#with some funk or flavor to them where they sand off all of the things that actually make them interesting and compelling

[bitchthefuck1]

I will never understand the fanfic impulse to take characters with thee most coo coo bananas codependent/nuanced/toxic/insane relationship and turn them into love interests #1 and #2 in a generic romance novel. like what is even the point anymore

[talkfastromance4]

Running Back to You-- Luke Hemmings (wwii au)

Not quite sure what this is, but I felt it within me and I had to write it out. After watching 1917 and Dunkirk, plus Memorial Day and listening to “I am a Poor Wayfaring Stranger” this sprung to life. I’ve been in a writing funk and this helped me out of it, I guess so yeah, might not be good. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: graphic violence, mentions of blood and injury, indicated smut(very slight), bombings, gunshots, war mentions, WWII references

Masterlist

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. *copyright is listed below*

• • • •

He awakes with a jolt. In a manner of seconds his mind plays back a reel of his dream that he’s desperate to cling onto. It’s of you. 

In this dream you’re walking along the boardwalk, a pretty pink dress with a pretty pink cloud of candy floss between your fingers. The sky is a clear robin’s egg blue, no cloud in sight. Shrieks of laughter from children still echoes in his ears but he’s chasing after you. He was about to spin you around so you’d smack into his chest, your eyes alight with giddiness as he would lower his lips to yours, tasting the sweetness of the candy floss. 

The bomb that went off from the German aircraft disrupted his dream and his space of peace. Peace is hard to come by in this war, any moment of solace is treasured. Luke has been robbed of his.

The aftereffects of the bombs are always the same; frightened shouts from other men, rapid gunfire blasting into the night sky as if they created the holes for the stars and yells of agony from the wounded. Wrong place at the right time.

They’re all in the wrong place right now. Luke hugs his rifle closer to his chest, it knocks his dog tags together. He clutches them with his other hand desperately, he can feel the flying rate of his heart beneath his dirt covered fingers. Sweat tickles his upper lip, his nose is running and the safety of his dream--and his girl--are well gone now. 

He looks to his left, Michael, a friend he’s made in the last seven months reflects the same face of terror and alertness back at him. His helmet is askew and there’s dirt on his face mixed with his sweat. Their eyes ask a silent question, how long will this last?

“How long was I out?” Luke croaks. His throat is dry as sand, voice cracking from lack of water.  Clearing it won’t help, will only burn more.

“Two hours, maybe,” Michael rasps back. He licks his lips then winces, the salt from his sweat and copper taste from his blood taints his tongue. “You seemed out. What were you seeing?”

“My girl from back home,” Luke’s response is quick. He could talk about you all day; he thinks of you every minute. You’re the only thing keeping him sane during this horrific war. 

“She a pretty bird?”

“The prettiest,” Luke smiles then shifts his gun against a large rock. He digs into his many pockets, but the photo of you is always over his heart. He holds it up for Michael to inspect, the edges are a little worn, but your smile is radiant. 

“She is a looker,” Michael nods then flips it over to read your little note. “‘Come back to me my love.’ She sure loves ya, huh?”

“Yeah, I got lucky,” Luke grins taking the photo back. “Fancied her all through school and I finally plucked up the courage to ask her to the dance. Been together ever since.”

“I didn’t see a rock on those pretty fingers of hers.”

“I’m going to give her one when I go back home,” Luke nods affirmatively. “And we’ll live on the seaside by the boardwalk.”

“My girl’s—”

“GET DOWN!”

Michael and Luke scramble into position, fetal position with hands locked behind their heads just as another bomb fell. This one was closer, dirt, rocks and other debris scattered over their backs. Luke is aware of all the yelling, wails of pain and orders shouted in roll call of their troops, but he’s also fixated on you.

**

Luke’s boots squelch through the mud as he and Michael near the small town they’re set to liberate, to search for survivors and to take down any enemy. A nice family on the outskirts of town on a farm were very hospitable to them as soon as they saw the patches on their shoulders.

They aren’t the enemy.

Luke sang with them, the first time he’s had a guitar in his hands since he was with you on the eve of his departure. It was a bittersweet moment, enjoying the young children dancing and frolicking on the wooden floor while images of you and him dancing that night flashed across his mind.

With it being his last night, the sense of urgency was heightened and soon Luke was undoing the white buttons of your dress while your nimble fingers worked on his belt. It was the first time the two of you did anything like that, bodies trembling, breathing ragged. Your love was sealed with heated kisses.

“You never finished telling me about your girl,” Luke says, averting his eyes from the broken windows of shops. Blackened paint from the swastika’s drip down on the red bricks, papers scatter along the cobblestone road.

“Not to offend but my girl is a bombshell,” Michael grins, and Luke smiles back. Their friendship continues to grow the more they go through, Michael is always cracking jokes even in this dark time.

“What’s she like?”

Luke listens to Michael rattle off everything about his girl. How her hair is the softest thing he’s ever felt, her cheeks are always pink, and she smells of lilac all the time. They always share a milkshake at their favorite diner that has the best burger and fries.

“You and your girl should come with us when we’re back,” Michael adds nudging Luke in the shoulder.

“She’d like that,” Luke nods. “In her last letter, she told me she’s been wanting nothing to eat but fries and a strawberry shake.”

“What do you—”

Luke and Michael are blasted apart. Luke goes flying backwards, his back hitting the rough brick of a building, some of it tumbles onto his chest and knocks his helmet. Shouts from his other men are faint, the sound of the blast must have damaged his hearing slightly.

Through the smoke and floating papers, he searches for Michael who is flat on the ground. A small pool of blood forming by his head that is now bare of his helmet, his arms splayed on either side of him.

“Michael!” Luke screams and crawls his way off the sidewalk to his injured friend. Shots are going on all around him, the attacker has been taken down.

Luke is coughing through the smoke, his eyes watering and as he looks down at his friend, he sees the source of the blood. Michael’s left eye was hit with shrapnel or part of the grenade, rendering him unconscious as the wound bled.

Luke’s own hands are bloody and dirty as he searches for a pulse and finds a faint one, then he tries to find something to wrap his head in. The small knapsack the farm family filled with bread and cheese was made from a large handkerchief.

The bread and cheese tumbles to the soot covered ground as Luke rips the fabric into longer pieces. Michael groans when Luke dresses his head with the fabric, the blood blooms on the white cloth instantly, as if a poppy bursting free.

“Mike! Can you hear me? Talk to me,” Luke spits urgently and tightens the makeshift bandage over his friend’s eye. “Come on, tell me about your girl and the milkshakes. What’s her favorite?”

