#why pit two bad bitches against each other? the doctor has so many hands

[lizstiel]

saw someone in the comments of a dw tiktok edit saying that ten/rose was horrendous and they never truly loved each other and i almost blacked out

[dothwrites]

Prompt for destiel where one of them saves the other from a calamity, au or canon/humans or human & angel, but they get severely hurt instead, and other gets to comfort them and help them heal, and they get to confess

---

It’s his fault. 

That’s all Dean can think as he kneels on the grimy floor, slick with Cas’ blood. His fault. 

He was the one who insisted on pressing forward with the hunt, who overrode Cas’ desires to wait. He should have listened. After all, it was just him and Cas, newly human and still a little fragile with it. He should have listened to Cas’ objections, should have listened to the little coil of unease in the pit of his stomach warning him that this was a bad idea, should have, should have, should have. 

It should have only been one demon. 

There had been more. 

The demons had fought with brutal efficiency; within a few seconds, he and Castiel were separated from each other. From far away, Dean had heard the struggles, the snap of electricity that signaled a demon’s death and the grunts from Cas that accompanied the sick, wet sounds of fists striking flesh. At least Cas was still fighting. Dean was less than useless, caught in a chokehold that slowly obstructed his airway. His joints screamed in pain while black and red crowded at the edge of his vision. 

“Dean Winchester.” His name was spoken in a sneer, contempt dripping from the lips of the leader of this little outfit. In a former life, her meatsuit must have been some kind of model--she was all lithe lines and sleek muscle and tall enough to look Dean in the eyes. Her eyes flashed black as her fingers gripped at his chin. Five bright pinpricks of pain blossomed across his cheeks as her nails dug in. Dean grunted, but wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of crying out. 

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? The whole world, open for the taking, room enough for everyone to spread out now that you killed the man upstairs, and you still couldn’t let us be.” A thin trickle of blood dribbled down Dean’s chin as her nails broke skin. “Well, you should have kept your nose out of it.” 

She drew her hand back, silver glinting as she moved. All Dean saw was the wickedly sharp point of her angel blade. He remembered how it felt, skin and muscle splitting underneath the force of the blow, how easily the blade slid into his body. Looked like he was going to get to experience it again, except this time without the failsafe of the Mark to pull him out again. 

“Dean! Dean!” 

The blade started to plunge down and Dean closed his eyes. They hadn’t had enough time, him and Cas, and now he was leaving Cas to the rest of a mortal life, alone. I’m sorry, Dean thought, tensing in preparation for the inevitable blow. Cas, I’m so sorry...

The blow never hit. Instead, what hit was a dervish, a whirl of blows and snarls and yelps. Somewhere, in the mad scuffle, Dean recognized the shock of dark hair and the flash of Cas’ shirt. Seeing that gave him enough strength to break free of the hold. His own blade slipped into his hand and he plunged it into the gut of the demon who had been holding him. 

He’d had just enough time to feel triumphant before he heard the low grunt of pain. 

He’d known what it was, but he still turned around to confirm. His eyes landed on a nightmare. 

A demon stood tall, blade in hand. Crimson liquid dripped slowly off of the tip of the blade to splash upon the ground. Though it was impossible, Dean would swear that he heard the impact of every drop. A sick, twisted grin spread across the demon’s face as they looked down. 

Castiel staggered backward, hands clutching at his stomach. Already, a dark stain spread across his shirt. Horrified, Dean could only watch as Cas dropped down to one knee, before he finally collapsed to the ground. 

Dean’s still not sure the exact sequence of events. He knows that he charged forward, a pained shout erupting from his throat. He knows that there’s a dead demon. He knows that his fumbling fingers managed to find his phone and call Sam, leaving bloody smears on the screen. 

And he knows that Cas is dying. 

“You stupid son of a bitch, why the hell did you do that?” He won’t cry, not here and not now, but he wants to. Cas moans lowly in pained protest as Dean drags him into his lap. He ignores the sticky warmth leaking into his jeans from the ragged wound in Cas’ stomach the same that he ignores Cas’ eyes squinting shut in agony. He’ll deal with those later, push through those nightmares when Cas isn’t gasping for air right in front of him. Dean lays his hand on Cas’ neck, fingers pressing down on his pulse point. It’s thready and rabbit-fast. 

“You have to ask?” 

“Dammit Cas.” Dean bends down low over Cas’ body, as if he could shield him from the rest of the world. Too little, too late. He’d screwed up and now Cas was paying the price, like always. “You know that I’m not worth it. You know it.” 

“Dean.” Cas’ mouth moves like he wanted to say more, but all that comes out is a dribble of blood, leaking from the corner of his mouth. His hands grasp at Dean, but his grip is so weak that it slides off without ever making an impression. “Dean,” Cas manages to say, breathing in deep and forcing the single syllable of his name out with extreme effort. “I, I--”

“Don’t you say it,” Dean hisses, pressing down hard on Cas’ stomach. The sound of Cas’ agonized cry is enough to twist a knife in his heart, and the feel of warm blood gushing over his hand makes him sick to his stomach, but at least it forces Cas to stop talking. 

“You’re not fucking dying on me,” Dean almost snarls, voice wobbling towards the end. “You hear me, Castiel? Not yet.” 

Cas’ eyes close. He doesn’t respond.

---

Dean watches the skip and jump of the heart monitor and listens to the steady beats. Like a metronome, it counts the beats of Cas’ heart. Each rise and fall, each electronic beep soothes Dean’s rough edges, as it acts as a reminder. Cas is still here. He didn’t lose him. 

Twenty-two stitches. That’s what it had taken to save him. That and some very good surgeons, some impossible luck, and a series of driving maneuvers delivered by one Sam Winchester. Dean would doubt that his brother was capable of such driving, if he hadn’t been in the back seat with him for the full duration.

They’d cut the margin of error so thinly that it was translucent. Minutes, the doctors had said, with the vague whiff of suspicion that came from bringing in a stabbing victim. If traffic had been heavier or if Sam hadn’t been driving quite so fast and furious on the Fury Road...Well, Dean would have another corpse on his hands to burn. Again. 

Dean’s attention is caught by a low groan coming from the direction of the bed. Within seconds, he’s at Cas’ bedside so that he can see the exact moment that Cas’ eyes flutter open. 

He’d been so angry earlier. Furious, that once again, Castiel saw fit to throw himself to the wolves, all for Dean’s sake. He’d been ready to give Cas an earful when he finally woke up (once they discovered that he was going to wake up).  But seeing the hazy, pained look in Cas’ eyes vanish to be replaced with a slow, pleased smile erases all thoughts of rage from Dean’s brain. All it leaves him with is sweet, clear relief. 

“Hey sleeping beauty.” Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ hair, as tentatively as though Cas were made of porcelain. “How are you feeling?” 

Cas pauses to consider. “Numb,” he finally rasps. He glances to the side, where the IV stand drips down into various tubes connected to his body. “I assume that there’s a large amount of medication responsible for that?” 

“Yeah, you’re getting the good stuff,” Dean says. He can’t stop touching Cas’ hair. It’s a little gross--Other than a few quick sponge-baths from the nurses, Cas hasn’t bathed and his hair has taken the brunt of that. It’s a little greasy, but Dean couldn’t care less about that. Not when Cas smiles up at him through a grizzled beard. 

“Don’t be angry,” Castiel says. His fingers wrap weakly around Dean’s wrist. “I know that you’re probably furious with me.” 

“Damn right I am. How many times do I have to tell you, I ain’t worth--”

“Stop.” Cas squeezes his wrist. His grip is pathetic enough that it forces Dean into silence more than if Cas had managed his usual bone-bruising force. “Nothing you say will ever convince me that you’re not worth saving. Nothing,” Cas says, as severe as his voice will allow. He strokes over the soft skin of Dean’s wrist. His eyes look at something faraway only he can see. “I sometimes think that I was created in order to keep you safe. Please don’t deny me that.” 

And what can you say to that? 

Dean lifts Cas’ knuckles to his face, brushing a gentle kiss over them. “Way to make a guy feel guilty, asshole.” 

Cas smiles wanly. “Whatever it takes.” His voice turns thin and ragged around the edges. Dean knows that it’s not going to be long before he slips back into sleep. 

“But you have to try and stay around.” Dean takes in a deep breath. The words sit on his tongue, ready to taste freedom. “It’s not fair to make me go through this without you. I love you, dumbass, and if you go off and get yourself killed just because you were trying to save me then I’m going to be really pissed at you.” 

They haven’t said it. They’ve kissed, they’ve fucked, hell sometimes they’ve even done what Sam would probably call making love. They live together and they’ve died for the other. But they’ve never said the words. Dean had been convinced that he never would. Cas knew. That was enough for him. Everything else was window dressing. 

But there in the backseat, with Cas’ limp and bleeding body pressed against him, forced to listen to Cas’ pained wheezes, and his hand pressed against Cas’ stomach trying to keep Cas’ blood inside, Dean had been overcome by only thought. 

Cas is going to die and I never told him. 

The thought that Cas could die without knowing exactly how much he’s adored has kept Dean awake for several nights. 

Cas’ eyes are wide as his fingers clench reflexively around Dean’s wrist. “Dean,” he finally gets out. He blinks quickly, obviously fighting against impending sleep. “Dean, I--”

“Yeah. I know.” Dean brushes Cas’ hair off of his forehead and leans down to press a kiss against the clammy skin. “Go to sleep.”

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?” Cas’ voice is already slurred, sleep wrapping around him and tugging him deep into oblivion. 

Dean settles onto the edge of Cas’ bed, unwilling to release his hold on Cas until he absolutely has to. Cas murmurs happily, nonsense words that trail off into silence. 

Dean runs his finger down Cas’ cheek, bristly and unshaven. It’s warm to the touch. When he pulls away, Cas almost follows after him, squirming in his sleep until Dean takes his hand in his and laces their fingers together. Only then does Cas subside into peace. 

“Yeah Cas,” Dean says, despite the fact that Cas can’t appreciate his words. “Yeah, I’ll be here.

---

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 46

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

Everything hurts.

