispered that she hadn’t detected any lies last night, but that didn’t soothe the sting. After all that talk about doing things the right way, she fell in with exactly the kind of people she wanted to avoid becoming.

Killian sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re planning to confront him.”

“Of course I am,” Emma said. “When he I accepted his help this is not what I meant.”

“Accepted his help?” Killian tilted his head back, eyes closed. “Swan, tell me you didn’t make another deal with him.”

“Not a deal,” she said. “He offered to help. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t even know I could challenge Regina.”

“And how were you planning to deal with him?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted. “But this is not how I’m winning this election. It can’t be.”

Quiet settled over them, broken only by Killian’s measured breathing. When he opened his eyes and looked at her, he looked like his last good night of sleep was a hundred years ago.

He sighed, chest caving. “You can’t break a deal with the…pawnbroker.”

“It’s not a deal.” She tried to turn away, but he grabbed her wrist again.

“I’m not going to let you just…”

She snatched her hand away. “You don’t get to ‘let’ me do anything, Hook.”

He clenched his jaw. “You’re set on confronting him?”

“Well, I can’t let him go around blowing up buildings to make me look like a hero.”

Killian sighed. “Allow me to go with you, then.”

“I don’t need…”

“You don’t know him like I do,” he snapped, his voice echoing down the empty street. He caught himself and took a step back from her, his cheeks burning—though Emma couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. The latter, judging by the look in his eyes, but not directed at her. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she countered. “He wants me to be sheriff.”

“Emma, please.” He cleared his throat. “Please.”

Something about the fear in his voice connected deep down in her gut.

“Okay.” And without another word, she walked away.

The crunch of his boots joined hers as the only sounds on the street. The sign on Gold’s shop was still flipped to OPEN. Emma reached for the doorknob, thought better of it, and whirled on Killian.

“I am…” she paused, searching for the word he had used earlier, “allowing you to come with me. But I am the deputy sheriff. I do the talking. You’re just here for back-up if I need it. Which I won’t.”

Killian nodded, his jaw clenched so tight, she was surprised she didn’t hear bone splinter. For one fleeting moment, she questioned the wisdom of bringing him with her, but she still saw the fear in his eyes, heard the way his voice had cracked. None of that had been for show.

“Okay.” She inhaled through her nose. “Here goes, then.”

The bell chimed as Emma entered. Gold’s casual glance up at her sent her blood boiling again. He had been expecting her.

“Miss Swan, what a surprise,” he said, in a tone that implied he was anything but. “And Mr… Jones, wasn’t it?”

Emma listened for any hint of animosity from Gold, searched his face as he nodded to Killian. For the first time, she wondered if Killian’s story might be all one sided. An imagined slight Gold had no knowledge of.

“Aye,” Killian said, shutting the door. The bell jangled loudly.

“Loads of visitors today.” Gold eyed them distastefully, wiping his hands on the cloth he held. It was the only clean, bright thing in the entire shop. “Do hope you’re not going to break my little bell.”

“You set the fire,” Emma said, holding the fabric in front of her as she advanced on him. There was a slight tug on the back of her jacket. A warning: Keep your distance.

Gold scoffed, returning to buffing his fingernails. “I’ve been right here, Miss Swan.”

Emma shook the stinking mess in her hand. “Take a whiff. It smells like your sheep crap oil.” She crossed the rest of the distance, ignoring Killian’s presence at her shoulder. “Turns out it’s flammable.”

“Oh. Are you sure?” Gold leaned back, shifting his weight off of his bad leg. He tilted his head, speaking in a tone normally used on small children. “There’s some construction working on at City Hall at the moment. There’s loads of flammable solvents used in construction.”

“Why did you do it?” Emma demanded.

Gold’s eyes flicked over to Killian.

“If I did it,” he corrected. Draping his cloth over his arm, he curled his long fingers around the head of his cane. “If I did it, that would be because you cannot win without something big.” The floorboards creaked under his uneven tread. “Something like, uh…” He paused before raising his hand with a flourish. “Oh, I don’t know. Being the hero in a fire?”

“How could you even know I’d be there at the right time?”

“How would I indeed?” Gold asked, leaning against the counter.

“Perhaps,” Killian said, stepping up beside Emma, “the mayor isn’t the only one with eyes and ears in this town.”

“Or perhaps,” Gold drew out with a smirk, though his eyes never left Emma. “I’m just intuitive.” His nose wrinkled, his smile turning cold. “Were I involved.”

“I could’ve run and left her there,” Emma said.

Killian snorted. “Not the type, love.”

She ignored him. “I can’t go along with this.”

“You just did.” The truth in Gold’s words sent a chill down Emma’s spine. “This is just the price of election, Miss Swan.”

“A price I’m not willing to pay,” she said, tossing the foul-smelling rag onto Gold’s counter. It hit with an unsatisfying plop. “Find another sucker.”

“Okay, go ahead, expose me.” Gold’s relaxed tone pulled at Emma just as surely as Killian’s hand, tugging her lightly toward the door. “But if you do, just think about what you’ll be exposing and what you’ll be walking away from.”

Emma swallowed, staring at Gold long and hard before she acquiesced to Killian’s gentle urging.

“Oh, yes,” Gold called to her back. “And, um… Who you might be disappointing.”

Killian’s steps faltered, his head snapped around. Something dark and dangerous and frightening flashed in his eyes. Without thinking Emma grabbed his jacket, wrenching the door open and shoving him outside. Cool air—air that didn’t smell like barnyard—hit  her cheeks, calming her. She didn’t bother shutting the door all the way, choosing instead to hustle Killian further down the street.

Killian whirled on her, dragging her into the alley by Gold’s shop. Shadows fell over him, only the glint of his bright, blue eyes showing where his face was.

“Why is that…monster threatening my son?” he growled.

“It wasn’t a threat, Hook.” Emma stepped back, the slats of the wall pressing into her spine as she leaned against it. Bowing her head, she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, throwing wild colors across the back of her eyelids. “It was a reminder of why I’m doing this.”

“For Henry?”

“Yeah.” She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket, the cold metal moving smoothly under her fingers. “I wanted to show him that the good guys don’t always lose. That they can win without resorting to the tactics villains use.” She threw her hands up in the air. “And now I’m in cahoots with Gold, so that’s working out real well.”

Killian nodded, kicking at a piece of trash. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Emma said for the second time that night. The words bit. “This is exactly how I didn’t want to win, but, I’m going up against Regina. How am I supposed to win against her without some serious back up?”

“You don’t need Gold to win against Regina, love,” Killian said softly.

“Have you seen this town? No one wins against Regina.”

“You will.”

Emma wanted to believe him, really she did, but he was hopelessly optimistic if he thought that someone like her could go up against someone like Regina and win. No one would take Emma Swan—the girl with no roots and nothing to her name—seriously. Everyone was too afraid of Regina. Though they were just as afraid of Gold, if the little she’d seen of him was anything to go by.