“V-vanilla,” Michael chokes out, he tries to open his other eye.

“Vanilla? Can’t believe your bird likes plain flavors,” Luke tries to joke with his friend, and it works. Michael’s lips curve slightly.

“Says it . . . reminds . . . of me.”

“Because of your hair? She’s funny, I can’t wait to meet her. Can you sit and stand?” Luke helps lift Michael up just as another soldier comes to their aid. He helps hobble Michael to shelter where the other troops have assembled.

“I’ll get the medic over, he can clean the wound,” the young man who helped with Michael says.

Luke holds Michael’s hand as his face continues to redden from the blast and his own blood. The medic, Calum Hood, gets to work immediately when he comes by.

“Keep him talking, he may go into shock, but he seems strong,” Hood instructs popping open his first aid kit.

“What else can you tell me about her?” Luke asks hastily. Michael’s bright green eye zeroes in on Luke, which makes Luke suck in a breath. Such a bright color while his face is dirty and bloody.

“I can smell her lilacs, Luke,” Michael sighs. “So pretty.”

“I bet they are,” Luke nods.

Calum hood glances at Luke when he removes the handkerchief. There’s a big gouge where Michael’s left eye should be. Michael squeezes Luke’s hand.

“It’s gone, isn’t it?” Michael licks his chapped lips.

“Mich—”

“It’s fine. Rather my eye than my life, eh? Reckon I’m still better lookin’ than you,” he jokes then flinches when Hood pours alcohol on the wound.

“You’re right about that,” Luke smiles. “I better watch out, you might steal my girl from me.”

“That’s just the beast in me.”

**

Luke and Michael are silent on their trip back home.

The medical officer Hood recommended that Michael stay behind while the rest of the troop liberated a small encampment of a Gestapo Officer that was in high ranks. Michael refused and persisted that he won’t stay behind. He signed on to help and defend and he will do it with one eye.

As soon as their troop marched onto the land of the officer, they heard a series of gunshots. Luke and Michael reached the house first, so they witnessed the horror first. In the study, the Officer and his family lay sprawled on their now stained wooden floor; the gun in the Officer’s hand as he drowned in a river of his family’s blood.

There were about fifty prisoners kept in the basement and in makeshift barracks in the backyard. All of them were ghosts, malnourished, dirty and filled with terror. One of them cried into Luke’s chest while the other soldiers coaxed the others out of hiding. One of their men spoke fluent German, his name is Ashton Irwin and he assured the prisoners that they will be safe now. They won’t be hurt.

The horrific sights hang dauntingly between Luke and Michael as they rode back to the Army hospital in France. The pair were never apart except when Michael was in surgery to repair the damage around his eye. Michael was asked if he’d like a glass eye, but the thought was mortifying so he opted for an eye patch.

Both clung to each other on the boat ride home and woke each other up on the train as they had the same nightmares. Nightmares of what they went through, of what they saw. Luke clutched your picture tightly against his chest, he stared at your face in the moonlight as the train rattled on.

Luke is tired. His feet are tired yet he’s aching to be near you again. He pulls his dog tags from his pocket that now has a diamond ring looped on the chain. Michael helped him pick it out while they were in France. He can’t wait to come home to you.

“She’s going to say yes, stop over thinking,” Michael tells him while the train pulls into the station. They both jump when a man bangs on the window, a gleeful smile on his face as he congratulated them for being home. “I wish it was just us on the platform.”

“Me too,” Luke replies grimly.

While they were at the hospital in France, one of your letters was forwarded to him. You wrote of your fear and worry for him, that you haven’t heard from him in weeks. You confessed your love every other line and Luke wished he could hold you, assure you that he’s almost home.

It’s been almost a year that he’s been gone. Each step of his boots was away from you, but they were also running back to you. Luke notices the tremble in Michael’s hands, an after effect from his accident but it’s been heightened from nerves.

“She’ll be happy you’re alive,” Luke assures him. Michael nods robotically. He’s nervous what his girl will say about his eye.

The two get off the train together, both searching for their loves. Being taller than nearly everyone helps, and Luke finally spots you near a pillar next to a bench. Without a second thought, he abandons Michael (for now) and pushes through the crowd of families being reunited, forcing his feet to move faster to you.

You’re already crying by the time he reaches you, his arms encasing you tightly as he breathes you in. You’re both grasping each other securely, whispering ‘I love you’ in each other’s ears. All his woes seem to disappear the longer he’s in your arms and he pulls away to plant a kiss on your lips.

“I have something for you,” he rushes out and reaches for his dog tags.

“I have something for you, too. I—Luke!” you gasp when he dangles the ring in front of you. You kiss him quickly in response, hoping he’ll understand that you mean yes. He slips it on your finger while it’s still looped on his necklace.

“What’s your—”

A small baby’s cry makes him freeze, then he finally takes in your surroundings. There’s a black baby carriage to the left of you, a pink blanket peeking out. Luke’s eyes widen as he looks between you and the carriage.

“There’s someone who’s been waiting to meet you,” you tell him. You slip your hand in his leading him to the carriage.

Luke collapses onto the bench, staring at the most beautiful baby he’s ever seen in his life. He grasps the edge of the carriage as the baby girl stares up at him, she has your eyes. You lift her from the carriage, carefully placing her in Luke’s awaiting arms. Tears fill his eyes as he kisses his daughter’s head, then you sit next to him and he holds his whole world in his arms.

“I’ve been running back to you,” he whispers to his girls.

• • • •

Copyright talkfastromance4 © All works is intellectual property of the author. All rights reserved. Any redistribution or reproduction or any part or all contents in any form is prohibited. You may not, without written expression and consent from the author, distribute works amongst other social media platforms

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[thegreatestofheck]

The Girl with No Heartbeat Pt.4 ⊰JJ Maybank⊱

part one! part two! part three! 

(gif not mine! all credit to lariita019!)

Word Count - 4493 Warnings - Underage drinking, smoking, swear words, mentions of some uncomfy sex stuff Synopsis -  The boneyard party is in full bloom when Mera and the Pogues arrive. She makes a startling discovery about her new relationship with the ocean, but her knew friends dance her out of her funk. Back at the Chateau, Mera makes a revelation about her past that dampens the mood. John B tells her that there is an open position at Ward Cameron’s house.  A/N - So, I know this series isn’t as popular as Ocean and Alcohol, but I’m in love with Mera the mermaid and everyone else, so here I am writing more for it. It’s definitely canon divergence, so some things that happen in the show will happen here, but not most of it. If you want to find the full version in one place, this is up on Archive of Our Own under the name “The Girl that had no Heartbeat”! Stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy!