Back. Shoulder. Knee. Head. Especially the head.  A ferocious, pounding that has settled above and behind his eyes and in his temples.  Even the sliver of sunlight that manages its way past his heavy lids tortures him; an incessant burn that seems to travel right through every optic nerve and straight into his brain. And he winces and groans in agony and yanks the comforter up over his head, attempting to will away the throbbing and the slight nausea and lightheadedness.

He can’t remember the last time he had a hangover; body and mind so accustomed to a lifestyle of excessive drinking that they’d stopped being affected. The worst that would happen would be passing out and staying that way for ten to twelve hours. Sometimes even longer depending on many Oxy he’d taken.  There were days -more often than not- where’d he wake up disappointed; upset that no matter how much he’d had to drink and how many pills he popped, he was still alive; stuck in a shitty, miserable existence filled with enormous guilt and regret and unlimited self loathing.

But this...this suffering takes him back to his high school days; drinking too much at house parties or at get togethers on the beach and then passing out whenever he was standing or sitting at the time. The mornings after were always brutal; the headaches and dizziness, the way you tongue felt thick and dry and it seemed as if your mouth was stuffed with cotton. And the nausea. That queasy, unsettled feeling in the pit of your stomach and the burn of bile in your throat.

He regrets it. Every shot, every pitcher of beer he helped drain, every sip of scotch. And he wishes he’d never even agreed to ever go to that bar; option for a quiet night at home instead of all the noise and all those people. All that booze. It’s a blur; the crowd, too many conversations happening at once, the deafening music, the lights way too bright. And Millie’s teacher. Propositioning him at the bar. Making comments about his scars and asking about his job and assuming his marriage was in trouble and he was willing to ‘hook up’.  THAT’S going to make trips to the school awkward.  Parent/teacher interview night should be a lot more interesting and entertaining now, having to sit across from someone who is supposed to be educating your kid but weeks or months ago wanted your dick and you had to shoot them down.

It’s like a cocoon under the heavy, down filled blanket; a warm, confined, safe place. Quiet and relaxing. Secure. As if nothing exists outside of it. Just him and that soft body pressed tightly against his. The smell of her hair as he nestles his face against the back of her neck; the heat that radiates off her enough to soothe some of his aches and pains.  He needs this time. The minutes. The hours. The moments were it’s just them. Where the world around them is silent and still and life seems as if it’s at a standstill. In less than two weeks, these moments will cease to exist. At least temporarily. He’ll be in Mumbai; in the stifling heat and the oppressive humidity, making his way through the list of names Anil had given him. Checking them off one by one if he has to. Leaving nothing but a trail of blood and broken bodies in his wake.

He pushes those thoughts away. It’s the last thing he wants to be thinking about. Mumbai. Mahajan and his people. How long he’ll actually be gone for. If he’ll even make it back.  All he wants to do is concentrate on the next ten days. On their get away to The Kimberley; four days and three nights alone with his wife. No kids to worry about -although they will from afar- and no interruptions and time to actually talk and pay attention to what is being said. And Millie’s birthday party. Newly six with all her classmates and her new puppy; completely oblivious to the treats being made and the stress her parents are under. He’s no longer anxious about it; the nightmares of Austin taking her from them have stopped and the illogical fear of her waking up deathly ill is starting to subside. It’s still there; the inkling of worry that something could go wrong. But with each that passes where she’s healthy and happy and strong, that concern lessens.

Right now he focuses on what’s right in front of him. That soft, supple body pressed against him. Her back to his front and one of his legs draped over hers and the tip of his nose against the side of her neck.  HE blindly searches for one of her hands; lacing his fingers with hers and then placing a series of feathery kisses along her jaw. And she stirs against him when he reaches the corner of her mouth; eyes never opening as she turns her face into his. The resulting kiss is long and slow. Lazy. Bare legs sliding against each other; her fingers tightening around his as she lays their joined hands against her stomach.

Esme pulls back to look at him; eyes half open, brow slightly furrowed. “Why do you smell so good all of a sudden? And why do I taste mint?”

“I got up in the middle of the night and took a shower. Brushed my teeth.”

“I told you that you smelled awful.You know it’s bad when you can’t stand your own stench.”

“I actually did it because I couldn’t sleep.”

“That drunk and you couldn’t sleep? That’s a first. It used to knock you out for at least eight hours.”

Tyler shrugs. “Slept for a couple hours, woke up, couldn’t go back.”

“Did the baby wake up?”

“She slept through.”

Frowning, she brings his hand up to check his watch. “It’s quarter after six. She’s been sleeping since eleven. That’s weird for her. Did you check on her?”

“Twice.”

She arches an eyebrow.

“Okay, it was three times. I can’t help it. I worry. Doesn’t matter if it’s the first or the fifth. But she’s fine. Just not hungry. Doctor said to let her sleep if she doesn’t wake up to eat.”

“She’s tiny. VERY tiny. She needs to eat.”

“She’s tiny like her mom. She’s not going to be like the rest of them. She’s fine. Just let her sleep. The longer they all sleep the better.”

“I know why you’re saying that,” she says with a grin, and rolls over to face him. “You’re hopeful.”

“A little.”

“Just a little?” She pushes a hand through his hair, nails lightly digging into the back of his neck as she presses her lower body against his. “Feels like a lot.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

“I’m surprised you’re even coherent this morning. You were pretty trashed. Do you remember anything?”

“I remember you changed the lock on the door,” he teases.

“I did not change the lock. You just forgot how keys work.”

“And I know I didn’t get any.”

“And…”

“And I know I had a mental breakdown and cried like a little bitch.”

She scowls. “First off, you’re not a little bitch. Far from it. You wouldn’t have all those scars and had all those broken bones or concussions or all that time in the hospital if you were a little bitch. A little bitch is not capable of doing the things you can do. Second, you were emotional. So what? I like that side of you. The who isn’t afraid to cry. It’s very sexy. A man that shows emotion.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she presses a kiss to his lips. “ Beside, if you can’t be emotional in front of me, who can you be emotional in front of?”

“No one. There’s only you.”

“Exactly. So stop being so worried about it making you soft. Or weak. You are neither of those things. You never have been.”

“I don’t know. I distinctly remember you having to help me to the bathroom when I used to come home on the weekends from the rehab place.”

“You’d just gotten over being shot in the throat. Among other things. No one is going to fault you for needing some help. You used to do things like that for me. All the times I’ve been pregnant. You'd help me into the bathtub, you’d tie my shoes for me, you’d put up with my three am cravings.”

“I’m supposed to take care of you,” he says. “I’m the guy.”

“This is a two way street, buddy. We do things for each other. So I don’t want to hear any of your toxic masculinity bullshit. That’s your father talking.”

“I don’t want to be like him.”

“You could NEVER be like him. You’d never let yourself get like that. I’D never let you get like that. You’re not your father, Tyler. You’re so far from it. You’re a good husband and you’re a great feather. Our kids love you. They don’t fear you.”

“Do you?”

“What? Fear you? No. And I never have. Why would you even ask that?”

“What about in Dhaka? When I grabbed your throat. Were you scared then?”

“Nope. You were angry. You reacted. Yes, you reacted BADLY.  But I could see it in your eyes. You weren’t going to hurt me. It was the last thing you wanted to do. I wasn’t scared of you then, and I’m not scared of you now.”

“You’d tell me though, right? If I ever did? Scare you?”

“I wouldn’t just tell you. I’d probably throat punch you.”

He chuckles at that.

“You may intimate and scare the people you’re supposed to intimate and scare, but I’ve never felt that way with you. I know you in ways those people don’t. And I know you’re not capable of hurting me or the kid. You’re a good man. You’re a GREAT man. And I wish you’d realize that. I wish you’d see yourself the way I see you.”

He tucks wayward strands of hair behind her ear. “How do you see me?”

“I see you as strong. Brave. Fiercely loyal and protective. I see you as the sexiest, most beautiful man in the world. I see you as an amazing father. As my best friend. My biggest supporter. My lover. My husband. I see you as all those things.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Well you’re a big man,” she reasons, and then smiles when he presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “You’re a big man with an even bigger heart. You just sometimes have to do bad things. To bad people.”

“It makes sense you know, that I’d end up with you. Someone that lived that life. That knows what it’s like. No one else would be able to deal with it. Accept it. Knowing that I’ve killed people. That I’m going to KEEP killing people.”

“It’s not all you do,” she reminds him. “The number of people you’ve helped is a lot higher than the people you’ve killed. But you’re right. Someone who’s never lived that life wouldn’t get it. They wouldn’t be able to deal with it.”

“Guess I’m pretty lucky you showed up at my place that day.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m pretty lucky too. After everything that I went through with Mark; all the things he did to me. All the damage he caused. You came along and you fixed all of that. You fixed ME. You came into my life when I’d given up on finding someone that would love me. I’d given up on MYSELF. He made me feel like nothing and you make me feel like something. Every time you look at me or touch me or kiss me or we make love. You make me feel beautiful and amazing and worthy. All the things I’d never felt before. All the things I never thought I could be.”

“You ARE all those things.”

“Because you’re the one that brought them out. Who makes me feel all of that. You talk about how lucky you are, but I’m just as lucky. If not more. You talk about how I saved you, but you never think about how you saved me.

He doesn’t think about it. He’s never even considered it outside of the decisions he’d made to get her safely across the Sultana Kamal Bridge. And even now he questions those decisions from time to time; if there’d been a way he could have avoided sending her with Ovi and Saju, or anything he could have done differently to prevent the near catastrophic ending. But he’s never thought beyond those things. Never actually considering just how he was helping her heal and get over the trauma that Mark had caused. Just doing it. Just doing whatever he had to and hoping for the best.

“I don’t think you understand how loved you actually are,” she says “By me. By your children. We’d be pretty lost and miserable without you.”

Swallowing around the lump of emotion that sits square in his throat, he combs his fingers through her hair; pushing it off her forehead and placing a soft kiss against the smooth skin. It’s those little kisses that she often enjoys the most. The ones to the brow or the cheeks or temple or against ears or along her jaw. Even those repetitive pecks to the lips; the ones where you pull back and smile at each other between each one. Those small intimate moments...brief snippets...where they connect outside of simply raising a family together.