She shied away from the hand reaching for her. “I’m not sure I can take that chance. This is too important. I—I need to win. Henry needs me to win.”

In the cramped alley, Killian was so close she heard him his swallow.

“In this book of the lad’s is Gold a hero or a villain?”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He pressed his lips together and exhaled slowly. Tension stretched him so taut it was she expected him to shatter as he moved away. With slow, careful steps he backed out of the alley, his eyes on Emma the entire time.

As the street lights fell on him, he looked calm. Too calm. A sudden panic overtook Emma, the flash of rage in his eyes back in the shop harsh and bright in her memory. No matter how much she told herself that this was Killian, something deeper told her the violence she saw in his eyes could have physical consequences.

With deliberation he turned and Emma thought she only half imagined the rip of his gaze leaving hers. She was free. She stumbled to the alley’s mouth, ready to call out, to stop him, to tell him not to go back inside that shop, but he passed by the door. He made it the few feet to the corner before he stopped, pausing to uncurl his fist and examine it. The tips of Killian’s fingers caught the sparse light, glistening red tinged the nails. Without a backward glance, he smeared his hand down the front of his jeans, and kept walking.

Something inside Emma snapped and she could breathe again. She reached behind her. The rough siding of the shop next to Gold’s scratched at her hand as she leaned against it. Her hands shook and she wondered why. Hadn’t their fight earlier this afternoon been just as intense? But all that rage hadn’t even ruffled her feathers as she glared up at him in Mary Margaret’s apartment. If she hadn’t been scared earlier, why was she scared now?

The answer didn’t take long to piece together. As volatile as their fight had been, Emma knew deep down that Killian would never strike out at her in anger, never seek to harm her.

# # #

To say Killian woke on the wrong side of the bed the next day would imply that he slept at all.

He hadn’t.

He lay awake all night trying to find a way to free Emma from Rumplestiltskin’s ever tightening leash. No matter how he turned the situation, the only true solution was the Crocodile’s death. Regardless of how Emma worded it, she had made a deal. And Killian had witnessed firsthand the price of defying Rumplestiltskin.

His conclusion should have brought him relief, some satisfaction and yet…there was Henry.

True, the lad would be far safer in a world without the Crocodile, but if the man turned up with a dagger in his heart, how long would it be before the authorities tracked Killian down? Two days ago, he could have cared less if he was caught. Now? Whether or not she had evidence, Killian had no doubt that Emma could and would identify the murderer and then she would make sure that Henry never came near him.

He groaned as he rolled out of his bunk. Normally, the gentle rock of the ocean calmed his thoughts. It had no such effect now. He dressed quickly. This election thing apparently involved a gathering of some sort where the two candidates would speak to the masses. He wasn’t particularly interested in whatever that Sydney fellow had to say, but he would go if meant supporting Emma.

And he that he might see Henry.

Killian skulked outside the building, watching as men came to hang a sign announcing “Debate here!” across the pale, yellow siding. The sign clashed horribly, too dark and serious for such a cheerful color. Others came as the day started to warm, the sun finally free of the cloud cover. A line started forming, the chatter filling up the still air and making Killian feel odd. They barely noticed him, all of them buzzing with the story of last night’s rescue.

Killian’s stomach twisted in knots. The Crocodile truly had rigged the game in her favor. Was this part of a plan to break the curse? If he was against the queen, surely it had to be. But how could he be working to break a curse he, by all signs, didn’t remember.

“Hey, you’re Killian, right?” The spritely brunette appeared at Killian’s elbow, heedless of the hook he nearly sent into her heart in shock.

“Aye,” he said.

“I’m Mary Margaret, Emma and I are roommates.” And then, before Killian could remind her that he knew this fact as he was the one who had called her the night Graham met his unfortunate end, she plunged on, “Did you hear about last night? Well, you must have heard about last night. That was so brave of Emma, I’m honestly not sure if I would have done the same. I think I would have just run…Oh, speaking of which…” She shifted items bundled in her arms, flashing some wicked looking metal object at him. “I want to plaster these all over the town board. Care to help me?”

Killian eyed the implement, unsure as to its purpose, and took the easy way out. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much use,” he said, waving the hook at her.

Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Oh…” she murmured without the telltale trace of fear. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think…Well, you could keep me company if you like.” She flashed him a brilliant grin, so like Henry in that moment that Killian couldn’t refuse.

“I suppose I could find some way to assist,” he said, taking the stack of glossy paper from her as an idea occurred to him.

As it turned out, the contraption was some sort of…nailing device, though the thin slivers of metal left in its wake were considerably smaller than nails, and it required the use of only one hand. Mary Margaret whisked posters from his arms, wielding the thing with an ease that spoke of familiarity.

“You teach at the school if I’m not mistaken?” Killian started.

Mary Margaret nodded. “Yep. I actually teach Henry’s class.” She pulled the handle, several shocks sending the bits of metal into the corkboard with resounding pops. “He’s one of my best students.”

Killian grinned at that. An odd sort of pride stirring inside him. “Really? Well, that’s to be expected…”

Killian cut the sentence off, regaling the woman with tales of his days at the naval academy would only confuse her and he wasn’t sure if Emma had shared Henry’s true parentage with the schoolmarm yet.

He blustered on, “Considering how clever his mother is.”

Mary Margaret nodded without asking Killian to elaborate on Emma’s cleverness, which—as it involved her speed in learning one-handed lock picking—was probably for the best.

“Oh, yes,” she said, slapping another poster against the board. “And Regina pushes him hard too.” She bit her lip, glancing behind her. “A little too hard if you ask me. No nine-year-old needs perfect grades.” Her shoulders bounced up and down in a quick shrug. “Still, I know it comes from a good place. She’s been harsh in the past, but up until now it’s only been because she wants the best for him.”

Killian stepped closer. “What do you mean, up until now?”

If she noticed the tightness in his voice, she didn’t show it as she pinned the next flyer, her tongue peeking from between her lips in concentration. It reminded him of Emma.

“You know…This whole feud with Emma, she’s so scared about what might happen…I don’t think she’s thinking of Henry much in all this.” She finished, brushing a gloved hand over her handiwork as though her words weren’t seeping into Killian’s bones. “And she’s not handling this stage in Henry’s development too well, he’s learning that he doesn’t need her for everything and with Emma here…” She trailed off, her face thoughtful. “I suppose she’s scared and going after Emma makes her feel like she can do something about, I just wish she could see how much this hurts Henry.”

“How is he handling it?” Killian asked, following her as he headed for the other side of the board.

Mary Margaret laughed. “Besides the fact that he thinks Regina is some Evil Queen? As well as…oh!” The last was a soft gasp, her hands muffling most of it as she backpedaled quickly. She whirled on Killian, her hands flying to her hat. “Does the hat look, okay?” she hissed. “Or should I take it off? Is it doing weird things to my hair?”

Killian blinked. “It’s fine as is.”

Mary Margaret nodded, clearing her throat. She spun on her heel, straightening her coat, before marching around to the other side.