Stepping onto the boneyard, Mera caught sight of the ocean for the first time since she left it. Hearing the waves crash against the beach sent chills down her spine, but seeing it froze her where she stood. Kiara, whose arm was linked with Mera’s when she stopped, turned back. 

“You good?” She asked. Mera couldn’t tear her eyes from the open expanse of the ocean, heart starting to pound, her breathing speeding up. “Mera, it’s alright. You can stay here right here on the beach. You don’t have to go in the water.”

That was good. She didn’t want to go in the ocean. At least, she told herself that she didn’t want to. The roar of the ocean echoed in Mera’s heart. She heard the call of her sisters singing in her ears. Mera’s eyes fluttered shut as she listened to the familiar sound. It drew her forward toward the water, pulling at her stomach, her throat. 

When her eyes snapped open, Kiara thought she saw the reflection of a face in Mera’s eyes. She took a step backward, letting go of Mera’s arm. Mera sucked in deep breaths, putting a hand on her chest. 

“What the hell was that?” Kiara asked. Mera leaned forward, hoping to get some air into her lungs. 

“My sisters,” Mera gasped, flicking her eyes up to meet Kiara’s. “They’re calling me back.”

“What does that mean?”

“If I go in there-” Mera looked up at the ocean, past the boys who had jumped full force into the party. “I don’t think I’ll be coming out.” 

Kiara swallowed before stepping back up to Mera and putting a hand on her shoulder. 

“Then let’s make sure you never go in the ocean, yeah?”

Mera nodded her head. 

“Yeah.” 

“Come on. Let’s get you some beer. Get your mind off it all.” Kiara offered her hand. With an attempt at a smile, Mera took it and Kiara led her over to the rest of the party. Still, Mera could hear her sister’s whispering in the back of her mind, egging her toward the water. 

It was strange at first, Mera decided. Very few times in her lives had Mera ever felt awkward, but now was definitely one of those times. All of the people she knew already knew everyone else, quickly making small talk, laughing about inside jokes, throwing sand at each other. Mera took small sips of her beer, still unused to the flavor. There had to be something she could do to get her mind off of the ocean call without getting in the way of her friends. 

But before she could try, Kiara and JJ grabbed her by the hands, dragging toward a large group of people. 

“Come dance!” Kiara said. 

“Let loose, princess,” JJ echoed. 

“I’ve never danced to this kind of music before.” Mera was hesitant to follow, digging her heels into the sand. 

“Just move to the beat,” Kiara told her, putting a hand on Mera’s elbow. 

“We’ll show you how.”

“And if anyone gets too close, just push them away.” 

Mera was about to protest when they dragged her right into the thick of it. Her heart pounded in an uncomfortable away. Her chest ached, her lungs barely taking in any breath. Kiara stood in front of her, hands already in the air. JJ was behind Mera, one hand on her back to keep her steady. 

After a few moments, the music started to drown out the ocean call until she could no longer hear it. A smile broke out on Mera’s face, a weight lifting off her shoulders. She found herself able to mimic Kiara’s movements, swaying her hips in a similar way, moving her hands to the beat. 

It wasn’t music Mera was familiar with. There were drums, but they were much louder than she was used to and maybe something that sounded almost like a lute, but not really. She could barely understand the lyrics, but it didn’t really matter. Even with the bodies pressing in around her, Mera found herself laughing along with JJ and Kiara as they moved in sync. 

Kiara took Mera’s hands, moving her around, spinning her in circles. It was almost familiar to the partnered dancing she did once upon a time. JJ, feeling left out, ducked between their arms and started to wriggle around like a worm, sending a fit of laughter through Mera. 

“You’re ridiculous!” Kiara laughed at JJ, pressing against his shoulder with her hand. 

Sweat beaded on the back of Mera’s neck, her legs starting to ache from the constant jumping around. But she didn’t care. She kept dancing. Eventually, JJ and Kiara went to go grab another drink and Mera followed them, not wanting to be alone. 

“I haven’t danced like that in a long time,” Mera said, letting out a laugh as she plopped herself into the sand. John B handed her a beer, taking kegger duty for the time being. 

“You danced?” JJ asked, sitting beside her. “I thought all old time-y people thought dancing was of the devil.”

“Darling, I was a pirate. I stole things from people for a living. You really think my parents had any issues with dancing?” 

“Right, right.” Mera didn’t notice the way the tips of JJ’s ears turned red when she called him ‘darling’. 

“How did you dance back then?” Pope asked, sitting on a fallen tree. Mera looked back at him. 

“Do you want me to show you?” 

“Yes please,” JJ murmured, taking a drink from his beer. Kiara jabbed him in the shoulder with her fingers, to which JJ threw a handful of sand into her beer cup. Mera stood as the two of them bickered between each other, offering a hand to Pope. When he looked at her skeptically, she raised an eyebrow. 

“Humor me, Pope,” Mera said. “Let me teach you something for once.” 

Under the prospect of learning, Pope decided that maybe dancing with the strange fish-girl wasn’t so bad an idea after all. He took her hand and she pulled him to his feet. 

“This was one of my favorites,” Mera said. 

She started with the footwork, showing Pope where to go and what to do, declining to tell him that she would be the one leading. When he started to get the hang of it, JJ whistled. 

“Looking good there, Heyward,” he said, with a grin. Pope let go of Mera’s hand to strangle JJ, but she pulled him back, repeating the steps again. Once she was confident that he knew it, she turned to the others. 

“Clap to this beat, please,” she said.  

Mera clapped her hands a few times in the general direction of her friends. They picked it up shortly and Mera and Pope started the dance. It was slow, at first, to get him used to it, but she started to go faster and faster until Pope tripped over his feet. Mera let out a laugh, catching him before he hit the ground. 

“That was amazing!” She said, straightening him. “I have never seen someone pick it up so quickly!” 

“My turn!” Kiara pushed herself out of the sand. Pope took her place with a grin. JJ bumped his shoulder. 

“I’ll teach you a new one,” Mera said, tapping her finger against her chin. “Ah, yes!” 

They spent the next few minutes learning the new dance before Mera gave the boys a beat to clap. Pope added a few downbeats to go with it, laughing as Kiara struggled to get her arms and feet to work in sync. 

“To the water!” A voice shouted from the large group of kids. Kiara, Pope and John B followed the instructions and took off toward the ocean. When Kiara slipped out of Mera’s hand, she felt like her breath was taken away from her. Mera watched all of the pogues in the ocean, laughing, splashing each other, pulling at each other’s legs from underneath the waves. She suddenly felt very alone. 

“They’re safe out there, right?” Mera startled at the sound of JJ’s voice beside her. “None of your people-eating friends will come for them?”