“We’ll go to Mumbai,” she tells him, as she rests her forehead against the bridge of his nose; fingers racing the tattoo on his left shoulder. “IF you can get us a safe place to stay. IF you talk to Anil and he can help you find something. With people keeping an eye on things and armed guards or whatever else or whoever else needs to be there to keep Mahajan away.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Tyler promises. “I don’t think there’s much he CAN’T do.”

“You’ll have to tell him about the puppy. We can’t give Millie a puppy for her birthday and then expect her to be separated from him. That’s cruel.”

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll get everything worked out.”

“Because it would make me feel a lot better too if you weren’t so far away. Even being in the same county would be better. Not thousands of miles between us. I need that for my own piece of mind. If anything happens to you or any of the kids, it’s better if neither of us are too far away.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you or the kids,” he confidently assures her.

“I notice you didn’t put yourself in there.”

He gives a small, tight lipped smile.

“You’re going to be okay too,” she says, as her fingers move to the ink on his neck and the scar -one of many- left behind from Dhaka.  “Like you said, you’ll be able to focus better if we’re close and you’re constantly worrying about what’s going on here. And you need to be focused. You need to be able to put all your attention into things and I know you’ll be able to if the kids and I are there.”

He lays a hand on the side of her face and kisses her softly. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy for you to do this. Especially with the kids.”

“It’s just better this way. If we’re not far apart. What you said last night...if something did happen and you did die over there…” her voice cracks and tears well in her eyes. “...I mean, I know it’s not going to happen and I hate even thinking about it and I feel horrible for saying it and…”

“Calm down,” he gently implores.  “Just breathe. Everything’s fine.”

“...and I know you’re going to be okay. But hypothetically speaking, if something did happen and you didn’t make it, I don’t want you being stuck there. If I’m already there, I can find you and bring you home. I don’t want you being left there. I’d want to bring you back where I know you’d be finally able to rest.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he pushes a hand through her hand and tightly grips the back of her head as he kisses her forehead. “Nothing like that’s going to happen.”

“I know. But it makes me feel better to know if something does, you won’t be left there.”

“I meant what I said you know. About you finding someone else. I will haunt him.”

She laughs at that, and he gently brushes her tears away with his fingertips. “There wouldn’t be anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. You’re it for me. Wherever it’s next month of fifty years down the road.

“I’m hoping for the fifty years.”

“Me too. You’re still going to love me when I’m wrinkled and gray and can barely hear anymore?”

“I’m going to love you always. No matter what.”

Smiling, she presses a kiss to his lips and then tucks her head snuggly under his chin; hands sliding around to the nape of his neck and up onto the back of his head.

“Everything’s going to work out.” he promises, as he drops a kiss on the top of her head and wraps both arms around her.

And he holds her, as tightly as she’ll allow, until the sounds of life...THEIR life...begin stirring in the rooms above.

****

“So do we tell the kids to call you Uncle Koen or Grandpa Koen?” Esme asks as they sit in the surf. Koen in a lawn chair with his  feet in the water and her on the ground beside him’ Addie between her legs and resting back against her stomach.

He frowns down at her. “Grandpa? How old do you think I am?”

“According to Tyler, you were already wet behind the ears when the Pony Express was still delivering the man.”

“That little fucker,” Koen scoffs. “He’s starting to forget that he’s no spring chicken himself. Gonna hit the big four-one soon. You think he’d be starting to slow down, not getting ready to speed things back up again.”

“He’s not the type that can still for too long. He always has to be doing something.”

“Well you think having little ones to chase around and care for would give him ‘something’. He’s got five of them. How he’s not worn out from all of them rugrats, I certainly don’t understand.”

“It’s a different pace,” she reasons. “”He was used to something much more strenuous. Faster. Unpredictable.”

“Dangerous.” Koen offers.

She nods, then tightens the strap on Addie’s sunhat. “Unfortunately.”

“I don’t know if he told you or not, but when he came out to my place a couple weeks back, I gave him quite the talking to. About getting back into things. About becoming a merc again and starting his own business. Basically told him he’s a fucking dumb ass. Pardon my language around little ears.”

“Oh, she’s heard way worse already, trust me. Tyler has no filter. Millie already knows all the worst words and she doesn’t hesitate when it comes to using them. She’s got a month on her. And it’s all daddy’s fault.”

“He’s a good one, ain’t he,” Koen remarks, as he takes a pull from the bottle of beer in his hand. “A daddy.”

“He is. He’s an amazing dad.” There’s a smile on her face as she says it, and she scoops up a handful of water and sprinkles it along Addie’s legs. “He’s gentle and he’s loving but he doesn’t coddle them. Treats them like intelligent little beings instead of babying them all the time. He’s so good with them. And they adore him. They worship the ground he walks on, actually. Especially Millie. There’s no one on earth she loves like she loves her daddy. And God help anyone that tries to take him away from her. She will pitch a fit like no other. She will throw down with someone if they mess with daddy; no doubt in my mind.”

Koen grins. “So she’s basically her mom that way.”

“Yeah,” Esme laughs. “I’d throat punch someone if they hurt him or messed with him. I’ve seen him go through too much. No one is going to fuck with him on my watch. But he is. A good dad. He’s an incredible dad, honestly. I swear he has the patience of a saint. You know, it’s weird. When I first found out about Millie, I was so scared to tell him. We barely knew each other and he was in the hospital and in constant pain and trying to heal and going through all kinds of therapies and I thought the last he needed was something like that. And he was freaked out, but he wasn’t THAT freaked out, know what I mean?”

Koen nods.

“I think I was losing it more than he was,” she continues. “And I told him that I didn’t expect anything from him; if he didn’t want anything to do with me or the baby, I’d leave and never contact him again. That things were so screwed up and I didn’t want to force him to be a dad. That was the last thing I wanted. Not when he already had so much on his plate.”

“Not surprised he didn’t go for that,” Koen remarks. “Knowing he had a kid on the way and having already lost one. He wasn’t letting the chance to to be a daddy again get away from him. Gave him something to live for. Made all the pain and suffering during the aftermath of that Dhaka bullshit worth it. He had something to look forward to; something to keep going. And I’m not talking about just the baby and you know it.”

She smiles.

“He was pretty crazy about you even then, even if it did scare him. He told me as much. That you scared him.”

Esme glances over her shoulder. “He said that about me?”

Koen nods. “He was pretty into it. Into you. Freaked him out; feeling things like that about someone he just met. Last girl who made him feel things like that...well that didn’t end so well, did it.”

“No. It didn’t. I only met her that one time. When his dad brought her to the hospital. What a disaster THAT was.”

“Could have throttled ‘em both,” Koen scowls. “Neither had a right to be there. That old man is better off dead. What he did to that boy when he was growing up? What he did to his mother? He should be in hell where he belongs. And that Sarah?” he scoffs. “What a train wreck THAT was. Don’t think there wasn’t around she wasn’t fucking around on him. I used to tell him to just let her go. Kick her ass out. But he wouldn’t do it. And then she got knocked up and that was that. Used to question if the kid was even his. Looked nothing alike and the kid didn’t look anything like his mother, either. But…” he swigs his beer. “...he stuck around. Felt he was doing the right thing, I suppose.”

“Like he did with me?”

“He didn’t just stick around for the baby and you know it.  Naw, he was pretty deep into it already. He didn’t say it, but I could see it. The way his eyes would light up the second you walked in the room. Even his voice would change when he talked about you. I hadn’t heard that or seen that in him in a hell of a long time. That’s when I knew you were a keeper. If you could make a man like THAT...a man with all that darkness and all those issues...actually smile and feel like life’s worth living? Well I’m glad you stuck around.”

She grins and nudges his leg with her elbow. “Koen, you big softie.”

“I know he ain’t the easiest of bastards to live with. You deserve some kind of award for putting up with the likes of him. I’m not married to him and even I want to kill him sometimes.”

“It seems like forever ago,” she says.  “So much has happened since then. Since Dhaka. My family didn’t think we’d even make it past a year. It’s been seven since we met. We’ve been married for six and a half. We went from one kid to five. That’s surreal.”

“Fucking insane is what it is. You’re both right out of your damn minds. Repopulating the world all on your own.”

“He wants an even half dozen. I’m not too sure about that. I’m not quite sold on the idea yet.”

“He does realise he can have the fun of making babies not but not actually make any, yeah?”

Esme laughs at that. “He’s got in his head that he needs to leave a legacy behind. Some kind of proof that he did something good with his life. He doesn’t realize that he’s many good things. And he doesn’t need to prove that to anyone. Not even to himself.”

“Stubborn bastard that one,” Koen says, and then glances down the beach to where Ovi and Tyler are immersed in conversation while Declan stands at the edge of the water, tossing tennis balls into the ocean for Sadie and Mac to fetch.   “He’s pretty fond of that kid, ain’t he.”

Esme uses her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she looks over at what’s caught his attention. “Ovi’s pretty fond of him, too. He always has been. Even in Dhaka. Especially near the end. He looks up to Tyler. Respects him. Wants to emulate him. We’ve both spent five and a half years trying to get him out of that, but…” she shrugs and turns her attention back to Addie. “...it didn’t work. He adores Tyler. He’s the dad Ovi should have had. The one I wish he COULD have had. He even calls him dad. Not to his face, but he refers to him as his dad. When he was still in school and would talk about his dad, people would be so confused when Tyler would show up to things. He was NOT what they were expecting. But Ovi’s ours. We look at him like he is. We love him like he is.”

Koen nods slowly, considering her words. “Think we can trust him?”

“Who? Ovi? Why wouldn’t you be able to?”

“He’s been in contact with his old man, hasn’t he?”

“Not by choice. He’s still terrified of him. That man is a monster. He’s ruined so many lives.  Even his own son’s. I hate thinking about what would have happened to Ovi if we’d left him in Mumbai.”

“Kid seems pretty torn up every time someone mentions doing away with the old man.”

“It’s not easy to hear. That people want to kill your father. That they ARE going to kill him. Even if the old man is Satan himself, he’s still his father.”