Her exclamation of, “David! Hi!” satisfied his curiosity long before he rounded the board.

“Mary Margaret,” came the soft reply. “Hi.”

David stood just feet from Mary Margaret, several posters clutched in one hand and another of the strange metal guns in his other. He also wore the most ridiculous hat Killian had ever seen, certainly something that would be blackmail worthy when the prince regained his right mind…and his fashion sense. His gentle smile widened when he saw Killian. “And Killian, I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“We, uh…” Mary Margaret stumbled, her eyes shooting to Killian.

Suddenly, he felt very uncomfortable.

“Mutual acquaintance,” he said before the silence could stretch too long. “I know her roommate, Emma.”

“Oh.” David nodded, smiling. “We have a few mutual acquaintances it seems.”

Turning to Killian, Mary Margaret grabbed another poster, taking far less care than she had previously. “So. Sydney,” she said as she attacked her poster liberally with the metal gun.

David shrugged. “My wife is friends with Regina.”

“Right.” Mary Margaret snatched up the last poster. “How is she?”

“Good. She’s meeting me here later.” David turned that same, gentle smile on the schoolteacher, but she ignored him.

“We’re out of posters,” she declared. “I’m going to go get some more.” She handed Killian the metal gun and rushed off, her shoes crunching briskly over the dry grass.

David sighed, his eyes following her.

“Looks like you’ve got a mess on your hands, mate,” Killian said.

David shrugged. “I’m—well, we’re—Kathryn and I are good. I just wish I hadn’t…” He ducked his head, the brim of his hat nearly brushing the various notices fluttering on the cork board. “Thank you, by the way,” he said, glancing up at Killian. “I was little disoriented that night, so thanks for the advice. It was the right thing to do. There should be more people out there like you.”

Killian snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“No, I mean it,” David said. “Not many people would have had it in them to look out for a complete stranger.”

Killian’s cheeks flamed, the praise making him want to squirm as he hadn’t since he was a small lad. It was only due to him that David was in this situation in the first place, if he had truly been looking out for the man, he would never have touched that windmill and perhaps Emma would already be reunited with her family.

And you would have your revenge, whispered a small, bitter voice in the back on his mind. Or have you forgotten about that?

He looked away, unable to withstand the earnest admiration in the prince’s eyes. All these years, he had never questioned his path. The death and destruction left in the Crocodile’s wake had been all the proof he needed that he was on the right path. But now, with Emma’s father watching, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. Could it be the right path if it cost him Emma? Cost him his son?

“Looks like I’m out of posters too,” David said, still grinning. “I’ll see you inside, Killian.”

Killian almost followed him. Almost, but he looked up to find Emma striding toward him, looking very official in a tight brown dress and jacket. He tried not to let his eyes linger too long as she approached, but had such a gesture been well-received he certainly would have made a show of it.

“Hey,” a small voice whispered, startling him much as the boy’s grandmother had mere minutes before. “Can I borrow your staple gun?”

Killian blinked, trying to make sense of Henry’s words. The lad pointed emphatically at the metal contraption Mary Margaret had wielded.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said, handing over the staple gun.

“Thanks,” his son said.

His son.

He had known... For nearly twenty-four hours he had known who Henry was, but the knowledge suddenly seemed new with the boy standing before him. His throat tightened as he took in the boy’s features as though for the first time. His eyes, yes, he had his mother’s eyes. But he had Killian’s dark hair and mirrors might have been rare when he was a lad, but Killian thought he saw hints of something that reminded him very much of Liam in the boy’s round face.

Suddenly, he wished very much that he could show his brother this wonderful, perfect person that was equal parts Emma and himself.

“Oh, wow, I’m not sure which one is more embarrassing,” Emma muttered from just off his right.

Killian started, looking quickly away from her so she couldn’t see the tears he blinked away. It had been a very long time since he last thought about his brother.

“I made it,” Henry was saying when he turned back.

Killian’s eyebrows shot up as he beheld the poster Henry had stapled to the board. He had been so taken in with the sight of his son, he had missed the rather comical artwork in the lad’s arms. Emma scanned the poster, her brow furrowed in concentration.

“I found the picture online,” Henry explained. “I put your face over the fireman’s. It looked more…heroic.”

Emma swallowed. “Well, I certainly look…brawny.”

“Quite the talent,” Killian said, tilting his head to admire the lad’s work. He recognized the word ‘online’ from his many trips with Emma to use computers at the library. “I’m impressed.”

Henry beamed at him and Killian thought his heart might stop beating.

“Thanks, I was up all night working with Photoshop.”

“Henry,” Emma scolded.

“Okay, not all night….”

“Henry.” Regina’s voice cut through the air. “What did I tell you about running off?”

Henry turned back to the board, ripping down the poster he had fastened there and hiding it behind his back with the rest.

“Ms. Swan,” Regina said with a tight-lipped smile. “And Mr. Jones. You two are certainly becoming quite the pair.”

Emma stiffened, the posters in her hand crinkling in her grasp.

Henry fidgeted, trying to rescue the sheets of paper from her, but only succeeding in knocking them to the ground. Emma sighed, crouching awkwardly to retrieve them without kneeling and dirtying her stockings.

“What’s this?” Regina asked, grabbing one of the posters. Her dark eyes flashed as she examined the page, the corners of her mouth turning down. “What a shame,” she said, balling the poster in her fist. “A waste of trees and a waste of your time.”

Henry glared defiantly up at his mother.

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” Killian said. He plucked one of the posters up from the ground, shaking off the dirt. “When I was in…school they used to say that it took ten thousand hours of practice to truly master a subject.” He smiled at the mayor as he might a particularly pompous superior officer. Polite. It was certainly better than giving her the lashing he wanted to. No one should speak to his son in such a manner, but Emma had asked he not show his hand and he would hold to that, especially after seeing the cool exchange between Emma and the mayor. “Certainly, practice can never be a waste of time or else we’d have no masters of any craft.”

Regina’s heated gaze turned on him, her eyes raking him up and down in a cold, calculating fashion.

“I think I know where my son’s talents are best spent,” she said, her hand shot between him and Henry, taking the boy by the wrist. “Come along, Henry, the debate will be starting soon.” She stalked away, calling back one last time, “I’d hurry with those posters, Ms. Swan, it won’t do to be late for your own debate.”

Emma let out a shaky breath. “Do you see now why I have to win?”

“I imagine so,” Killian said, anger still thrumming through his veins. “Whoever decided that she should have a child?”

“The state,” Emma said, folding the posters up. “Don’t tell Henry. That other picture is bad enough.” She unfolded the posters. “He did do a good job though.” And then she gently slid the posters into the nearest trash can.

The crowd had thinned, most of the people filing inside to find their seats.

“Why bother winning, Emma?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why not cut our ties to this place, take our son, and go? Isn’t that what would be best for Henry?”