After collecting herself, Mera crossed her arms and shook her head. 

“No. They don’t come this close to the shore. Too high a risk.” 

“What were you doing so close?” JJ asked her. Mera ran her tongue over her teeth and chuckled, looking at her feet as she buried her toes in the sand. There was no way she was going to tell him that she had come to watch him surf that day. It hadn’t been the first time she saw him, the day she saved him. She knew the boy with the blond hair wouldn’t be able to resist the waves that day, so she had come to watch him. It was a good thing she had.  

“I like to play it dangerous,” she said, plucking her cup off of the ground and taking a drink. “Never mattered much to me whether anyone saw me or if I got caught in a net.” 

A lie. She had been caught in a net once and it was the most terrifying experience. The feeling of the rope against her skin still haunted her. 

“I see.”

“Aren’t you going to go in?” Mera asked, taking another quick drink to drown out the steadily growing ocean call in her head. 

“Nah,” JJ said, sitting back down. “I just washed my hair. Don’t want to get it all salty.” 

Mera smiled as she lowered herself to the ground beside him. A slower song came from the speaker where the others had been dancing. Mera narrowed her eyes at the sound. It was very different from what she was used to. 

“How do you dance to a song this slow?” She asked JJ. “There is no beat for jumping, no way to move your arms or hips.” 

“You usually dance with someone for slow songs,” JJ told her. 

“Like a partner dance?” Mera’s eyes lit up. Partner dances had always been her favorite. Moving in sync with another person, that connection, was unlike anything else Mera had ever felt. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” JJ said with a shrug of his shoulders. Mera scrambled to her feet. 

“Will you teach me?” 

JJ looked up at her, saw her beaming down at him, and couldn’t say no. 

“There really isn’t much to it, princess,” he said, standing slowly. Mera’s smile fell and her breath hitched when he stepped right up to her. She swallowed a lump in her throat and watched JJ do the same. 

“I just...you put your hands here-” He lifted her arms and draped them over his shoulders. “And I...I put my hands here.” 

Mera felt her stomach flip when he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her in close until their chests were almost touching. The ocean roared in response. 

“What now?” She asked, her voice just louder than a whisper. 

“You sway, like this.” Mera smiled, chewing on the inside of her cheek, as JJ started to move back and forth. After a few moments, she followed suit. She felt her cheeks grow hot when his thumb grazed her bare skin. Her stomach flipped a thousand more times and she wasn’t sure why. 

“This is a very easy partner dance,” Mera said, trying to break away the tension she felt. 

“There’s not much to it.” 

That connection that Mera had been thinking about when she thought of partner dances was so different from what was happening now. That connection was like a string bringing two people together, tying their lives into one, for a moment relying on someone else. This was different. This was intimate. This was close. Too close. 

The song ended and Mera stepped away, dropping her hands and shoving them into her back pockets. She cleared her throat and JJ coughed, looking away from her out toward the ocean. He rubbed his palms against the side of his pants. 

For the next few moments, which felt like an eternity, neither of them said anything. That is, until John B ran out of the ocean with Kiara on his back, both of them cackling with laughter. John B fell to the ground, Kiara tumbling off of him. Mera glanced up at JJ briefly, only to meet his eyes before looking back at her friends. 

“It’s freezing in there!” Kiara shuddered to prove her point, shoving her hands into the cool sand. “Should we head back?” 

Pope came stumbling out of the water, rubbing his arms with his dripping wet hands. 

“I just remembered that there are man eating fish out there,” Pope said, walking as if the ground was made of glass. 

“Pope,” Kiara hissed, smacking his shin with the back of her hand while nodding her head toward Mera, who found it in herself to give a little laugh. 

“Mera, I’m sorry-”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Mera said with a wave of her hand. 

“Let’s get out of here,” John B said, pulling his shirt back on over his head. “I’m frozen solid.” 

Mera wasn’t aware they were being accompanied by another girl on their way back home. She had seen her at the party, danced beside her a few times even. She wasn’t sure that she had seen the girl talk to John B even once, yet she was his escort home. 

There was only one time Mera had ever been inside a brothel. She had pretended to be one of the girls, hoping to preen information about a slave ship from one of the clients. The girls were sweet, willing to lie for her, to protect her. But the life they lived was one of servitude and Mera had been more than pleased to leave two weeks after she arrived.

Now, she wondered if that was how this girl felt. The longer she looked, the more she realized that that wasn’t the case. While the girls at the brothel had to pretend to want to be there, this girl was shameless in her desire for John B. Mera almost found herself smiling. At least women were free to love to whatever extent they wanted without shame. She just hoped that it meant there were few women being murdered and attacked on the streets. 

When John B stopped the van, Kiara, Pope, and JJ hopped out as quickly as they could. Mera followed out, not really wanting to watch her fake cousin in such an intimate place. Walking over to her friends, Mera felt a laugh build up in her throat. 

“We’re going to have to put you in a different bed, princess,” JJ said, not hiding his smile. 

“I can’t believe you let me sleep in that bed...ever,” she said, quiet giggles coming from her mouth. 

“I don’t think there’s a single surface in that house you can sleep on with those two around,” Kiara said, waving her finger between JJ and the house where John B was. A burst of laughter came from Mera as Pope gagged. 

“That’s disgusting to think about, Kie,” Pope said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m blaming you for putting that thought in my head.” 

Mera kept laughing as he pressed his forehead against a tree, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as if to scrub the image away. JJ stood there, silent but not embarrassed. 

“We’re probably going to have to sleep out here,” Kiara said, laughter still making her words shake. “Here, the hammocks are comfortable.” 

Kiara crawled into one of the hammocks, JJ hopping in after her. Pope and Mera climbed into the other, shifting around each other and passing sorry’s until they were comfortable. 

“I’m not tired,” Pope said. 

“No, me neither.” Kiara sat up. “Mera, tell us something about your life.”

“Which life?”

“Either one.” 

Mera thought about her life under the surface, how cold she had felt, how cold she had been. She thought of the way her teeth sunk into the necks of hundreds of men, the way she tore the flesh off of people’s bones. She tried to smile, but the thought made her sick. They didn’t want to hear about that. No. They would run from her if they knew just how horrible she had been. 

“What do you want to know?” 

JJ pulled something out of his pocket, flicking it open, a little flame appeared. Mera startled, sitting straighter.

“Is that...fire?” she asked, scowling at the little thing. JJ nodded. 

“It’s a lighter.”

“You carry fire in your pocket?” 