“What about his mother? Does he have one?”

“She died when he was three. I don’t know how. He doesn’t like to talk about it and I don’t pressure him. I don’t even know if Tyler knows. I have my suspicions about what happened to her, but that’s all they are. Suspicions.”

“You think the old man had something to do with it?”

“It’s possible. I mean, he’s a horrible person. Look what he did to Saju; who’d been nothing but loyal to him. It wouldn’t surprise me if his wife didn’t tow the line and he got rid of her.”

“Think he’d tell him? That we’re coming?”

“I doubt it. Ovi wants this nightmare over just as much as any of us do. Why?” she glances up at him. “You don’t trust him?”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea that the kid comes along is all.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea that ANY of you are going,” she says. “But I hardly have a say in it. I can’t stop Tyler from doing this. No one can. He’s doing it to protect me. And our kids. You don’t fuck with his family. He’s fiercely protective; sometimes to a fault. But I trust when he says he’s going to end this. He won’t stop until every one of those men on the list are dead. And to be honest, I don’t want him to.”

“So you’re okay with this? This whole idea? Mumbai?”

“No. But if Tyler says this is what has to be done, it needs to be done. I trust him. He’s the one person I DO trust. Especially when it comes to my kids.”

“What about getting back into the job? Being a merc okay? You’re okay with that?”

“I told him if that’s what he needed to do...if he needs that escape so badly and it would keep him sane and happy...that he should go back. And having the business means he won’t have to be so hard core into it. He won’t have to be away from home so much. Because I need him here. So do the kids. He’ll be in the job, but not right in it. And I’m good with that.”

Koen frowns. “He should be home all the damn time. With you. With his kids. None of this job shit. He needs to let that go. That part of him. He needs to walk away from it and never look back.”

“But he can’t,”  Esme says. “It won’t let him rest. Not yet. And I need it to. I need it to let him go. And it’s not going to. I don’t know if it ever will.”

“And if it doesn’t? Let him go?”

“We make it work, I guess. We have to somehow make it work and cope with it. I know it doesn’t make much sense; that I’m doing all of this. But I love him. So much it physically hurts sometimes. And if it’s the only thing that’s going to keep him sane and functioning, I have to give him that.”

“You’re a lot more understanding than I would be. I’d be kicking his ass out. Making stupid decisions like that.”

“You know as well as I do that when Tyler’s mind is set on something, you can’t change it. Things will be better this time. Different. Now that he’s the boss, he can stay behind the scenes and let everyone else get their hands dirty. And this will be good for him; it’ll give him something to do. A sense of purpose. He doesn’t feel like he has that right now.”

“That’s bullshit,” Koen snarls. “He’s got all kinds of purpose. He’s got you, the kids…”

“It doesn’t make sense, I know. But that’s how his brain is working. It makes sense to Tyler and that’s what matters. And I’m worried about him and I need you to keep an eye on him. Because he’s been struggling, Koen. Badly. With the PTSD and the depression and the anxiety.”

“And the drinking.”

She sighs. “And the drinking. Six months. He was sober for half a year. He was doing so good. And then all this started and it went to hell and now look where we are. Look how drunk he was last night. He was a mess. And I’m pissed off that none of you tried to stop him. You just let him do it. Get that out of control. When you saw him getting that bad, why didn’t any of you step in?”

“I have no excuse for that,” Koen admits. ”No reasons. I should have. Stepped in and got him to stop when things got out of hand. But he’s not an easy man to control and…”

“If I can stop him, any of you can. I’m five foot nothing. He’s six three. He has a hundred pounds on me, if not more. If I can talk sense into him, there’s no reason why you couldn’t have done it. And then you bring him home like THAT? So I can deal with him. So I can be the one that takes care of a grown ass man AND five kids.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I’m…”

“And now he’s going to Mumbai. On a job. And I’m supposed to trust him with you guys. I’m supposed to trust that you’ll have his back and that you won’t let him do anything stupid. And I’m not just talking about drinking. I’m talking about the job. If guys don’t have his back, he might as well be going there alone.”

“We have his back,” Koen assures her. “One hundred percent,”

“I hope so. I really do. Because I need him to come home, Koen. Alive. I need my husband and my kids need their father.  And I need you guys to watch over him. To make sure he comes back. I need to know that he’s going alone out there. That he has people he can trust.”

“He’s got us,” Koen says. “We’ve got him. We’ll make sure he comes home. He’s smart. He’s tough. Resilient. Nothing’s going to stop him from getting the job done and hauling ass back here. He knows he’s got a good thing. May not always say it or show it, but he knows. And if he ever forgets, you just call me and I’ll come here and beat his ass into the middle of next week.”

“Whose ass are you beating now?”  Tyler asks, as he and Ovi join them, the latter wading out into the water with Declan on his hip.

“Yours,” Koen directs a kick at his friend’s back side before he can take a seat in the sand. “If you’ve been hurting for a good ass kicking for a long time, I reckon. Surprise this little thing hasn’t brought you to your knees yet.”

“Oh she has. She’s brought me to them many times. Just not the way you’re thinking.”

Esme snorts and digs an elbow into her husband’s side.

“He knows we have sex,” Tyler reasons. “It’s not a secret. We have five kids.”

“I was telling her that if you didn’t treat her right, I’m going to come here and beat your ass,” Koen says. “And then I’m gonna steal her away and let her see what a real man can do for her.”

Tyler smirks. “Where you gonna find a real man?”

“You cheeky fucker. How do you put up with him, kid? How do you tolerate his shit?”

“He puts up with me,” Esme says. “I’m not the easiest person to live with. But he’s still here. For some reason.”

“Trust me when I say it’s NOT her cooking,” Tyler says, and then leans into her with his shoulder; giving her a playful wink and a kiss on the cheek before taking Addie from her. Laying the baby along both forearms, her head in his palms as he carefully lowers her into the water. “And you have to kill me old man. To get her away from me. That really the hill you want to die on?”

“I think the two are made for each other,” Koen grumbles.

“Yeah…” Tyler grins at her. “I think we are too.”

****

Dinner with Anil and Allison had gone well. Both extremely pleased  -and grateful- with the deal that had been quickly reached. The former had offered up his own home in Mumbai for Esme and the kids (and the new puppy, once he’d heard what the name was); an extremely well guarded and safe estate within its own locked and secure five acre compound. He immediately understood Tyler’s need to have his family close and Esme’s fear of being too far away if the worst case scenario came to fruition. The thought of a body not being returned home would be far more distressing than the actual death itself. Every job holds the possibility of not coming back; that is something you come to expect and learn to live with. But the thought of not having your loved one come back to you at all, is a bitter and horrible pill to try and swallow. It’s happened with many mercs; gruesome deaths and the inability of anyone to go and recover the body. Another reason why many die single; no spouse, girlfriend, or significant other willing to deal with such a high price.

Everything will be handled by Anil and his people; twenty four house staff and heavily armed guards and an elaborate security system. Bedrooms for all the children and everything needed properly to care for a baby; toys and bikes and whatever the kids need to keep them occupied and happy, even an offer of tutors to come in and work on school tasks. No expense being spared. For Tyler it makes the stress and the worry easier to bear; knowing that not only will he not be separated from his family by thousands of miles, every effort will be put into keeping them safe. They’ll arrive two days after him, and he’ll be staying at a different location; bouncing from hotel to hotel with Nathan, Ovi, Koen, and Anil. It’s far safer to keep moving then to settle down in one spot; staying at the house would only bring unnecessary attention to Esme and the kids. When deemed safe by the security, visits -including overnight- would be allowed. It isn’t the best arrangement, but a necessary one.

Tyler stands in the kitchen doorway and watches as she moves around the room; finishing the kids’ school lunches, mixing bottles of formula (to give Koen and Ovi at least a couple days head start) and dropping three frozen waffles into the toaster. She’s still clad in the dress she’d work to dinner. Classic black and off the shoulder; fitting like a second skin and reaching just below the knee. He’d been rendered speechless when she’d first walked out of the bedroom hours earlier; not remembering the last time he’d seen her like THAT. She’s always beautiful in his eyes. Whether it’s fresh out of the shower or when she first wakes up in the morning and her eyes are still puffy and blurry from sleep and her hair is a mess. Or even she’s been up for two days caring for a colicky baby. But that...with her hair up and make up and that dress showing off every curve that carrying five children has graced her with...is a beauty that surpasses all.

“Hey,” she cheerfully greets, as she glances up while buttering the waffles. “Kids asleep?”

“All five.”

“I don’t know how Ovi does it. He’s got that magic touch or something. Every time he watches them, they’re all asleep when we get home. Not one of them is awake. How? How does he do it? We put them to bed and we spend two hours fetching drinks of water and herding them back to their rooms.”

“Maybe he drugs them. Maybe THAT’S his secret. It’s not magic. He puts tranqs in that water.”

“Maybe he can give me some, then. I could use a couple right now. Or half a dozen. At least dinner went well. Anil’s pretty reasonable, don’t you think?” She takes a bite out of one of the waffles. “There wasn’t one thing he didn’t agree with. About me and the kids coming to Mumbai.”

“He’s a businessman. He knows what people want to hear and he knows how to give them what they want. And he’s got all the money in the world apparently.”

“How does a guy like him get so rich? What did he do before what he does now?”

“He was special forces. Same as Saju.”

“And in only seven years he’s become THAT rich?”

“Have you seen what he charges people for his services. He charges twice as much...if not more...than he pays his employees. You think it hurt him to give us what he did? That’s probably pocket change to him. Even AFTER he pays us and our mercs, it doesn’t start to scratch the surface.”

“Just seems weird. For it to happen THAT quick.”

“Look how quick we got money. Not just from him. Look what happened in Ireland. Five million for ten minutes of work.”

“You and I remember Ireland very differently.”

“It wasn’t THAT bad.” He grabs two bottles of water from the fridge, a jar of vegemite from the cupboard, and a knife from the drainboard by the sink, then joins her at the island.