“Because that would be kidnapping and it’s illegal.” She crossed her arms, digging at the ground with her boot as she said, “Not that I haven’t thought about it, but…”

Emma sighed.

“It’s a good home. Better than any I ever had. He gets three good meals and his own room and more toys than I think any kid would know what to do with. It’s just this…fairytale thing that’s the problem. I think I’d be frustrated with him too if he thought I was some evil sorceress.” Raking her fingers through her hair she looked at him. “You’ve been here since he came, tell me, before now, before I came, did you ever question it?” She flung her arm toward city hall, her meaning clear.

Killian shook his head. “He’s never been lacking, but material comforts don’t make up for an absent parent.”

Emma scoffed. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be a good judge of that, considering I never had either.” She glanced at the hall again, squaring her shoulders. “I’d better get inside.”

“Right.”

He followed her, studiously keeping his eyes on her bouncing, blonde curls and not on the curve of her ass in that pencil skirt. He didn’t fancy a black eye this early in the morning. For a heart-stopping moment he thought she might have read his thoughts, because she turned on him and odd look on her face.

She clenched her jaw. “That was good, what you said. Regina might not have appreciated it, but I know Henry did.”

Killian shrugged. “It was the right thing to do. Words carry quite the weight when you’re young, I’d hate for him to doubt himself simply because Regina behaved like some wounded animal.”

A fleeting smile crossed Emma’s face and she nodded before darting off.

Killian watched her go with a grin on his own face. He certainly hadn’t meant to impress Emma when he contradicted Regina, but for the first time since renewing his relationship with her, he felt the flutterings of hope.

When he entered the main room, it had filled quite decently, a good number of the chairs already taken. He crept up the side, ducking away from people’s gazes as he searched for a seat. As his gaze passed over the citizens of Storybrooke, he wondered how many of them had stories in Henry’s book. Surely not all these people could fit, even in a book as large as his son’s. If any of them were even in their true form. The Crocodile had certainly changed between their world and this one.

He spotted an empty chair in the front row, right next to a familiar head of dark hair.

Regina glared at him as he approached, doing his best to look humble and apologetic.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, careful to look at Regina.

“Nope,” Henry answered before Regina could say otherwise.

With what he hoped was an uncertain nod, Killian took the seat, crossing his arms so his hook was hidden. No need to remind the queen of his real identity.

The stage creaked, but Kilian could see nothing past the heavy, olive curtains.

Henry leaned over, his green eyes peering up at Killian. “Did you really think I did a good job?”

Killian swallowed, his eyes skating over to Regina. “Well, I’m no judge of such things, but I thought it showed quite the imagination.”

The mayor snorted. “He certainly has that in droves.”

Killian shrugged. “An imagination is no crime.”

Regina turned on him. “Except when you indulge it instead of doing your homework.”

Henry ducked his head, his grey and red striped scarf riding up under his ears. “It’s the weekend.”

“And you’d have enjoyed it all that much more if you didn’t have to do your schoolwork tonight.” Regina sat back in her chair, hands resting in her lap. She glanced down, her jaw clenching as she sat back up, her back ramrod straight, and refolded her hands in her lap. “Henry, please sit up, I don’t pay for your chiropractic care so you can grow up to have a hunch.”

Henry huffed, but did as his mother asked.

Out of nothing more than spite, Killian slouched in his chair, wishing the one next to him had been empty, so he could drape his arm insouciantly over the back. The unforgiving plastic bit into the base of his spine, but he refused to change position out of principle.

He threw another look at the curtains, hoping this wouldn’t take long. A slight gap had opened at the center and one brilliant, green eye stared out at him. No, not at him, at Henry. Emma pulled back as quickly as she appeared, though Killian didn’t have to worry long if it was because she caught him looking. The curtain parted hardly a minute after her retreat, revealing Emma and Sydney seated on opposite sides of the stage, Henry’s psychiatrist standing at the podium in the middle.

Sydney sat directly in front of Killian, not seeming to share Regina’s preference for proper posture, his legs splayed, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair. Relaxed and saved from sloppiness only by his crisp, gray suit. He glanced once or twice at Regina, but for the most part, stared over the heads of the crowd, detached. There to serve a purpose, not because he believed it.

The podium partially blocked Emma from Killian’s view and he had to shift toward Henry to see her. Everything about her was closed off and nervous. Her legs in perfect parallel from knee to ankle. Her shoulders hunched inward. Her laced fingers twisted in her lap as she stared into the crowd, her eyes fixed on one point.

A chill crawled down Killian’s spine. Still slouched, he tilted his head, scanning each row until he found Rumplestiltskin.

The speaking device on the podium gave a burst of static, jerking Killian’s attention back to the front.

“Yes,” Hopper said. “Hello, citizens of Storybrooke.” The psychiatrist droned on for several minutes, reminding everyone of the former sheriff’s beloved position in the town. Someone in the back scoffed. It sounded like Leroy. The speech was rambling, littered with anecdotes that would have been better put to use at the funeral than at an official town meeting.

Killian almost leaned down to ask Henry who Hopper was in the book, but thought better of it. If Emma was hesitant about the book, he was sure Regina would bristle at the mention. Especially considering that it told the truth about her.

At last, the bespectacled man took a breath, standing a little straighter.

“Tragedy has brought us here, but we are faced with this decision.” He paused, his eyes raking the audience. Did his gaze rest on Regina for a moment longer than the rest? “And now, we ask only that you listen with an open mind and to please vote your conscience. So, without further ado, I’d like to introduce you to the candidates—Sidney Glass and Emma Swan. Glass. Swan. Sounds like something that a decorator would make you buy.” The joke fell on deaf ears. “Wow, crickets.” He gestured behind him, his brief bit of spine deflating. “Okay, uh… Uh, Mr. Glass—your opening statement.”

He ceded the podium to the spare man.

Sydney approached, a puppy eager to do his mistress’ bidding as he straightened his tie and fiddled with his jacket.

“I just want to say,” Sydney said, his fingers curling around the wooden structure as his gaze swept over the crowd, “that if elected, I want to serve as a reflection of the best qualities of Storybrooke.” His gaze rested on Regina and Killian looked over to find the woman mouthing the words along with Glass. “Honesty, neighbourliness, and strength.” Glass’ eyes swept the room one last time as he nodded, a smile plastered across his face. “Thank you.”

The room applauded, even Henry making a half-hearted attempt in order to appease his mother, as Hopper approached the podium once again.

He leaned in to announce, “And Emma Swan.”

Surprise flickered over Emma’s face, but she stood, fidgeting with her dress as she took the podium. Just as Glass had, she gripped either side of the structure. Her knuckles stood out white, her eyes on the wooden surface before her. Killian sat a little straighter, willing her to look in his direction, wishing he could give her some small encouragement. Anything to wipe that uncertain look from her face and show off the determined, capable woman he knew she was.

Unnatural silence filled the room. Every eye trained forward.