JJ stuck something between his teeth, a bit of rolled up paper, his grin lopsided. He brought the flame to the paper, letting the edge burn. Breathing in and then out again, a puff of smoke curled out of JJ’s nose and mouth. Mera’s eyes widened with glee. 

“Is that like a...a pipe? But small?” She asked. 

“And disposable,” JJ said, handing the piece of paper to Kiara, who took a long breath in. “You wanna try?”

Mera looked at Pope, who shook his head. 

“I always keep the signal clear,” he said, tapping two fingers against his temple. 

“I am unfamiliar with what a signal is,” Mera said, taking the piece of paper as Kiara offered it. If it was just like a pipe, then Mera knew how to use it. Putting the paper between her lips, she let herself get used to the strange texture, shutting her eyes. She breathed in deeply, feeling the smoke fill her. She let the breath out, puffing the smoke into the warm night air. 

Handing the paper pipe back to JJ, Mera felt her nerves begin to relax. 

“I have a question for you,” JJ said, propping himself up on his elbow. Mera looked at him with a small smile and narrowed eyes. “Are you a virgin?”

“JJ!” Kiara protested, tapping her toes against JJ’s cheek, who swatted her feet away,

“Kiara, it’s fine,” Mera said with a laugh. “No, JJ, I’m not.” 

“Really?” Pope asked from beside her. Mera shrugged. 

“I was a pirate with a duty to fulfil,” Mera told him. “And men are very willing to tell a girl anything when she has him in such a compromising position.” 

JJ and Pope laughed, but Kiara just stared. 

“You said you were 16 when you became a mermaid,” Kiara said. Mera nodded, smiling. “You were sleeping with men for information when you were 16?”

Mera shrugged her shoulders, unbothered. 

“I had been doing it for three years before that.”

JJ and Pope stopped laughing. 

“That’s fucked,” JJ said. 

“Your parents made you do that?” Pope asked. Mera was starting to feel like she shouldn’t have brought it up. Her smile fell and she suddenly felt the weight of their stares. 

“They didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to,” Mera told them. “I did what I had to.” 

Mera had never been ashamed of it before. Those in her crew clapped her on the back, told her what an amazing job she was doing. Her mother and father gave her rewards for it. Maybe it made Mera a little sick on the inside, but saving slaves and stealing cargo made it all worth it. It was her life for theirs, right?

But now, with all three pairs of eyes on her, Mera wondered if it was something to feel shame about, to be embarrassed by. She sniffed and looked down at her hands with a small shake of her head. The mood turned sour instantly and Mera couldn’t help but feel that it was her fault. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head with a little laugh. “I shouldn’t...I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

No one spoke and Mera just felt worse and worse until JJ reached his hand out, the paper pipe in his hand. Mera looked up at him and he gave her a twinge of a smile before looking at the thing in his hand. Mera scoffed, feeling a ghost of a smile on her own lips. She took the pipe and put it between her lips, breathing in and out, in and out, in and out, before passing it back to JJ.

“We’ve all got dirt,” JJ said, his fingers grazing over hers as he took it back. “Don’t feel bad about yours.” 

It didn’t take long for the sour mood to turn back to something light and airy. Mera clamped her mouth shut for as long as she could, not trying to say anything else to make them uncomfortable. 

The sun was starting to peak over the horizon when Mera realized that she was still awake. Pope was asleep beside her, soft snores coming from his mouth. Kie’s eyes were shut, her breathing steady, but Mera wasn’t sure if she was awake or not. It seemed like JJ hadn’t blinked in over an hour, his eyes fixed on the sky above. Mera listened to the water beat against the shore, the wooden dock creaking with the movement of the current. For a moment, she could close her eyes and imagine she was back on her ship, sleeping in her hammock with her bunkmate beside her. The water would kiss the sides of the boat, pounding against it when the waves came. Mera would sleep through it. 

The only difference between then and now was back then, Mera couldn’t escape the ocean call wherever she was. Even on land, she heard them calling to her, begging for her to join them. Now, she could only hear it when she was close to the water, as last night had taught her. But she knew a good way to drown it out; music, dance, alcohol, smoke, JJ. 

When Mera’s eyes shot open, trying to take back her own thoughts, she realized that the sun was higher in the sky and that she was the only one in the hammocks. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. JJ and John B were out front, fiddling with some kind of mechanical thing. Pope was sitting on the steps, drinking water through a straw. Kie was nowhere in sight. 

Throwing her legs over the side of the hammock, Mera smacked her lips and stretched her arms. 

“Welcome to the land of the living, Sleeping Beauty,” John B said with a smile, standing. “Sleep well, cos?”

Mera grunted, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“There’s some breakfast on the table,” Pope told Mera as she walked inside. 

“Thank you, Pope.” 

“He gets a nice, pleasant ‘thank you, Pope’ and I don’t even get a wave?” JJ whined to John B. “Women.” 

“Maybe if you stopped asking her about sex and tried to have a normal human conversation with her, she’d be more likely to say ‘hi’ when she wakes up,” Pope suggested, slurping his water loudly. JJ blew a raspberry at him. Mera smiled as she picked a plate off of the table. Peanut butter toast. Mera felt her heart warm. 

Walking back outside, she sat beside Pope, munching on her toast. 

“Hi, JJ,” she said. 

“Hey, princess,” he replied with a smile, turning back to the mechanical object he and John B were working on. 

“What is this thing?” Mera asked Pope, setting her plate on her knees. 

“It’s a motorcycle,” Pope told her, leaning back on his elbows. “JJ’s dad told him that if he could fix it up, he could keep it.”

“Is it like a car?” It was obviously a stupid question by the way John B and JJ snickered to each other. Mera scowled. 

“It’s like a horse, I guess. Except it’s got two wheels and an engine.” 

“And instead of carrots, you feed it oil,” John B added, smearing something black across his forehead. 

“Ah.” Mera was slowly starting to understand. At least, she thought she was. 

“Oh, cos.” John B turned around toward Mera, wiping a metal tool in a rag. “Ward called me this morning. He thinks he might have a job for you.”

Mera’s eyes lit up and she grinned. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t sound like fun, but it’s money,” he told her. Mera nodded her head excitedly. 

“I’ll do it, whatever it is.” 

“See, he’s got this pod of old stuff left behind in people’s houses when he buys them. He likes to keep some of the stuff to sell off later. Says he needs someone to clean everything off, make sure it looks shiny and new,” John B said. “You up for it?”

Mera stood, still grinning.

“Of course!” 

“I’ll let him know then,” John B said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and stepping inside the house. Mera couldn’t keep her smile from her face.

“You know what that means, right, Mera?” Pope said. 

