#yeah sorry i just. never really felt anything for rusty or wrench but these two captured my heart

[op3ra]

guys. i've um. i've been lying about rust repair the whole time. yeah sorry i never actually shipped them. they were just a coverup for my one true otp.........espressball.....

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Gentlebluelizard

to @tsarinatorment​

Secret santa does not own this work, full credit to the creator above!

Merry Christmas to my Secret Santa, hope you like it :-)

The hostile aggravated chatter over the comms was deafening. 

Accusations and counter-accusation. Threats to disregard the fragile ceasefire with orders to fire on the downed fighter jet. Both sides wanted the pilot and were threatening to tear him limb from limb. After years of conflict, these two warring nations finally agreed on something – that the pilot was not escaping from this alive! Two thousand miles away in WASP's control tower, Commander Shore listened, his eyebrows drawn down hard with concern. He gave the signal to cut the feed and barked, “What have we got out there?” “A Manta class, Sir, but...” His second in command checked the data.  “It's commander is a cadet.  Admittedly, it a Leading Cadet, about to graduate in four days but he is only 16!” Shore dragged a weary hand over a wearier face. “We've little choice, send him in. That pilot's only got one chance of surviving, and that's WASP!”

The Straits of Ennatat had been patrolled by the World Air Force for just two weeks, it's only role was to monitor the ceasefire. The neutral zone itself was the narrowest of gaps between the two conflicting sides.  A natural border where the sea surged through between high cliffs. For even the most experienced of pilots, it was a challenging place to patrol. A corridor only 45m wide with notorious crosswinds that buffeted between the cliffs.  Each gust capable of lifting the wings of a LJ25 fighter jet unexpectedly, leaving it's pilot nanoseconds to correct the flight path before straying into one side's exclusion zone or the others... Both sides would react. Flight Captain Scott Tracy didn't know which side had fired on him, only that he had been hit. His sheer determination and experience had kept his jet from smashing hard into the tall cliff face either side of him. Even so, he had managed to bounce from one side of the Straits to the other, offending both armies before flipping onto its canopy as it ditched in the rough waters. Getting out of the damaged canopy was a piece of cake in comparison to dodging fire from the cliff tops above him. How was he going to get out of this one? There could be no assistance from above without provoking a pitched battle, and below him were dangerously swirling currents over sawtooth sharp rocks. He ducked under the wing as a barrage of shots rained down on his helmet from the left.  The other side was no better with cannon fire making the waters boil around him. The jet was hit again, mid-on – hard! It disintegrated above him in jagged flames, huge chunks sinking in slow motion as the shock wave hit him. He sunk too, in the whirlpools of dark, blinded by the initial blast he had no idea which way was up. Heavy with pain from the impact and swirling in the foam and flame around him, he felt desperately lost. What possible hope could he have now?  

He closed his unseeing eyes and allowed the sea to take him, he could feel its drag pulling hard at his flight suit. Soon it would take him up to the surface and a barrage of gunfire from the cliffs above him. Was he ready to give up – it wasn't in his nature – but his body ached and his mind was too dazed. The drag was seemed stronger, something in him knew it wasn't taking him upwards. Instinct made him struggle, he definitely wasn't ready to give up!  But the drag just held him firmly. His eyes fully open, he thought the initial blindness was clearing, there was something in the gloom of dark water.  Something paler, silvery – a diver! He blinked hard to clear his eyesight, trying to make sense through the fug of his mind – a silvery grey uniformed drysuit, flashed with blue and yellow – WASP! He stopped struggling. This wasn't dark forces of water, this was a rescue, and he couldn't have been more relieved. He knew the bigger WASP craft couldn't make safe passage up the Straits, so how far would he and his rescuer have to swim? His suit had enough oxygen to last him another two hours at this depth, he reasoned that he could probably make it.  He tried to indicate to the diver that he was conscious and could help, but the diver was pointing forward as, out from the dark ,loomed the tiny Manta class WASP sub. Not much bigger than a motorbike with ray-shaped wings sealed tightly as a sub! Despite its size, Scott believed that he had never seen anything so beautiful. His rescuer hadn't stopped to check his condition but steadily swam on, towing the pilot behind with smooth, strong kicks. There was no time for anything else, mortars were now peppering the Straits above them, exploding with deafening thuds, and disturbing more sediment to blacken the seas. The Manta's dive hatch was lit, Scott couldn't imagine of a more welcoming sight. He scrambled in the narrow space followed by the diver. Wrenching their helmets off - neither of them had ever experienced a more surreal moment. Staring at each other for the first time.  Disbelieving their own eyes.  Jaws hanging, unable to form even words of astonishment. No words would have been sufficient anyway! Suddenly they both lurched towards each other in the only thing that would work, a massive brotherly hug. Eventually, words had to come too.