“You guys all know I have what they call a, uh…” Emma paused, taking a deep breath. Bright green eyes flashed in his direction for the briefest moment before focusing on the floor. “Troubled past. But, you’ve been able to overlook it because of the, um…” Her hand waved in a dismissive gesture. “Hero thing.”

She took a breath, her lashes fluttering closed for a brief moment. Her grip on the podium tightened, her chest rising in a slow inhale. Killian counted time in heartbeats, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

When she looked up, her gaze landed on Henry.

“But here’s the thing, the fire was a setup.” Emma’s voice rang through the room, crystal clear over the sound of gasps and the creak of chairs. Shoulders thrown back, she addressed the entire room. “Mr. Gold agreed to support me in this race, but I didn’t know that that meant he was going to set a fire. I don’t have definitive evidence, but I’m sure.” Again, she held eye contact with their son. “And the worst part of all this was…” Emma ducked her head, but only for a second. She stood straight, apology written across her features, the rest of the room forgotten. “The worst part of all this is I let you all think it was real. And I can’t win that way. I’m sorry.”

Killian didn’t know how long they sat there, the room hushed. Everyone’s attention fixed on Emma, their collective breath seeming to be held in reverence of this moment between mother and son.

A chair creaked so softly Killian might have missed it had there been a single breath of noise. His gut clenched at the first tap of the cane against tile. Killian waited, hand curled into a fist on his thigh, waiting until the rest of the room turned to watch the Crocodile make his slow progress out of the room before he turned that way as well.

The man didn’t even look back as he left and that meant one of two things: either he didn’t care that Emma had exposed him or he had already determined what to do. The thought made Killian’s blood run cold. When he turned back to the podium, he found only Hopper and an uncertain Sydney Glass. The only sign left of Emma was a fluttering curtain.

Killian shot to his feet. Ignoring Regina’s questioning stare, he sped down the side, just short of a run. The air was cold and biting as he burst from the hall, harsh on his skin after the warm room packed with people.

The drive outside stood empty save for the lone figure of Rumplestiltskin. The demon threw a careless glance over his shoulder, unconcerned by Killian’s abrupt exit from the hall.

Killian knew that this was his opportunity. He could take the Crocodile out once and for all, and if that cost him his relationship with Emma and Henry, wouldn’t it be worth the sacrifice? To never have them fall under Rumplestiltskin’s threat again?

“Oh, hey.”

For the second time that day, Henry took Killian unawares. The lad blinked up at him with wide, green eyes.

“Are you looking for Emma too?” the boy asked, smiling.

“Aye,” Killian replied automatically. His mind ground to a halt, his previous thoughts at odds with the memories that Henry’s presence dredged up.

“She’s probably headed to Granny’s,” the boy said. “That’s where she usually goes when she needs to unwind while it’s still daylight.” He gestured to the sky, barely starting to pink on the western horizon.

Killian nodded. “Well, then, shall we?” he asked, grasping onto the tenuous control Henry’s presence brought.

Henry’s shaggy hair fluttered as he shook his head. “I’ll meet you there. There’s something I’ve gotta do.” He took off, but did an about face almost immediately. “I’m glad you and Emma are friends, I don’t think she has many.” With a quick grin, he trotted off, his rucksack bouncing against his shoulders.

Killian swallowed, his eyes drawn back to Rumplestiltskin’s retreating back.

I wanted to show him that the good guys don’t always lose, Emma’s voice whispered in his ear. That they can win without resorting to the tactics villains use.

Killian was a villain. He made no excuses. Blood clung to his hand, thick and unforgiving. He had cared little about the taint on his soul, barely giving it any heed in his single-minded quest. After all, to kill a monster meant becoming a monster, did it not? What did all those ruined lives matter against the weight of the Crocodile’s crimes?

He was a villain, had been a villain for nearly three centuries, and yet, here he was contemplating changing his spots like the proverbial leopard. The thought sat ill in his mind. Not because he saw no value in doing the right thing, as Emma had done, but because changing his ways would mean admitting what he had always known: he had hurt people that did not deserve it. Turning from the Crocodile, trying to use a hero’s tactics would mean he could no longer push away the cost of his sins nor their weight on his soul.

But Emma didn’t need a villain. They surrounded her. They were set against her. And if being a villain meant being set against Emma Swan… He held his hand before him, his memories reflected in the silver surface of the rings he wore. His trophies. His sins. How often had he stained them red?

He could never be a hero, but perhaps he could learn to use a hero’s tactics. Perhaps he could learn to be…better. For Emma. For Henry.

Taking a deep breath, he turned from Rumplstiltskin. The man could live. For now. After all, if Killian allied himself with Emma and Rumplestiltskin was set against Emma, it could only be a matter of time before the Crocodile’s reckoning came. And then, Killian would show no mercy. His lips curled into a half smile at the thought.

# # #

“Care for some company?”

Emma groaned, her head sinking to her crossed forearms as Killian slid onto the stool on the other side of her. She did not need to deal with him right now, especially since five minutes she caught herself wishing he would walk in the door.

“Or I could go,” he said, standing quickly.

“No,” Emma said. “No. You can stay. Just…I don’t want to talk about it.”

He swiveled on his barstool, facing her for several long moments.

“I can abide by that if you will answer one question for me,” he said when she finally acknowledged him.

Emma pressed her lips together, weighing her options. “Fine. One question.”

“What changed your mind?”

She fiddled with her glass, swirling the remaining whiskey at the bottom for several long moments before she answered.

“I know I can’t beat Regina doing things the right way, but…” She stopped, unsure of whether she wanted to share her backstage revelation. She threw back the rest of her drink, setting it down with a heavy clunk. “Maybe I’m not a hero if I lose, but if I won based on a lie then I’m definitely not a hero and if I’m not a hero, what place do I have in Henry’s life?”

Killian didn’t reply right away. When curiosity finally forced her to look at him, she found him staring at the floor, the muscles in his jaw tense. She turned away before he could look at her. She shouldn’t have said that, not after she had hidden the truth from him for so long.

“Emma.” His voice was soft, a plea. He smiled, not his usual smirk, something kinder, something that made her feel like maybe they could do this…thing. That maybe for Henry’s sake they could be friends. “You are his mother and you love him. You’ll always have a place in his life.”

She chuckled darkly. “We’ll see how he feels about that when he’s sixteen and moody.”

Killian snorted. “Let’s hope he takes after you in that respect.”

“Do you think I did the right thing?”

“Does it matter what I think?” he asked, smiling at Ruby as she wandered over.

Emma shrugged. “Not really.”

“Good,” Killian said. “It shouldn’t.”

Emma nodded, but she still felt an air of unease about him. Not quite disapproval, but there was nothing about this situation that he liked. Of course, there wasn’t much about this situation that she liked either.

But, she thought as she circled the rim of the glass with her finger, I did the right thing.

“Another?” Ruby asked, her long fingers snatching up Emma’s glass at the first squeak. At Emma’s nod, she turned to Killian, her red streaks catching the light. “Are you joining her? Or did you bring your own?”