“I’ll be making money to repay you guys for all you’ve done for me,” Mera said, glancing between Pope and JJ, who was wiping his hands on his shorts. Mera hadn’t realized until just then, but JJ had discarded his shirt, leaving his top bare. She felt her cheeks grow hot and she turned back quickly to Pope. 

“It means you have to hang around Rafe Cameron’s house,” Pope told her slowly. Mera shrugged, blowing air through her lips. 

“Rafe Cameron doesn’t scare me,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. 

“Just be careful with him. He has a habit of making the Pogues’ lives a living hell,” Pope told her. 

“And he has a thing for hot girls,” JJ added. Mera tilted her head toward him. “You think I’m hot?” she asked. She wasn’t entirely familiar with the term, but from the context she was sure she understood well enough what it meant. It made her smile to see JJ splutter and try to cover for himself. 

“Like I said,” Mera said, looking back at Pope. “Rafe has nothing on me. I can handle myself.” 

Pope looked at his feet. 

“Be careful with him,” Pope said once more. “That boy’s unhinged.” 

Mera didn’t have anything to say in response. Maybe he was, but Mera had spent 16 years with people who were supposed to be ‘unhinged’, immoral, the scum of the cities. Sure, the Cameron’s were filthy rich and part of her despised them for it, but she also remembered Denmark Tanny. He was rich beyond belief all because of that shipwreck, yet he was a kind soul, a gentle heart. 

Mera knew better than to hate someone for what she saw on the outside. She just wished that she could prove to the Pogues that maybe Rafe wasn’t so bad. She remembered how Rose spoke to Rafe, the way his father seemed to look right over him. Mera wondered what could be beneath the boy’s hard exterior. 

“Cos, good news!” John B said, walking out of the house. “Ward wants to meet today if you’re willing.”

Mera guessed she was about to find out.

[tisfan]

Holiday Spending

All I Buy For Christmas - Renting in the New Year - Will you Steal My Valentine - Up for (Mardi) Grabs - Hopping Down the Money Trail - (In) Memorial Day Sale - (Folding) Paper Anniversary - (Financial) Independence Day - Back to School (Fundraiser) - Fruit of our Labors 

A/N: Contains unbelievable amounts of sap. Sorry.

Chapter 12: (Giving) Thanks

“Yaaaaaaasha!” Nat was yelling as she pounded up the stairs and into the little flat. For someone who was a dancer and supposedly graceful, Nat often sounded like a herd of very small brontosauruses. “Yaaaaaaasha!”

She stopped dead two steps into the living room, scowling. “You’re not Yasha.”

Tony laughed, cynical. “How observant of you, dear sister.”

“You’re not my brother-in-law yet,” Nat said, hands on her hips. “Where’s Yasha?”

Tony flipped the channel on the television. Oh, look, something with a gun fight. Flip. Something with a man forcing a woman into a kiss to shut her up. Flip. More gun fighting. Flip. Tony sighed. It’d be nice to watch some television some time without feeling like he was being personally attacked in high definition. Oh, cooking show. That might be okay.

“He went out to get some take-away,” Tony said.  

And Tony was doing his best not to panic about everything. It’d been a bad day for both of them, starting out with a stupid argument about whose turn it was to do the dishes (for the record, it was Bucky’s turn and Tony was feeling both petty and guilty about feeling petty) and then they’d attempted to have some make-up sex that had gone terribly wrong when they discovered someone (Tony that time) had left half a bottle of juice on the bed and it spilled, soaking the comforter and sheets with orange juice. They’d had to put sexy times on hold to wash the linens, and by the time they were done with that, neither of them were in the mood to do more than try to be decent human beings another day.

Logically, Tony knew that Bucky wasn’t going to leave him over stupid fights. Logically, he knew the people on the television weren’t going to shoot him, either. Didn’t help with the stupid brain.

And the more stupid things happened, the snappier and uglier and prone to picking a fight Tony got until Bucky had grabbed his smokes and headed out to get dinner, rather than dealing with Tony and his attitude any longer. Tony wasn’t going to admit that his first reaction to that was “and stay out.”

“Hmph,” Nat said, flouncing into the kitchen. She pulled the vodka bottle out from under the sink. “I hope he brings enough for me. We have a celebration, tonight.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, mister pouty-pout face,” Nat said. She poured two shots and handed him one. “Drink with me.”

(more below the cut, or read the whole thing at A03)

“What are we celebrating?” A little good news might help get Tony and Bucky out of their funk.

“Wait,” Nat said. She knocked back the shot and licked the droplets from the side of her glass. “I will not tell you first. Yasha would be cross with me.”

“We could form a team,” Tony said, a touch bitter. He drank down the vodka she poured for him. “People that your brother is pissed with.”

Nat gave him a sharp look, refilled the shot glasses. “You are arguing?”

Tony shrugged. “It’s not even important, you know. Just…”

“The pain of a dozen blisters,” Nat said.

God, Tony hoped not; he’d seen Nat’s feet after some of her bad rehearsals, nights where the director made them do it again, and again, and again and she would drag herself home, feet bleeding and heels red and raw.

“I’m not that bad,” Tony protested.

“You are not,” Nat agreed. She poured them more shots.

“Just feel… shitty,” Tony admitted. “That I’m pissed at him about stupid shit.”

“Make a gratitude list,” Nat said. “My therapist tells me to do this every day, but that is ridiculous. If I must make a list every night, it becomes work, and I am not grateful for the things I have and love, I resent making the damn list. But sometimes, especially when I am feeling out of sorts, I sit down and make the list.”

“Coffee,” Tony said. That was easy.

“No, no,” Nat said. “We will make a written list.”

“You expect me to write after you dumped four shots of vodka into me?”

Nat’s look was so flat it could have served as a level. “Yes.”

Nat fetched notepads and ridiculously colored gel pens -- Tony’s was brilliant emerald green, hers was eggplant purple -- and an old-fashioned hour glass, the kind that actually had sand in it. Tony hadn’t seen anything like it in… well, maybe even ever, except on television and Nat actually slapped his hand when he tried to inspect it.

“Make your list.”

Nat’s ridiculousness Coffee Waking up before the alarm goes off and being able to go back to sleep Bucky loves me

A small wince there, because Tony hadn’t exactly been loveable recently, but he supposed that was what unconditionally meant. I still love him, even when I’m mad.

loving Bucky Believing both of those things are true The money

Another flinch, because he also felt guilty about the Stark fortune; he hadn’t done anything to earn it except being born to the right parents. And having those same parents die unexpectedly. Because of the fucking money. He resented it even as he was grateful for the comfort it provided, for the fact that he didn’t have to worry. That he could pay Bucky’s hospital bills. All the things that the money could purchase, without consideration for all the things the money was. He made a mental note to get with his accountants and look at the current charity donations. Surely there were things he could do to even the score a little bit.