“Says the guy who got hit in the head with a metal shovel. You and your fetish for garden tools.”   She frowns when he opens the jar of vegemite and reaches for one of the waffles. “Please tell me you’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

“Please don’t eat that stuff in front of me. You know I hate that stuff.”

“It’s good shit.”

“It is not good shit. Oh my God…” she dramatically gags when he spreads vegemite on the waffle. “...Tyler James...ughhh...you’re gross.”

“You used to eat peanut butter sandwiches with onions AND hot peppers on it and you call me gross?”

“I was pregnant with Declan,” Esme argues. “I had weird ass cravings with him. None of my cravings with the other ones were that bad.”

“I don’t know. I remember you putting strawberry jelly on pizza when you were having the twins. Remember the ice cream when you were having Millie? Rocky road and I’d have to melt peanut butter and put that AND chocolate sauce on it.”

“Oh my god that was so good. You even liked it.”

“I swear I put on twenty five sympathy pounds.”

“You needed to. You lost a lot of weight after Dhaka. And now look at you. All thick and muscley and a whole week's worth of snacks. With your massive forearms and big thighs and your cute butt that sticks out.”

Tyler grins. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe. Is it working? Do you like it? If we were in a bar and I started chatting you up, would you let me pick you up?”

“I would definitely nail you in the bathroom.”

“That’s it? What if I complimented your big forearms and hands and called your eyes pretty?”

“I would have let you take me home. For sure.”

“Would you have called me the next day?”

“Yup. I know how good your head game is.”

“So THAT’S why you stick around. You don’t want the long hunt funding someone who does it just right.”

“That’s one of the reasons.”

“What are the other ones?”

“I love you. You’ve given me five beautiful children. And a reason to live.”

She smiles at that, and he leans in to kiss her. “Ewww,” she grimaces. “Vegemite.”

“Try a little bit,” he implores.

“I’ve tried it. I hate it.”

“Just a bit. You might not like it now.”

“I’m never going to like it. Don’t!” she pushes his hand away when he holds the waffle near her mouth. “Get it away from me.”

“It’s not THAT bad.”

“I will puke on you,” she warns. “And not even apologize.”

“Here.” He grabs a hold of the back of her head with one hand and presses the food to her lips with the other.

“You fucker!” She playfully shoves him away, then vigorously wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh god. I can taste it. I’m never going to get rid of that taste.”

“You’ve had worse things in your mouth.”

“You’re gross,” she grumbles, and grabs one of the bottles of water. “You’re gross and a pig and I don’t know how I put up with you. That is so nasty. YOU’RE nasty. That’s not friends.”

“Is that what we are?” he grins. “Friends?”

“With benefits. Which you’re getting any of for a while doing shit like that.”

“Come here…” He reaches out and tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her into him.

“I’m not kissing you when you’re eating that stuff. No way.”

“Not even if I tell you that you looked amazing tonight? Not even if I tell you that you were the most beautiful woman there and that I was so fucking proud that you were there with me? Will you kiss me then?”

“I suppose,” she dramatically sighs, and then lays her hand on the side of his face as he covers her lips with his in a long, slow, deep kiss. The tip of his tongue skimming along the rough of her mouth before he draws away. “By the way,” she says. “You clean up pretty good. You haven’t worn one of these…” she tugs on the tie -now worn loosely- around his neck. “...since we got married.”

“You like it?”

“I do. It’s handsome and it’s distinguished and very sexy. But I think I prefer the way you usually dress. More casual. Jeans and t-shirts with holes in them and baseball hats. And board shorts. We can’t forget your board shorts. All thirty pairs of them.”

“It’s really only twenty eight, but…”

She grins as he presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. “That’s the Tyler I know. And I can’t lie. The thought of seeing you in a tactical vest again...all sweaty and dirty...it kind of turns me on. Just a bit.”

“Just a bit, huh?”

“Just a tiny bit. Like a lot. Like a lot, lot.”

“I’ll have to make conjugal visits. Leave the vest on when I come over.”

“I might not be able to control myself. I might throw you down and have my way with you.”

“I wouldn’t put up a fight. Just saying.”

“I know why you can’t stay with us. I totally get it. But it still kind of sucks.”

“Yeah,” Tyler nods. “It does. But at least we’re in the same country. Hopefully in the same city. Or close by.”

“I’ll feel better knowing you’re THAT close. The kids won’t understand why they can’t see you.”

“We’ll figure something out to tell them. At least they’ll know that I’m not far away and I can get to them pretty quick if I have to.”

She nods.

“It’s all going to work out,” he promises, and lays a hand on the side of her head and presses a kiss to her temple. “I have something for you.”

“You do, do you?”

“One of your surprises from the other day. From the kids. They asked me to give it to you so you could have it while we’re away.”

“From the kids?”

He nods.

“Something tells me it’s actually from you.”

“The other one is from me. You’ll get that one WHILE we’re away. It’s from the kids.” He opens the cupboard below the island and pulls out a small gift bag; adorned with unicorns and rainbows and glitter. “Millie picked that out by the way. In case you can’t tell.”

“That girl loves her glitter. And this from them? The kids?”

“Yup.”

“You’re lying, but okay…” She takes the bag from him and sets it on the counter. “What did you do?” she asks, as she pulls out a long, rectangular jewellery box.

“Just a little something. From the kids.”

She stares at him pointedly.

“Okay, it’s from me too. I’m the one who had to pay for it. But it was their idea.”

“You know I’m not good at surprises.”

“I know. You’re the worst person to buy stuff for. But it’s from your kids. They thought it up and they wanted you to have something pretty.”

She smiles. “They said that?”

He nods. “They said that mommy deserves pretty things and I agreed. So open it.”

“You’re going to make me cry,” she says, but snaps open the lid on the box. A piece of purple beach glass encased in an intricate cage of rose gold, and dangling from a chain of the same.

“Millie found it and wanted me to do something with it for you,” Tyler explains. “So I did.”

“It’s beautiful,” she turns her tear filled eyes towards him. “I love it. Thank you.”

He kisses her softly, face cradled in his palms. Her soft skin a striking contrast to the rough calluses on his palms and the tips of his fingers.

“You’re too good to me,” she declares.

“Sometimes I think I’m not good enough,” he admits.

“You’ve always been way more than someone like me deserves.”

“You’re full of shit,” he says, then kisses her forehead and takes the necklace from the box; stepping behind her to clasp it around her neck. “You like it?”

“I love it. It’s perfect. Our kids are perfect. YOU’RE perfect.”

“That last part? I dunno about that.”

“You’re perfect for me,” she says. “And that’s all that matters.”

[allyinthekeyofx]

Small Considerations Between Partners - 1

Small considerations between partners AllyinthekeyofX

Summary:

A series of vignettes that feature moments of friendship and love between our two favourite agents. One for each season and also both movies with some being more along mature lines. All will be canon compliant, a couple will be post episode. Chapter 1: Chocolate drops do not constitute medicine - Season one

I can feel Mulder watching me from across the room.

I hate it when he watches me like this; it makes me feel uncomfortable to know he is filling his working hours scrutinising me instead of concentrating on the job in hand and God knows he must surely be aware that they are just looking for a reason to shut us down. Working but not working isn’t exactly going to further his cause should we be called to question as to why the reports requested by Skinner and which litter his chaotic workspace are being largely ignored by him right now.

But today I’m aware that really, I only have myself to blame because when I woke up this morning with a pounding headache, limbs that alternated between a dragging heaviness and a nauseating ache that settled right in the marrow of my bones and a throat that felt like someone had miniaturised themselves to an extent that they were able to climb in there at some point during the night and do a sandblasting job with powdered glass, I probably should have just admitted defeat and called in sick.

I didn’t of course because being sick constitutes being weak and Dana Scully does not show weakness. No Siree. So I just self-medicated; hoping for the best as I forced myself in to the shower where I stood limply, hoping the heat of the water would in some small way chase away the chills that were racing up and down my back at fairly regular intervals.

I kind of knew this was coming – a rare day out this past weekend in the sole company of my small Godson had seemed like a precious gift at the time – but as the day wore on the gift became less enjoyable as his six year old self escalated in crankiness at roughly the same rate as his temperature had risen and by the time Ellen arrived to pick him up, Trent was clinging to me like a four-limbed limpet; heat radiating off him as he coated my shoulder in a not inconsiderable layer of snot and drool and I was already steeling myself for the inevitable.

Because I’ve noticed during the course of the months I have been working alongside Mulder that I seem to pick up every bug going. Maybe it’s the fact that we spend relatively long periods just with each other that makes me an easy target when I finally venture out in to the germ ridden world above or it’s simply that I don’t take such meticulous care of myself as I did in my pre-Mulder existence; that having him as a partner pretty much negates adequate sleep and regular wholesome meals.

Annoyingly though, Mulder seems to positively thrive on the disjointed lifestyle that working on the X-Files demands; able to function at the top of his game on scant rest and a diet of greasy take-out food.

Because he is never sick.

Ever.

You would be forgiven for thinking that, as is often the case with irritatingly healthy individuals, that he has no patience with illness in others and certainly my Father had enjoyed years of rude good health before the coronary unexpectedly and cruelly took him from us just a few short months ago; and back when we were kids only impending death or a temperature close to combustible levels were sufficient for us to be tucked in to bed and fed chicken soup. If neither applied we were just expected to suck it up.

But Mulder? Mulder is different. Maybe it’s due to his fine New England upbringing or maybe it’s simply due to the fact that he hasn’t had anyone to be concerned about for a very long time but I have noticed, even from right at the very beginning when he clearly didn’t trust me and resented my reasons for me being thrust in to his domain, that he has always been extremely sensitive regarding my continued wellbeing.

In fact, “Are you okay Scully?” has been levelled at me so many times that I now find myself always automatically assuring him that I’m fine even when I’m not and it’s not that I want to hurt his feelings, nor that I am immune to his concern, but frankly I am a grown woman and more than capable of taking care of myself.

Well, except on days like today of course where a wholly misplaced pride prevented me from listening to the little voice inside my head that told me the smart thing to do would be to simply turn up the heat in my apartment to tropical and crawl back to bed where I could quietly wallow in a pit of misery until such time as my body deigned fit to fight off the virus that had invaded it courtesy of Trent.