He patted his jacket pocket with a rueful smile. “Don’t have it on me tonight, I’m afraid.”

“So that’s a yes,” Ruby stated.

“That’s a yes.” He smiled, his dimples flashing as Ruby rolled her eyes.

For a long moment, the only sound was the clack of her heels against the linoleum, the clink of glasses, and Killian’s steady breathing next to her. Before she could ask herself what she was doing here, wonder how he had slipped back into her life, the bells above the door chimed. They all turned to find Henry, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The shades clacked against the glass as he closed the door.

“Henry,” she said, a little surprised. And a little nervous. This was the first time the three of them had really been together since Killian found out. Well, besides that morning, and that didn’t really count because there had been people all around them… and Regina. “Hey.”

Henry apparently didn’t pick up on the guilt curling inside of her as he pulled one of Graham’s walkie talkies out of his backpack and handed it to her.

“What’s this for?” The little black radio felt solid in her hand, significant. Her nerves buzzed even louder, anticipation and dread a strange mixer for the alcohol already in her blood.

“You stood up to Mr. Gold,” he said, hopping up onto the stool next to her, looking like a mini business man in his jacket and little grey vest. He smiled. “It’s pretty amazing.”

Killian chuckled again. “That it certainly is.”

Emma silenced him with a look, she did not need both of them ganging up in some sort of “Let’s make Emma feel better” pity party.

“He did something illegal,” she reminded them both.

Henry grinned all the wider and Emma had the sneaking suspicion that Killian bore the same grin, even if she couldn’t see him at the moment. She almost turned around and jabbed him playfully with her elbow, like she might have done in the old days. But she caught herself. That would be too much. That would give him hope and she wasn’t going to do that, there were lines and they needed to stay where they were. For Henry’s sake.

“That’s what heroes do,” Henry said, his face thoughtful. His chin dimpled and suddenly, she realized that he must have gotten his serious side from Killian. Or the chin dimple at least. “Expose stuff like that.” He started when Ruby came over, sliding glass of lemonade in front of him before she delivered Emma and Killian’s drinks. With a wary glance over Emma’s shoulder, Henry leaned forward, his voice a low hiss. “I shouldn’t have given up on Operation Cobra.”

Emma’s heart squeezed, Henry’s wide eyes overwhelming and heavy. She picked at her fingernails, unsure of whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Henry believed in her again and she hadn’t even needed to win the election.

The bell above the door broke the moment as Regina strode in, Sydney hot on her heels, like the good lapdog he was. Though at least he wasn’t gloating outright. He regarded her with serious, darks eyes as the pair of them approached.

“I thought I might find you here,” Regina said. Her eyebrows shot up when she say Emma’s glass and her company. “With a drink. And my son.”

The look she gave Henry was tentative and uncertain, and despite everything, Emma felt a little thrill of pride that even when Regina had the upper hand, she still had this. After all, wasn’t that what this whole debacle had been about in the first place?

“Come to collect then, I suppose,” Killian said with a nod at Henry, his voice low and tight. “Would be poor form if you came to gloat.”

“Oh, not at all.” Sydney wore a strained smile. “In fact, I think I’ll join you.”

Emma shot Killian a look, surprised to find him standing, his hook on prominent display on the counter. She stared for a beat, hoping he got the message. I fight my own battles. He sat back on his stool, but his hook stayed where it was, close enough for her to see if she looked down.

She turned back to Sydney and Regina, her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out their game. Their faces gave very little away, though Sydney still had that pained, but almost pleasant smile on his face. For an odd moment, she thought maybe they were here to offer her the deputy job again. Perhaps Regina got some sick pleasure from the idea of being able to boss Emma around.

Emma leaned against the counter, feigning nonchalance. “Aren’t they setting up a back room for the victory party?”

Sidney’s smile tightened. “Oh, well, you’ll have to tell me what that’s like.”

Emma stopped breathing, the words feeling stuck in her words.

Regina held out her hand, struggling to rein in her displeasure. “Congratulations…” Carefully, avoiding Emma, she reached forward and set something on the counter. “Sheriff Swan.”

Henry gasped. “Wait. What?”

He turned to Emma, like she had answers, but all she could do was shake her head and stare at the six-pointed star.

“Well, look at that,” Killian murmured from behind her.

“It was a very close vote,” Regina explained, her voice nearly too low to be heard over the chiming of the bell once again and the sudden murmur of voices as people entered the diner. “But people really seem to like the idea of a Sheriff brave enough to stand up to Mr. Gold.”

“Are you joking?”

“She doesn’t joke,” Killian said grimly. He looked nearly as displeased as Regina, the muscle in his jaw practically doing jumping jacks as he turned  his best Superman impression on the badge. Thankfully, he was no Kryptonian and the badge remained unmelted.

“You didn’t pick a great friend in Mr. Gold, Miss Swan,” Regina said.

Emma jumped a little and found the woman leaning uncomfortably close. Regina smiled, almost cruelly, the glint in her eyes vaguely familiar, though Emma couldn’t quite place the look.  

“But he does make a superlative enemy.” The smile widened. “Enjoy that.”

The crowd descended on her as soon as Regina walked away, Mary Margaret was the first to rush up and congratulate her. After smothering her in a hug, of course. Ruby came around the bar, darting through the crowd to replace Mary Margaret. And then Granny. Archie. The guy from the pharmacy. Everyone wanting to shake her hand and congratulate her.

Never in her whole life, had she received so much praise from so many people. It felt good. Especially knowing that all of this came from following her gut. No, she amended, catching sight of Archie again. From following her conscience.

“Don’t want to lose this,” came Killian’s voice. He stood behind her again, the badge clasped in his hand. His fingers felt warm and rough against the cold metal as she took the badge from him. He smiled, despite the deepening shadows in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

She only noticed that she had been smiling too as her smile fell. “But you don’t like it.”

“You are clearly the woman for the job,” he said shaking his head. “Not many people have the gumption to stand up to that…” Again he paused, probably censoring himself considering Henry’s nearby presence. “That man,” he finished lamely. Ducking a little so their eyes were level, he asked, “You’ll let me know if he causes any trouble.”

Emma scoffed. “I think I can handle Gold just fine on my own.”

Killian pressed his lips tight, nodding stiffly. “Well, I’d best be off, then. I’ll just say good night to Henry.”

“Sure, I—” Emma stopped, glancing over to where Henry sat at the counter, his book out once again. Strangely, she didn’t feel any resentment toward the storybook this time, she was glad he was reading it. Unsure of what she would say, Emma cut through the crowd, squeezing in behind Henry. Killian followed wordlessly.

Her kid looked up, a grin lighting his face. “I think I’ve figured out…” He stopped suddenly aware of Killian hovering behind his other shoulder. He slammed the book shut. “Uh. I think I’ve figured out that I don’t really like Rumplestiltskin’s story at all.”

The look of pride in Killian’s eyes struck Emma as strange, but she forged on with her original plan.