The ability to make other people’s lives easier

People, yes, he had some people in his life that he was grateful for. Rhodey Pepper Jan Bruce

Tony made a note to call them all and get together for a lunch or dinner or something. He’d been neglecting his friendships. He wasn’t quite sure why, maybe something to do with Jan’s party and not wanting to look at his friends and remember that they’d seen him in the aftermath and fucking resenting that they’d seen him that way. You won’t get past it unless you deal with it.

He was grateful for his mom, much as he missed her.

Mom teaching me to play piano. The times she took me to the ballet.

Maria had loved the ballet; she was thrilled when she found out that Bucky’s sister was a dancer. They’d gone to the Nutcracker every year until Tony went off to college, and even then, she’d asked him every year if he wanted to go. He nursed a small regret that he’d said no last year, too eager to avoid questions about his lack of significant other. On the other hand, that had lead him to grabbing Bucky’s advertisement.

Bucky’s ridiculousness Bucky’s patience Bucky’s terrible bedhead

That had given him a bright spurt, first thing in the morning, on so many days. Bucky’s hair was shoulder length, thick and silky-soft, prone to curling up if it was humid or drizzly, and after sleeping on it, the whole thing had a mind and life of its own. Tony was almost convinced that Bucky’s hair was what lead to tales of the medusa with her crown of snakes.

Bubblewrap

Tony was prone to abusing his Amazon Now account and the last batch of stuff he needed without bothering to get the fuck off the sofa had come wrapped in yards of it. Tony’d put the widget aside without even playing with it, just so he could snap a few dozen air pockets.

Doughnuts. Grapes. Peppermint frappuccinos. Good beer. Bad vodka. Really terrible marshmallow flavored vodka. Cold pizza for breakfast. Bucky’s tomato soup out of a mug when I’m not feeling well.

Cheese.

Cheese whiz.

Stop judging me from across the living room Nat, I can feel the judgement here.

Roller skates.

Bucky’s kisses. Blow jobs. Sleepy morning sex.   

There were a lot of other sex things to be grateful for, but he wasn’t sure if he and Nat were going to be exchanging lists, and Nat had made it perfectly clear that while she didn’t care that her brother was having sex, she really didn’t want to hear about it (or hear it) in any great detail.

Metallica. AC/DC. Black Sabbath.

Baby Metal.

Guilty pleasure that, and he was sure there were hundreds of hard-core metal fans that were going to come for his head-banging card for admitting it, but the Japanese jpop/heavy metal group were weirdly… cute, for lack of a better word. Like shiny, sparkly vampires, he couldn’t help but love it, even if people with sense, taste, and dignity thought they were awful.

Tony thought dignity was over-rated anyway.

Bucky’s eyes. The way he looks at me The way he looks at kitten videos The fact that he shares stupid kitten videos with me Because he knows I won’t look at them on my own

Bucky. Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky.

November was a good time to take a cool down walk.

First, it was cool -- cold, even. Walking angrily while bundled up in sweatshirts and a hoodie and a coat and a scarf, with gloves and hands shoved in your pockets was oddly satisfying.

Sweat formed and dried against Bucky’s throat, keeping him mostly comfortable. His chest ached as he dragged in cold air and expelled it in a puff of steamy condensation. Like being a dragon.

All he needed was claws and the ability to fly away from his problems for a while.

Which just got him feeling weirdly guilty because there were so many people who would commit murder (not funny, brain) to have the kinds of problems that Bucky had. Smokin’ hot boyfriend who was smart, funny, and rich? What was there to complain about?

The fucking dishes and who left their trash around the house?

Like, what even was that?

Of course, Tony’s desire to throw money at problems was a bit annoying. Bucky’d taken the phone away from him at one point in the middle of calling a plumber for a loose flap in the tank that had taken Bucky all of fifteen minutes to fix.

Except Bucky could kinda see Tony’s point.

The kind of money Tony had, the kind he made just existing, it seemed a little silly to waste his time putting in new toilet guts and saving a hundred dollars on a plumber fee. Bucky wasn’t even sure why they still lived in Bucky’s tiny, overcrowded flat. Tony’d never even brought it up, but after seeing where Tony had grown up, it was strange that Tony didn’t seem stifled in his place.

Didn’t really make Bucky feel better about the situation. It was a little easier, back when he was bodyguarding for Tony, but that had gone over like a lead balloon. Epic fail.

Bucky didn’t like feeling useless. It bent back to the times when his father had yelled at him about dreaming his life away. The military had gone and shattered that dreamy boy, left him with a man who needed work to have worth.

It wasn’t fair to take it out on Tony, though. Bucky’s ego problems were his own damn problems. He shouldn’t need Tony to prop up his self-esteem, or worse, trying to make Tony feel small so that Bucky could feel better.

That wasn’t the man he wanted to be.

Of course, he didn’t know who he was. He hadn’t been Sergeant Barnes since an IED had tried to erase half of him from existence.

He’d been a bouncer, a bodyguard. He defined himself by what he did, and now that he wasn’t doing anything, he didn’t know who he was.

Tony, at least, had school, and eventually he’d have a company to run. He had court dates and therapy visits.

Bucky had four walls and an inferiority complex.

Fuck.

What… what the hell did he do now?

“Hey, man,” someone said, and Bucky jerked to a stop. People didn’t usually talk to him, especially when he was walking with his resting bitchface on. “Spare a dollar?”

Bucky blinked, suddenly aware of how cold it was. Looked down at the man sitting in the lee side of a staircase. Hard to tell how thin he was, bundled up in a bunch of discards. His face was covered in a thin beard, but he smiled when Bucky actually made eye contact. It was a harsh sort of smile, the guy had a face like a brick wall.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He dug into his back pocket for his wallet. He didn’t have anything smaller than a twenty in there. What the hell. Bucky thumbed out three of them. Twisted into a squat. Handed them over.

The guy had a young man’s face but old-man hands, the knuckles swollen and bent, fingers red and peeling.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. I’m Bucky, it’s nice to meet you. Cold out here, today, yeah?”

“Oh, man, yeah,” the man said. “Name’s Frank Castle. An’ it’s one of those days, man. Fallish wind is blowin, and it finds the hole in your pants, blows straight up the crack of your ass, don’t it just?”

Bucky couldn’t help a rueful smile at that, pretty damn good description, really. “When was the last time you had a warm bed?”