But I hadn’t. I had instead dragged myself to work and tried to hide from my partner that in reality, I felt pretty much like death warmed over and I should have known better than to try to fool a man who can strip me inside out with a single glance. Hiding things from Mulder is like trying to knit with the wind – a lot of effort with nothing to show for it at the end. And right now as I feel his eyes boring in to me, I know that he is building himself up in order to address his concerns.

His words though, when they finally come, are as far away from what I was expecting as they could possibly be.

“Chocolate drops Scully.”

I jerk my head up and wonder suddenly if my slight fever is actually worse than I had thought and is in fact, giving way to auditory hallucinations.

I glance across at where he is lounging back in his chair, relieved in part to find he is looking straight at me.

“Chocolate drops Mulder?”

“Yep. Best medicine there is for sore throats.”

“Mulder I haven’t got a sore….”

He holds his hand up and like Pavlov’s dog I immediately stop, recognising the futility of denial where this man is concerned.

“Scully I know you’re sick. From the minute you walked in this morning it was obvious; you look like hell and every time you swallow you pull this face…”

He grimaces and closes his eyes briefly in a pretty accurate representation of a baby sucking on a lemon then grins apologetically at me. Clearly my attempts to appear normal have been less than successful but I decide to let it go in order to address the bigger issue.

“Chocolate drops do not in any way constitute medicine Mulder.” I assert with all the dignity I can muster.

He shrugs, still grinning.

“Suit yourself Doctor Scully but it’s the truth. My Mom used to give us chocolate when we had sore throats. Forms a coating or some such thing and I’m no medical doctor but….whatever it did it worked.”

I immediately bristle on the slightly teasing inflection given to his use of the word Doctor, because despite the way he is looking at me, eyes soft with concern, a slight frown worrying his brow, I am in no mood to play games with him.

“Placebo effect Mulder” I snap

He nods sagely

“If you say so.”

“And besides” I continue. “I’m fine. It’s just a cold and even if it were more serious I have a whole host of tried and tested remedies sitting in my bathroom cabinet to fall back on. Chocolate drops I might add are not amongst them.”

I probably shouldn’t have told him I was fine because for Mulder, me denying what he has already convinced himself of just makes him more determined to be proven right; whether it be seeking validation regarding the existence of life on other worlds, weird paranormal mumbo-jumbo or missing time phenomena, Mulder believes what he believes and he rigidly stands by those beliefs; directing the same unwavering certainty when making assertions as to my state of health and while on some level I admire him for it, today I just find it invasive and mildly annoying.

I’m unsurprised though when he pushes himself to his feet in one graceful fluid movement and crosses the small space that separates us, standing before me and rendering me immediately at a strategic disadvantage by his looming presence over me. I probably should feel slightly unnerved by his close proximity, not least because my eyes are now at roughly the same level as his crotch, and try as I might I can’t seem to make myself avert my gaze. Thankfully though, Mulder drops down to rest on his haunches and places his palm gently against my forehead and his touch is so deliciously cool that I make no attempt to pull away from him.

“Christ Scully you’re burning up. You should be at home in bed.”

My shoulders slump slightly because deep down I know he’s right but at the same time I’m annoyed that he feels such a need to state the obvious all the time.

“It’s not that bad Mulder.”

Maybe he hears the slight warning tone in my voice that he needs to back off right now, because he removes his hand and checks his watch.

“Look, it’s almost four-thirty. I’ve got a couple of errands to run first but why don’t you stay here and finish up and then I’ll run you home? Is your car here?”

I shake my head, less annoyed than I was a few seconds ago because it seems that, today at least he is prepared to offer a compromise.

“No I didn’t feel like driving so I caught a cab.”

“Okay then good. I’ll be forty-five minutes; maybe an hour and then we’ll call it a day, and Scully? Try not to die on me while I’m gone; the paperwork would be a bitch.” Despite myself I can’t help a smile that tugs at my lips and he nods, clearly satisfied as he grabs his coat and exits the office.

XXXXXXXXXXX

As good as his word Mulder drove me home and despite myself I was grateful that I was with him and not some faceless stranger in an unfamiliar vehicle as he negotiated his way through rush hour traffic, glancing across at me every now and again but not passing further comment as to my state of health; he merely cranked up the heat in the car and found a radio station that helped to create an atmosphere of such relaxation that I was asleep within minutes.

I have hazy recollections of him waking me up with a light touch to my face as he smoothed a few errant strands of hair from where it had stuck to the corner of my mouth and I was pleasantly surprised when, seeing me start to shiver once I was out of the warm cocoon he had created in the car, he put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me against him, sharing his warmth with me against the frigid winter air as he walked me to my apartment.

He had, with an impish smile that made him look like a little boy, offered his help to get me undressed and in to bed but I had refused, shaking my head as I brushed off his playful banter lightly, even as a small part of me wondered what would happen if I decided to accept his offer. I suspect though he would have turned tail and exited as fast as his long legs could carry him. Mulder I have discovered seems to be all talk.

As it was though, he waited until he was sure I was all tucked up in my warmest flannel pyjamas and fluffy robe, staying in the apartment on the pretext of needing a coffee before he drove home; I didn’t hear him leave though because I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow and I think I may have been dreaming when I felt the heat of his lips press gently and briefly to the centre of my forehead, imagining the sound of his voice murmuring above me.

“Sweet dreams Scully.”

When I awoke hours later there was a glass of water and a couple of pills on my bedside table along with a small, beautifully wrapped square box. It was about the size of a baseball I guess and I couldn’t imagine what he might have bought for me; or why for that matter.

But now, as I hold the opened package in my hands I can’t help but smile at both the contents and the message of the small tag that I carefully removed from its ribbon tie.

‘One to be taken as required’

And as I feel the rich dark chocolate melting on my tongue and coating my throat with smooth mellow sweetness I decide he might actually be right about this whole medicinal chocolate thing.

Maybe I will call him later and tell him so.

Maybe.

End

[tellerford13]

MO ASTOR CHAPTER 43                                            

Disclaimer We don’t own the bikes, brothers, or any “related” Sons of Anarchy, trust us, if we did we wouldn’t have the time to write. No money is being made from our stories. So, please don’t sue. It’d be a fruitless endeavor indeed. That being said, Harley, Journee, and any other newbies are ours, and we don’t share. :Whispers in creepy voice: “My precious.”

The universe This reality is a mix of cannon, and our own ideas. We strive to keep the boys cannon, but since we will be shifting around some of the events, that will reflect in our writing and their personalities as well. It’s our goal to provide you with quality fiction, and solid, fleshed out OFC

We appreciate constructive criticism and love LOVE reviews, they are a writers life blood and definitely help encourage us and inspire us.

                                                           A/N: The closer we get to show events, the more excited we are to show you our vision for how things went down. Because of the growth and changes our boys have undergone in Mo Astor, things are very different, and it’s going to show. So buckle up and join us for another ride in Charming with a different view.

                                          Mo Astor Chapter 43

Jax

“Some day’s you’re the Beamer. Some days, you’re the goddam deer.” I announce, chuckling at the sight that greets me as I walk onto the garage’s lot.  

“Some yuppie creamed her up at the streams.” Chibs informs me, clearly just as amused at the rather unique picture.

“He run into it or hit a tree while it was giving him head?” I ask, shaking my head at the deer carcass sticking ass out from the windshield.

“How the hell you want me to get it out of there?” Half Sack asks staring in horror at the deer that decided to commit suicide via Beamer windshield.

Walking over to the tow truck, I come back with a chain saw.

“Come on. Jesus, man.” Half Sack’s face pales. I smile around my joint.

I love fucking with Prospects. It’s a good way to blow off steam and test their commitment. You can’t just trust anyone with the shit we got going on behind the scenes, and after letting that coward Kyle slip into our ranks, we’re all more vicious in the weeding out process.

“Just pretend it’s carve-your-own-steak night at Sizzler,” I call as I walk over to Chibs

“I don’t eat meat, man,” Half Sack says. I shake my head. Who the hell willingly gives up meat?

“Figure out, grunt.”  I have no sympathy for him when I think of all the vile shit I had to handle when I did my time.

Tig rode me harder than most, trying to make sure I’d be worthy of my father’s legacy. I love and hate him for that.

“What the hell happened,” Chibs asks about the meeting I’d been pulled into this afternoon.

“It was the Mayans who torched the warehouse. Stole the Niner’s M4s.”

“Holy shit.” Worry deepens the lines on his face.

“Clay’s gone to sit down with Laroy. Try to buy us some time.”

“Niners already paid for that hardware.”

“That’s the tricky part.” I agree. My cell phone goes off in my pocket. I pull it out and fight the urge to shake my head. She’s probably watching from somewhere.

“Hey, Ma. It’s not like I just saw you this morning or something.”

“Did you go to storage?” she asks, ignoring me. Ma and the girls have been riding me hard to get the room set up for Abel in me and Lee’s house.

Not that they haven’t done most the work on it already.

“Not yet.”

“Be a nice surprise if you had some things for the girls to work with after they visit your crazy ass ex for you.”

“I hear you loud and clear. Thanks—Grandma.” I get the dig in.

“Asshole.” She hangs up, and I laugh. I tack the trip on my to-do list. There’s not much I wouldn’t do to make the girls happy, and I know right now, living at the clubhouse and being escorted everywhere is trying. Hell, they have to be accompanied just to visit Wendy. I wonder if I should’ve grabbed her and brought her in for lockdown. With her not answering my calls, she was the last thing on my mind.

I feel the pressure on my shoulders grow heavier. Splitting myself in so many directions always leaves someone hanging.

Clay walks out of the garage with Tig trailing behind him.

“I’m going to head out and do my mother’s bidding. Keep an eye on our girls?”

“Aye. Gonna trail ’em to Wendy’s.”

“Surprised Baby J is letting her get that close to you,” I say, amused by her viciousness when it comes to my ex.

“Didn’t say I was gonna walk up to the front door.” Chibs winks. Smooth motherfucker.

I’m still chuckling when I mount my bike, put on my helmet, and follow the boys out of the yard until they turn to head toward Oakland.