“Hey, I was thinking…maybe Operation Cobra doesn’t have to be just you and me.” Though her eyes were on Henry, she heard Killian suck in a sharp breath.

“It’s not,” Henry said, lowering his voice. “Ms. Blanchard and Archie know too.”

With an apologetic look at Killian, who actually looked kind of amused, Emma leaned in. “I know, but I’ve been talking with Hook and…he’s good, okay? I think you should bring him up to speed on all this when you get a chance.”

Henry’s brow furrowed, his nose scrunching lopsidedly. “Are you sure?”

Emma met Killian’s eyes, hoping he understood how big this was. It wasn’t what he wanted, but she wasn’t sure she trusted him that much yet. If she could ever trust him that much—although, Henry would have to find out sooner or later—but maybe this could be their compromise.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

[fanfic-shiz]

Happenstance (A Tom Hiddleston Story)- Part Three

Part Two

“Tell Addy I’m not wearing anything hideous with puffy sleeves.” I said around a mouthful of coco puffs.

My mom sighed loudly on the other end. “She’s not going to pick something you won’t like, Estella.”

“Oh, should we talk about the birthday tea incident?” I reminded her, taking us headfirst into an event that had happened almost fifteen years ago. “When she insisted we all had to wear those stupid straw hats with the flowers on them? In public?”

“That’s a little overdramatic considering how young you both were.”

“I’m just saying, mom. I get that it’s her day and all that, but shit I’m not wearing anything that resembles grandma’s wallpaper.” I tossed my empty cereal bowl into the sink, grabbing my apron off the kitchen table.

I heard the sound of a door close on the other end and knew my mom had left the kitchen where she and my sister were busy wedding planning so she could say something to me without her overhearing. I braced myself, punching the down button for the apartment elevator.

“Honey, I know you’ve had a tough year but I need you to be a little more accommodating. Addy is really excited for you to be her maid of honor…you could show a little excitement too.” My mom pressed.

I felt a stab of guilt as the doors slid open and I stepped inside. “It’s just that…she’s twenty-two, mom. That’s a little young to be getting married. And she’s only been with Mason for-”

“It’s her decision. Not mine, not yours. I know you don’t believe in getting married in your twenties, but you’re not your sister.”

I was quiet for a moment, biting back a torrent of statistics and facts on why young marriage hardly ever worked out. Along with all the bitterness I felt at having suddenly found myself very single and alone the day my sister had announced she was getting married, almost one whole year ago. “I know.” I finally sighed defeatedly. “I’m sorry. Tell her I’ll get whatever she wants. Just tell me where to go and what to buy.”

“You’ll look perfect in anything, honey.”

I smiled a little, leaning against the elevator wall. “Thanks, mom.”

By the time the elevator had reached the ground floor, I’d averted yet another wedding crisis with my sister (once again thanks to mom) and was on my way to work. I still was having a hard time getting used to the fact that my baby sister was going to be a married woman in just a few months. And I knew I’d been a pretty awful maid of honor. It all had just been sprung on me at the worst possible time, though. It made me feel extra shitty to know that instead of putting my time and energy into helping Addy, I’d used it to mope around and complain and make her feel less important. I chewed my lower lip as I sent a quick text to her, letting her know I was sorry and asking what she needed help with. At least I had a few months to try and make up for being so crappy.

Maybe if I’d paid a little more attention, or I’d been a little stronger, I could’ve avoided having my heart stomped all over by Shawn or at least come out of it on top. It seemed like he’d walked away from the situation with everything- the apartment, my best friend, my laptop….I felt myself sinking and knew I needed a distraction fast.

I put in my headphones and hit shuffle on me ‘pick me up’ playlist for the rest of the walk to work. And against my better judgement, sent a text to Mia.

S: If you’re dragging me to this shindig, I’m gonna need something nice to wear.

She answered almost right away, catching me by surprise.

M: Consider me the fairy god mother to your Cinderella…maybe I can even snag you a Prince Charming.

S: Unfortunately I live here in the real world where there are no Prince Charmings.

M: Trust in me, ye of little faith.

The corners of my mouth quirked upwards in a smile as I shook my head. The world would have been a much better place if ex-boyfriends happened less and Prince Charmings happened more. Fortunately, I knew better than to lose myself in fairy tales.

#

It was a slow morning, the usual rush dying down early. I was finished by noon and itching to finally pick up my laptop from the shop down the street. The guy who slid it across the counter towards me look apologetic but assured me “it’d get me by for a little longer’. So naturally, I wasn’t exactly ecstatic to give him my credit card.

Regardless, I was happy to have a keyboard and screen back. I tucked it underneath my arm as I sipped on a caramel macchiato and walked back outside into the cloudy gray afternoon. The weather on my phone promised a rain storm, but so far not one actual drop had fallen from the sky.

I postponed heading back towards the apartment and instead wandered from shop to shop, searching for nothing in particular but not ready to go home quite yet. It was Friday, which meant Mia’d be working late. It’d be a good night to get in some writing.

I was absentmindedly flipping through a rack of scarves when there was suddenly a loud clap of thunder. I jumped and looked out the window just in time to see a flash of lightning followed by a sheet of rain suddenly plummeting from the sky full force.

"Ah, shit.” I muttered. I rummaged through my purse for my mini umbrella only to realize, that quite stupidly, I’d forgotten it at home. Sitting on the kitchen table right by the front door. “Joyous.” I mumbled.

I pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt and pushed out into the rain. People around me were opening up umbrellas and ducking for cover. I stepped out onto the curb and began trying to flag down a cab. I was drenched within minutes, my clothing completely soaked through. “Come on!” I pleaded under my breath as yet another occupied yellow car rushed past.

I waved my arm frantically as a cab came closer. The next five seconds seemed to happen in slow motion. It was like a scene from a horrible 90’s sitcom as the cab not only failed to slow down, but splashed right through a puddle near the side of the road and unintentionally doused me with water. I sputtered, wiping dirty puddle water from my face.

“Are you kidding me!” I shouted after the retreating yellow cab. I huffed, hugging my laptop closer to my chest and silently thanking Jesus above that I had thought to bring a case for it.

And just as I thought things couldn’t get worse, I felt a pair of eyes on me. I lifted my gaze towards the opposite side of the street and my mouth fell open. “This is a joke. My life is a never ending, cruel joke.” I muttered to myself, shaking my head in disbelief.

For right directly across from me, on the other side of the busy intersection, was none other than Tom Hiddleston. Unlike me, he was completely dry, carrying a black umbrella and looking like he’d just stepped off a fashion show runway. I was hoping he wouldn’t recognize me, considering I looked like a drowned rat, but the way he was smiling at me said otherwise. He held up a hand, signaling me to wait right where I was. Lucky for him, I seemed to be frozen to the spot.

What were the chances? One in a million? No, one in a billion. One in a gazillion trillion so on forever and ever because how was this even happening? A one time run-in with an apparently famous celebrity was one thing, but twice in a week? Either he was stalking me, which honestly was the most laughable joke on planet Earth, or the Gods were conspiring against me to make me look like an idiot in front of the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on. First the huge brown coffee stain on my shirt, and now this.