Frank shrugged a shoulder. “What, man, you writin’ a book?” Bucky couldn’t imagine how bad things had to be to sit on a street and beg for cash, what people probably said and thought and knowing that no way in hell it was ever going to be enough. Little booze to cut the chill, let you forget about that empty feeling in your stomach.

“No,” Bucky said, honestly, “just… come into some money recently and I want to help.”

Frank gave him a sharp glance. “Havin’ a crisis of conscience man, wanna pay back karma by doing a good deed. Fuck off, dude.”

“The room’s no less warm if I’m getting feelgood points out of it,” Bucky pointed out. His father had never held any traction with beggars and homeless before. Bucky’d given a dollar to a wino one day and his dad had yelled at him about it. You feed a homeless guy, give him shelter, and what happens? Well, you just have to feed him again tomorrow. You got extra money, put it someplace where it’ll do some good, kiddo.  

Frank tipped his head. “Yeah, truth.”

“Come on, then,” Bucky said, offering a hand up. “I’ll buy you dinner and get you a room for the night.”

“I ain’t gonna blow you,” Frank said, scowling.

“I’m not asking,” Bucky said. He shuddered inwardly. What a fucking world this was, that even something as simple as giving a hungry guy some food was suspicious.

Frank scorned the offered hand up and scrambled to his feet.

“Christ, you’re a big guy.”

“Don’t you forget it, neither,” Frank said. “Street people go missin’ all the time. I ain’t gonna be one of ‘em.”

Bucky nodded. He pulled out his phone, popped off a brief text to Tony to let him know he’d be a bit later than expected. Checked the map to see what food was nearby.

Chinese take-away acquired and it wasn’t too far for a Day’s Inn. He got a room for two days while Frank lurked under the staircase, aware that any hotel check-in manager wasn’t going to want a streeter in their room. Bucky cringed a bit; he knew what Frank must be thinking, must be worried about. How easy it would be for someone like Bucky to make someone like Frank vanish.

“So, what now?” Frank asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Bucky put his load of food down on the tiny table near the television. “Now nothing. You can eat. Have a shower. Get a few night’s sleep. Here’s my cell number. You can call me if you want.”

“You just doing your good deed, and poof, vanishing?”

“I ain’t gotten that far in my head yet, pal,” Bucky admitted.

“Well, whoever you killed that you need this much redemption, I hope he was an asshole,” Frank said.

“Take care of yourself, Frank,” Bucky said.

Frank was already deep in a paper container of Kung Pao chicken. “Thanksgiving came early, got it.” He gave Bucky a thumbs up and turned his attention back to more important things. Like food.

Tony wasn’t always as good with people as he thought he should be. Genius, right? He should be able to figure things out, except the one thing that he had figured out was that people didn’t make sense. They weren’t like circuits that traveled from A to B to C neatly, and they weren’t like science, where doing the exact same thing got you the exact same results.

“Biology,” one of his teachers had stressed, “is not chemistry.”

A biological system could mutate. Could randomize. Could end up being purple for absolutely no reason whatsoever, and sometimes you could track that reason down, and sometimes you just had to throw up your hands and say “magic.”

People were huge biological systems. Not just the meat and bones parts, either. He’d taken a few classes on human bio, just to round out his education a little, and just the basic studies of pharmaceutical science made his head hurt. Nothing in pharma made sense at all. Theory, where everything worked, except medication, where none of it did what it was supposed to and things that did were nonsense and should not have done that at all.

But even Tony could tell that Bucky was in a vastly improved state of mind by the time he got home. He hugged and kissed his sister and then hugged and kissed Tony with a little more heat. Apologized for the take-away being cold and needing to be microwaved, and Tony might have raised his eyebrows a little when he realized that Bucky had walked all the way to Genghis Connie’s rather than grabbing the slightly less expensive and much, much closer (if not as good, Genghis Connie’s made the best egg rolls!) No1. China.

“Well, this explains where you’ve been,” Tony said, taking his chicken and cashew out of the microwave. He was reminded, stuffing a mouthful of saucy chicken into his mouth, that Bucky paid attention. When he’d stormed out to get dinner, which was code for I need to not throw something at you right now, he hadn’t taken an order, or gotten Tony’s opinion on what to eat. But Bucky knew… he knew Tony’s preferences, had remembered them. Sure, Tony sometimes liked to wander off the beaten path and get something else -- particularly at No1, which did not do very good eggrolls, and he usually got the crab wonton there instead -- but he’d commented aside once that Connie’s did the best chicken cashew.

And after a fight, where they’d yelled at each other and gotten exasperated and had to stomp off to sulk like recalcitrant toddlers for fuck’s sake… Bucky had remembered. Had, as the phrase went, gone the extra mile (quite literally) for one of Tony’s favorites.

Tony was honest enough with himself to know that if he hadn’t been doing gratitude exercises with Nat, he might not have fucking noticed.

Bucky warmed up hot and sour soup for himself, handed his sister a packet of crunchies for her egg drop. “Yeah, I was thinking. Sorry it took me so long.” He gave Tony a long, significant look. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

Which was code for I don’t want to talk in front of my sister. Which was understandable. Having an audience for those kind of conversations was awkward at best. Tony stuffed another mouthful of chicken into his face and sat on his mental hands to keep from dragging Bucky off to their bedroom and demand to talk now.

“So,” Nat said, running her spoon up her chin to catch bits of spillover soup. “If you do not want to talk, I will talk. I have news.”

Oh, right. She’d come home with good news, she’d said. “Spill, Nat,” Tony encouraged. “I’ve waited long enough.”

Nat put her food down, finished chewing, and wiped her lips with her fingers.

“I am going to be Clara,” she said. “Dottie Underwood’s pregnant.”

Nat had been Vivandière at first, one of the doll-toys, and also a snowflake, and a Marzipan dancer, but she’d been understudy to the lead-dancer’s role, the child Clara, to whom the Nutcracker Prince was given. Dottie, who was lead, had been prima donna for a long time. Nat had barely been even looking at the role, because no one expected anything to happen to Dottie.

Bucky practically knocked over his food getting up to hug his sister. “Oh, Tash, that’s… that’s a leading role! That’s great!”

“It is… a great opportunity,” Nat said. “She is pregnant with the producer’s child. There have been rumors that she will not be coming back after the baby. We shall see about that, but in the meanwhile, I have this role. And if I perform with excellence, I may be prima dona for the spring show as well. But I must practice, all the time, now. There will be no second chances.”

“Anything we can do to make it easier,” Bucky promised.

“Yeah, congrats,” Tony said, and he joined them in the group hug, happy for his little family. Happy for his to-be sister.

Just… happy.

Grateful.