I let the ride blow away all my thoughts as I become one with the road. The sun on my skin, the wind blowing away all my tension, I’m one with the bike and in communion with my surroundings. This is my real church, the place I come to feel linked to my creator.

I’m feeling a lot more level-headed when I reach the storage building. Parking in front of the door, I enter the code and lift the door to the climate-controlled area. For a moment, I’m not sure where to look first. I can see so many memories put here to collect dust and stop reminding us of the sorrow they brought with them—toys that had belonged to my younger brother, Tommy, and me. I can still picture the toe-haired kid with a big heart. He’s a hole in my heart that will never be filled in.

I see the crib against the wall, but it’s the knick-knacks that interest me. There are pieces of my father mixed in here. I wish you were here now more than ever Pops.

I caress the photos that disappeared off the wall once Clay moved into our home. I understand the why behind my mother recommitting so swiftly, but it didn’t change the anger it caused. We were doing okay there for a while: Ma, me, and Baby J. When Clay came in, it shot the dynamics to hell. The man knew fuck all about kids, let alone grieving teens, and it showed. We always felt welcome with my Dad.

Clay brought a coldness that had us walking on eggshells and out of the house more often than not. It didn’t escape my notice that the girls both started spending more time at Gran’s and later after she passed, at Tig’s.

I shake out some manilla envelopes and smile at the sight of my parents in their youth. They look so carefree and happy. I can’t remember the last time I’d seen Dad look like that after Tommy died.

A photo falls like a leaf landing onto a binder of something I don’t recognize.

What’s this?

I take it out and find a manuscript. I can hear my father’s voice reading out loud in my mind.

The life and death of Sam Crow. How the Sons of Anarchy lost their way. By John Thomas Teller. For my sons: Thomas, who’s already at peace, and Jackson... may he never know this life of chaos.

I pause to snap a picture and send it to the girls. Found something of Dad’s.

There’s something about this that commands my attention.

I open the first page and find myself sucked in and my view of everything I’d been groomed to take over, tilts on its axis.

I’m a few chapters in when my phone vibrates in my kutte pocket. It’s like emerging from a different world. I pull it out of my pocket and sigh. Church. Setting aside a few things for a Prospect to pick up, I take the manuscript and place it into my saddlebag before I’m drawn back into the fray.

***

I stalk out of Church with Mayans, the Niners, and guns on the brain. We have forty-eight hours to come up with the guns Leroy ordered, or we’re going to be in a bad spot with them. Our relationship with the Niners has been good. The last thing we need is both them and the Mayans out for blood. Charming is small. Ain’t many places for a person to hide. We know firsthand how damn ruthless the Mayans can be when they go to war. Bloody ‘92 will forever remind us that they have no limitations.

Still, I can’t help but wonder how they got the intel. Are they scoping us out or paying someone else in town to do their dirty work for them?

Ma rushes into the garage alone, and my stomach jumps.

“What’s going on?” I bark.

“I been trying to call you!” Her eyes are glossy, and her tone is wounded.

“Where are the girls?” I ask carefully, enunciating each word. Chibs left them with a prospect to look over them once he’d been called back for Church.

“At the hospital.”

“What?” Chibs roars from behind me.

“With Wendy. Junkie bitch took a hit and od’d.”

“Mother Mary,” Chibs whispers, crossing himself.

The bottom drops out of my world. I can barely hear as I sway slightly. Did this bitch kill my son? Blood rushes in my ears, and the world drops away.

“Shite. Let’s get you to the hospital, brotha,” Chibs urges, shaking me out of my stupor as he squeezes my arm, grounding me. I stumble out feeling drunk as I make my way to my bike. Part of me doesn’t want to make the trip to St. Thomas because that’ll mean finding out what might be an ugly truth.

The trip is a complete blur. I pull into a spot, kill the engine, and head inside. The doors open, and I step inside feeling like I’m traveling to the pit of hell with my mom on my heels talking to Clay.

“It’s gotta be the Nords dealing out of the Dog again.”

I’m going to kill those white supremacist bastards as soon as I see about my son.

A small hand grabs my wrist. I turn on my mother, irritated. “I don’t want you to walk into this blind, baby. Tara Fucking Knowles is the doctor on his case. The girls aren’t happy. I’m sure they’ve let her know by now.”

“Jesus.” I shake my head.

She narrows her eyes. “You knew?”

“I saw her once and looked it into it, yeah.” I hold my hand up. “We’ll talk about it later.” For once, she backs off as we travel to the correct floor.

I spot Tara standing awkwardly by my two pissed-off girls.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask.

“Bitch refused to tell us anything,” Journee says.

“Said we weren’t family or on the paperwork to release medical information to,” Lee growls.

“I’m changing that shit today. You got me, Tara?” I snarl.

She nods and swallows.

“Good. Now what the hell happened?”

“When’s the last time you saw her?” Tara asked.

“A couple of weeks ago.” I don’t just abandon people. Even when we break up.

“Her hands and feet were full of tracks. Toxicology reports aren’t back yet, but it’s most likely crank.”

“That selfish bitch,” Journee hisses.

Lee steps up on my right slipping her fingers into mine, and Journee steps up on my left, with Ma directly behind me.

All of them are lending me silent support.

She looked fine when we saw her.

I squeeze Lee’s hand and pull from her silent strength.

“The baby?” I force the question out of my clogged throat.

“We had to do an emergency C-section. He’s ten weeks premature.”

I close my eyes. “Holy shit,” I whisper. That’s not right. Are his lungs even developed yet? I might not have advertised it, but I read up on pregnancy.

“Come on, let’s sit down, and I’ll walk you through it.”

“Just tell us bitch,” Journee snaps.

Lee wraps an arm around me, and my sister’s arm joins hers.

I draw strength from them, bracing myself. Last thing I need right now is to be alone anywhere with Tara while she drops bombs.

Tara’s eyes dart nervously to all my girls. “He’s got a congenital heart defect and gastroschisis, a tear in his abdomen. The gastro and the early birth are from the drugs. But the CHD is probably—.”  

“The family flaw,” Mom says softly.

Tara nods. “Yes, it’s genetic. Either one would be serious but not life-threatening. However, the two of them together—.” My stomach plummets.

She pauses, unsure of what she should say next.

I need to know what she’s holding back on.

“Just tell me.”

“Dr. Namid gives him a twenty percent chance, and I’m afraid that’s being optimistic.”

“How could we not know?” I shake my head, disgusted. We did everything but live there with her.

“Her OB said she missed her last appointment.”

“Bitch must’ve hidden that one,” Lee says from between her teeth.

“No one knew. Dr. Namid wants to fix his belly first. Then if he stabilizes, he’ll go in and try to repair the heart.”

She pauses, her brown eyes soften towards me.

“I’m sorry, Jax.” She says kindly.

I nod my head and blink to keep my emotions in check.

“I can take you to see him now.”

“Go,” the girls whisper, releasing me as Tara turns and I step forward, following her.

We get through the door, and I pause. “Tara! Maybe you shouldn’t do this. I’m sure you got other patients –.”

“I asked Dr. Namid if I could assist. I wanna help your son –.”

I glance over my shoulders at the girls. “His name’s Abel?”

Lee nods her agreement, and I return my attention to a befuddled-looking Tara.

“That’s a good name.”

I can’t do it—go in there and see my little boy laying helpless as he fights for his life while I stand by, twiddling my thumbs. I need to make the person responsible for this pay. Avenging him is an action. I need to be doing something, or I’m going to explode and destroy everything in sight.

I spin on my heels.

“Jax?” Tara calls.

I ignore her and continue to walk.

“Jax,” Ma says.

“J wait-” Baby J steps forward.

“Jackson?” Lee whispers, gripping my hand, trying to stay me.

Even with her firm grip trying to anchor me, the fury I’m feeling won’t be subsided.

“Go with Tara, and stay with Ma.” I point at Ma.

“I got something to do.”

Before they can argue I press a chaste kiss to Lee’s crow, releasing her hand and briskly walking down the corridor away from them.

“I don’t want to be calmed and soothed.

Right now I need some release, some revenge.

Daddy,” I vaguely hear my sister cry out.

“I’m on it, Mo.”

“Watch his back,” Clay calls.

***

Chibs

I’m on Jax like white on rice.

If anything happens to him on my watch, I’ll be getting my ass handed to me by the ladies and then my President.

Rage rolls off him in intense waves as he walks through the leather pillow-top salon-style doors of the Hairy Dog.

As he enters the smoky room, he’s a man on a mission.

I can’t fault him for it. I want to see him get his retaliation. I know how not getting it can eat a man up one flashback at a time.

He grabs a pool stick off the wall and begins to beat the tattooed bastard bloody on his own turf.

“Sell crank to my pregnant ex?” Jax is an enraged beast.

His boys move to surge forward, and Bobby pulls his piece.

“Easy boys,” Bobby drawls as only an Elvis impersonator could.

I let Jackie continue to whale on the lad for a few beats longer before I step in, post testicle piercing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa” I snag him around the waist and pull him back. “I think you made your point. I think you made your point!”  Jax stills, and I release him.

“Stupid peckerwood shithead.” Jax spits on the impaled, bloodied, and broken body.

I follow up with a little spit of my own.

“Enjoy your lunch. Shish keballs are on me,” Bobby says, bringing up the rear as we exit the den of hate.

Jax climbs onto his bike.

“You alright?” Bobby asks.

“I’m gonna see Op.”

“You sure you got your head back on straight, brotha?” I ask.

“No. But I need to know you’re with the girls.”

“Tha I can do.”  It pains me to leave him to his own devices, but I’m not trusting the girls to Clay. They need a soft touch right now, and the Pres is notoriously heavy-handed. I haven’t had a cause to pray much recently, but I’ve thanked the man upstairs plenty, so maybe he’ll hear me now as I pray for the bairn who’s already got the odds stacked against him.

***

I spot the girls camped out when I enter the hospital.

Mo jumps up and runs to me.

“Daddy.” I open my arms and pull her to me, resting my head on her head.

“Where’s Jax?”