The pedestrian walk sign came on and he was across the street in less than a minute and at my side. The rain abruptly stopped as he stood close to me, holding his umbrella over both of us. And lord, he smelled good. I fought the urge to lean in closer. How dare he lure me in with his perfect face and his equally perfect scent?

“You.” I was saying before I could stop myself. “I mean Tom. I’m not stalking you, I swear.” My god, I was a true idiot. Just what every famous man wants to hear.

He let out a surprised laugh. It was an incredibly contagious sound and even more of an incredible look for him. I was helpless. Completely helpless. “Considering I was debating going back to the coffee shop just to see you again, perhaps it’s me following you.” He teased, giving me a grin. “You look absolutely miserable by the way, love. Adorable, but very wet.”

I managed a shrug, trying not to reel too much from the words leaving his mouth. Something about adorable and wanting to see me again. Or had I imagined that? What was wrong with me? “I’m soaking wet, stuck in the middle of New York City and can’t catch a cab to save my life.” I managed to say.

“Care to share a ride? My cab flagging skills are quite impressive.” He offered with another heart shattering smile.

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Go ahead, let’s see these said skills.”

He held out his arm and seconds later, a yellow cab was pulling up to the curb.

“It’s only because you’re so tall and they can see you better.” I joked, still in a daze and trying to wrap my head around what was happening.

He let out another laugh as he pulled open the cab door and gestured for me to climb into the back. “You’re absolutely right, that must be it.”

I glanced around quickly, expecting to see hordes of photographers or ogling fans, but no one was paying either of us any attention. Too busy trying to stay out of the rain.

I scooted over to the other side of the cab, the dry, warmth enveloping me. I pushed my hood back and tried to comb through my wet tangles with my fingers. Tom tossed his closed umbrella onto the cab floor before climbing in after me. Was I really about to share a cab with Tom Hiddleston? I tried to side eye him without him noticing. He was dressed in a light blue colored button down that matched his eyes and I immediately kicked myself for having such a cliche, idiotic thought. I tore my eyes away before he could catch me staring.

“Where to?” The cab driver called over his shoulder.

“Do you mind taking us to two addresses? I’ll pay the difference.” Tom offered.

“Oh, no. You really don’t need to.” I said hurriedly, fumbling for my wallet.

“Look, you let me hide out from paparazzi in the middle of your work shift. Therefore, let me pay for the cab.”

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. I cleared my throat and gave my address to the driver, trying not to listen to closely as Tom gave his. Or to wherever he was going. I didn’t want him to think I really was a stalker who’d memorize his address and show up at his house. Although I was sure there were plenty of people out in the world who were crazy like that.

“What were you doing out in such a god awful downpour?” He asked curiously as the car pulled out into traffic.

“Picking up my laptop.” I explained, remembering the rectangular device I was still hugging close to my chest, as if it were some sort of life support. “Where’s your entourage?”

He gave me an amused look, a smile curving his lips. “Suppose the rain must be keeping them at bay.” His eyes flickered to the computer I clutched in my arms. “You must have the answer to the secrets of the universe on that laptop…”

I realized he was teasing me about my death grip on the device. I rolled my eyes and tried to relax. “Not exactly. Just my writing.”

Tom’s eyebrows lifted. “So you’re a writer then?”

I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. “It’s more like a hobby. I’m not published or anything.”

“But you’re trying to be?” He asked.

I shrugged, feeling weird and for some reason embarrassed about sharing my far-fetched dream to be a writer with a famous man who was about a thousand times more successful than I could ever hope to be. “Maybe. I’m pretty good at making coffee, so I don’t want to let that talent go to waste.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners in a manner that was entirely too adorable. Oh lord, save me. He placed a hand over his chest. “I can personally attest to that.”

“Thank you, maybe you could promote me to all your fellow super hero actor friends.”

“I can, although they might be more offended than I am about the fact that you have a strict policy against super hero films.” He said playfully.

“It’s not my fault I have such refined tastes.” I shrugged and immediately was hoping I hadn’t offended him. He was still grinning at me, though, looking more amused than ever. Sarcasm was like an automated shield. Anytime I felt awkward or unsure of myself, it immediately went up. I was on fire at the moment.

“And where does a girl with such meticulous, refined taste come from I wonder?” He asked.

“Connecticut.” I answered.

“Small town?”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “You ask a lot of questions. Aren’t you worried I might secretly be some super stalker and not knowing who you are is just an elaborate scheme?”

He shrugged. “I’m just curious. You seem entirely to sweet to be a born and bred New Yorker. And if it’s an act, well I’d say you could take my job as it’s very convincing. Fancy playing a super villain in a green cape?” He asked with a crooked grin.

I shifted in my seat. “Green’s not my color.”

“Of course it isn’t.” He chuckled. “Tell me, Stella, what would it take for me to convince you to let me buy you a drink sometime?”

I felt a momentary lapse in brain function. Was he asking me out? “I don’t date actors.”

His eyebrow knitted together, a curious look in his blue eyes. “Really? Bad experience?”

“No,” I paused, shaking my head as I fought for the right words to explain my current feelings on relationships. “I just don’t. Actually I don’t really date at all. Anymore.”

“I see.” He mused. “That’s entirely a shame.”

He faltered for a moment as the cab pulled up to a curb. “Damn, I was prepared to spend the rest of the cab ride trying to change your mind…but I suppose rejection from a beautiful girl every once in a while is a healthy thing.” He winked at me before pulling out his wallet and handing some bills over to the driver.

I was surprised by the slight disappointment I felt that we were already parting ways. And I highly, highly doubted a third chance encounter was likely. Two was already something unheard of.

Outside, rain still poured onto the city streets in sheets. I was surprised when Tom suddenly pressed his umbrella into my hands. “Here, to protect those secrets of the universe.” He smiled, nodding at my laptop.

“But-”

“Trust me, darling, a little rain won’t bother me.”

I was stunned for half a moment by the god damn chivalry of it all. Who was this guy exactly? “Thank you.” I said. “I mean, I’ll have to sell it on Ebay when I’m done but I’m sure you understand.”

My stomach jolted a little when another impish grin flashed across his face. “Entirely understandable. Until next time then? It was a pleasure…” He shook his head. “Bloody shame about the no dating policy, though.”

I stared at him wordlessly as he abruptly left the car and disappeared out into the downpour. He slid his hands into his pockets, and with his head bowed against the storm, walking in the direction of sleek chrome building.

“Is he the one in that Avengers movie?” The cab driver suddenly called back to me.

I shook my head. “Something like that.”

God, what a weird day. What a weird week.

As we pulled away from the curb, I tore my eyes away from Tom’s retreating back and studied the black umbrella in my lap. Had it not been there, I was sure I could have convinced myself that the entire thing had been just a very vivid, realistic dream.