“He went to see Opie. Figured that might be the best thing for him.”

She hiccups. “Abel’s so small and so very sick.”

“I know, but he comes from strong, stock. He’ll be fine.” I peer up to see Lee watching and incline my head, opening one of my arms. She walks over, and I pull her to me, settling her beside her wife. I kiss Lee’s head.

“It’s going to be okay, girls. He’s got a lot of people out here rooting for him and good doctors.” Gemma glaring at the operating door doesn’t hurt either.

Feeling eyes on me, I glance up to find Clay watching us.

He could never understand this little family of four we’re building.

He’s always been … self-motivated.

I know how precious true family is, and I’ll cherish every moment of it I experience.

“Looks like you got this under control, brother. I’m going to check in on our other problems,” Clay says. “You stay here and keep me posted.”

“Aye.”  He slinks away with Bobby following him, and I refocus on the girls in my arms who’ve seen their lives turned upside down in less than forty-eight hours.

“Come on, loves, let’s go take a seat.” I guide them to the chairs and sink down with both of them still attached. Stroking my hand over their hair, I lean my head back against the wall and settle in for what I know will be a lengthy wait.

“It feels like it’s taking a really long time,” Lee mumbles.

“Means they’re making sure to do it right,” I whisper.

“He’d know. He was a medic,” Journee says, working to soothe her wife’s nerves. I feel the slight tremor in her body that tells me she’s struggling to believe her own words.

“I hope so,” Lee whispers, glancing back towards the operating room doors.

“We can’t lose another Teller like this,” Journee’s voice waivers.

“Nah, that’s not going to happen. You need a nephew to raise your kid up with,” Lee whispers, lending comfort.

Journee sniffles and reaches across me to twine her fingers with Lee’s.

The girls both rest their heads against my chest and I let my fingers weave into their hair and massage their scalps.

Both of them release deep sighs and snuggle closer.

I know neither of them got much extra sleep this morning, despite their attempt.

And with the way the adrenaline has been coming and going it’s only a matter of time till their bodies grow heavy and their breathing grows even.

Gemma walks over to us sometime later and smiles.

“Always been attached at the damn hip,” she says softly.

I peer down and note the girls have fallen into a troubled sleep.

“Aye. How you doing, Ma?”

She shakes her head. “If that bitch isn’t dead, she’s going to wish she was when I’m done with her.”

I don’t have to ask who she’s talking about.

“Has there been any news on her?”

Gemma shakes her head.

“Not yet. Wish they’d come and tell me I never have to worry about her again.”  She sighs.

Turning to look at me, she gives me those narrowed whiskey-colored eyes.

She’s been brewing something in that big brain of hers and it’s either gonna be really good for me or about to make me very uncomfortable.

“You’re good for my daughter. I worried I might never see that kind of joy in her eyes again. She was always my sweet baby. Kind-hearted and open. Not naïve, but a little too optimistic. I tried to train it outta her, but never could. Then I went and got used to it.” She gives a throaty chuckle and shakes her head.

“Seeing it crushed under the boot heels of some fucking traitor like Hobart. That shit hurt deep.” She narrows her gaze. “I ain’t never going through that again, am I?”

I’m wondering why she’s waited till now to have this convo with me and not before the wedding, but I know better than to question the Queen.

“No, ma’am.” I answer honestly.

She nods her head. “Good.” She smiles. “Give me a grandbaby, and you and I will be golden.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Yeah, I heard that for myself, Daddy,” she says sarcastically.

I grin unashamed. I’ll never be embarrassed about anything that Mo and I do.

A throat clears, and we both look up.

“He made it.”

Gemma grins, and I gently rock the girls to wake them.

“Wait, they’re doing the crow thing now?” Tara whispers.

“Another comment like that, and I’ll forget you just helped save my grandchild,” Gemma snaps.

“Journee is me wife and me old lady.” I glance down at Lee, who’s blinking up at me before I direct the wide smile I know gets under people’s skin at Tara.

“And I’ll let Leelove inform you about her new position.”

“Whas going on, Daddy?” Journee whispers.

“Abel made it through the first surgery, loves,” I whisper.

They’re out of my arms and jumping up and down like a pair of high school cheerleaders.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Tara cautions.

The girls turn to her with a look of disgust.

“Always the buzzkill,” Lee mumbles.

Tara clears her throat. “Wendy Case is also awake.”

“Trust me. You don’t want us to go see Wendy right now,” Gemma says.

“She’s going to need support to beat this—.”

The girls look at each other and burst out laughing.

Tara’s face falls.

“Ya have ta want help t’get it. Yew’ve missed a lot. So yer speaking on things ya Cannae understand.”

“We’re talking about decent human kindness,” Tara says, exasperated.

“There are so many things you’ve grown out of touch with Knowles. I’d list them for you, but we’ve got far better things to do right now,” Gemma says as her fingers fly over the keyboard. My phone vibrates, and I know she’s sent a club update.

When my phone begins to ring, Mo huffs and pouts.

“Yeah?”

“Time for church, Chibby. We learned a few things,” Tig says.

“On my way in. Bring the girls?” I ask.

Gemma shakes her head. “We have got to get a handle on Jax’s house for important reasons.”

I nod my head. “Need you to send a prospect to Jax’s old house for the girls.”

“He’ll be waiting for them,” Tig says.

“Appreciate it, Tigger.”

“You know they’re my girls too.”

“Aye. I know.” I disconnect.

“Duty calls, ladies, but there’ll be a prospect awaiting your arrival.

“The one who doesn’t eat meat?” Gemma wrinkles her nose.

“I don’t trust a man who doesn’t eat meat. Don’t patch him in.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when it comes time to vote.”

“Always liked you, Scottie.”

“Such a suck-up,” Journee teases.

I wink at her. Cupping the back of her neck, I pull her into a kiss. I savor her taste and softness before I pull away.

“One of us will come to bring you home if the prospect doesn’t. yeah?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

I pat her ass. “There’s a good lass.”

“Fill me in on my grandson before we leave, Knowles,” Gemma says, taking her aside as I pull away for Mo.

“Stay safe, Filip.”

“Always Mo Astor.”

***

Church is a different experience now that I have something more than the club and its secrets to protect. I know retaliation is coming with the Mayans, and now with Wendy’s bullshit, we’re looking into the Nords. It’s like placing a fucking target on my back, and yet, I can’t show the way I feel in any way. Not at the table in front of mixed company. The Nords only have about sixteen guys, but with their leader, Darby, out of jail and ready to make his presence known, we’re looking at brawn over brain action happening. We’ve turned a blind eye to the meth labs they run out of Lodi, but that was when they sold to truckers and Hispanic gangs. This is hitting too close to home.

“How’s his guy doing?” Clay asks.

I focus back on the conversation going on around me.

“Fractured cheek, broken nose, left nut swinging solo.” Juicy informs us with a smirk.

“Yes, it was beautiful!” I crow. “That’s my boy!” I let the laughter I don’t feel flow. I’m damn used to pretending.

“He’s lucky he’s breathing,” Jackie boy growls. I know he means every word.

“So, uh, any luck up north?” Clay asks, turning his attention to Happy, who we’d called in to try to replace our missing hardware.

“Tacoma can help with the Glocks, but there’s no M4s anywhere. Washington State, Oregon, Nevada, nobody’s got stock, man.”

Fucking perfect.

“We’ll have all the Mayan intel by the morning. We’ll get our guns back.” Jax says, turning to look at Juicy.

Juice nods.

They downplay how much good he’s done for our club but without him, we’d still be in the dark playing guessing games.

They start to conclude with treasury talk and other bullshit.

I’m counting down until I can get home to my wife.

“All right, all right. Anything else?” Clay asks. Finally.

“Yeah, I, uh, just wanna say to Jackson on a club level,” Piney begins. I sit up. He doesn’t do speeches often. “The Sons of Anarchy, the Redwood Original, is here for you. Your father would be proud of the man you’ve become, you know. Every time I see you sitting at this table, well, I do a double-take at you.”

“It’s probably just the weed Pop,” Opie says, lightening the mood.

Piney gives a chuckle. “Probably. I mean, he’s... Anyway, whatever you need, son, it’s yours.” The man’s old school. He understands what loyalty means. For people like him and me, the club is about the family we’ve chosen for ourselves, not the bullshit that comes with it.

“Thank you, Piney. Thanks, boys,” Jax says. I nod my head at him. He knows all he has to do is ask me.

“Meeting closed.”

Now I pay my dues, shoot the shit, and bide my time. The clubhouse doesn’t hold the same lure it used to.

“What the hell is that smell?” Clay asks.

“I don’t know. God, if I know. I smell it too,” Bobby says.

I tense up. The last thing we need to do is find a fucking dead Crow. With the way they do drugs, it’s happened before.

They walk around sniffing. Clay comes to the pool table. Shit. Which one is it this time? Peggy’s been hitting the coke pretty hard for someone her age.

“It’s that box,” Clay says.

“What is it?” Bobby asks.

“I don’t know,” Clay says.  Clay opens the box, and the scent rushes toward us.

I gag when I see the decapitated deer head.

What the feck is this horse shite?

“Hey, that’s mine.”

Oh, for fucks sake.

I shake my head as my damn prospect rushes over, proud as shit, and lifts the rotting head up.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Bobby asks, covering his nose and mouth. Even Piney, with his oxygen tubes, tries to plug up his nostrils.

“No, I just—You know, I thought it was like a surprise. We could mount it in the club. You know, like on the wall.

“It’s gotta be stuffed and treated, you idiot,” Jax says.

“Yeah, I know, I just... Stuffed with what?” he asks. Fucking hell, why am I in charge of this blundering idiot? Assholes assigned him to me while I was on me honeymoon with Mo Astor. Jealous, vindictive bastards.

“Got a real winner there,” Jax says.

“Feck off.” I nudge him playfully with my elbow, and he gives me a small smile.

“Jax.”

“Gotta go, Duty calls,” He says, nodding his head toward Clay.

“Good speed, brother.”

I join Tig at the bar, positioned where I can watch Jax. He’s not himself right now, and he’s got a lot to lose.