“Gordon!” Scott stared at his younger brother. “No one told me it was you, Scott!” Gordon managed as he started to check his brother's condition. “You okay?” Scott nodded, “Bit dazed, and I guess I'm bruised most places but, yeah I'm okay. But... YOU!” Gordon laughed, “I just can't believe it!” “I guess they didn't tell you it was me so you'd kept focused!” Scott was grinning ear to ear, unable to understand his luck!  Of all the WASP officers in all the world, he was now sat opposite his own brother. But amidst this family reunion (that they both knew no-one was ever going to believe), the bombardment of mortars continued. “They really don't like you up there!"  Gordon grinned, adding "Time we got outta here,” as he took the Manta's controls and revved up her twin STM engines, just as two more thunderous thuds of explosions hit them from above. The Manta rocked and swayed in the turmoil but righted herself and fled away. “Manta 312 to Control, Manta 312! Can you hear me Control?” Gordon checked out the silent comms. “Lost the signals.  We're on our own for a while Scott, those mortars were too close. I'll get us out into safe waters and send up a beacon.” He turned to check out Scott again.  His brother had been flung about in the blasts and looked pale. “Hey, you okay, Scott?” Scott nodded.  The single crewed craft was tight on space, certainly not built for a passenger, particularly a tall passenger!  It had little more space than his jet, but he felt safe and found himself mildly amused, watching his little kid brother so efficiently controlling the sub. It had been nearly seven months since they had both been home, enough time for the boy to have grown up plenty. “Yup, I'm fine. Just still can't believe this!” Gordon chuckled, “Yeah well, someone had to drag your sorry ass out of there! It might as well have been me.” he halted for a moment and thought about that, “Makes a great change!  One of us pulling you out of danger!” Gordon brought the Manta up into the sunlight and opened the hatch. The light seemed suddenly too strong for Scott's fragile eyesight.  He took Gordon's hand and allowed himself to be guided up to sit on the hatchway, his hands resting back on the wings of the Manta. "What now?"  He asked. Gordon grinned, "We wait!  Your lot will want you back, you've got some explaining to do.  How much is a LJ25 jet these days?" Scott winced, dreading to think how much the jet had cost.  "Maybe I can ask Dad for a loan to cover it!"  It seemed funnier in his head, but Gordon laughed anyway.  "What about you, how do you get home?" Gordon tapped his nose, knowingly. "Mamma H is never far away!"  The WASP flagship, Humpback, patrolled secretively, never giving her position away.  "She knows I'm here!" Scott grinned at him, "And you do need to be back!  It's not long now until your graduation, Cadet?” Scott asked with fake formality. Gordon gave him a sideways look.  “Y'know, I did kinda wonder if this whole thing with the smushed jet fighter, the gunfire and the mortars, was just you trying to get out of coming to my graduation ceremony!” And he laughed. “Bit extreme, even for you, Bro!” Scott laughed, only Gordon would think of that! “Well, I had to try something Dad would believe, I don't think I can face another graduation, how many have we had so far?” Gordon screwed up his face, “Eh? This year or throughout our lives? Thousands it seems!  The joys of being in a big family.” They were both grinning. “Hey, you cold?” Gordon asked, reaching in for his jacket. “Nah, snug as a bug in this thing.” Scott tugged at his flight suit, then couldn't help himself as he reached over to help Gordon into his uniform jacket like the boy was still a little kid. They sat watching the sky changing to ocean wide deep sunset, quietly chatting about Gordon's training, the World Air Force and WASP.  And how their Dad would want them both back to work for International Rescue in time.  It was good to catch up.  All the trauma of the day merely fading into background fuzz as two brothers took time out to talk.

Bit rusty at writing this sort of action fiction, so hope it all makes sense

[sulfurousdreamscapes]

Parts 8/8 complete.

Another record-breaking story for Sulfurous Dreamscapes! I'm really proud of the concept behind this one, and I'm keen to develop it as a WIP in the future.

Until then, feel free to read this short story treatment!

What: Girl finds man in a battle suit, who has been in a coma for 30 years.

How long: 5,500 words

Genre: Sci-fi

CW: War mention

-

Usually when something moves in the junkyard, it’s a rat or a wounded dog. This time, it was something else, and it was crushing the plastic and metal around it. Jodie and I were frozen with spray paint cans in our hands. The movement was just outside the light, so most of what we saw was our imagination, really.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, but Jodie shook her head.

“Wait,” she said and shook her can out of habit.

The heap of junk slid around, crunched, bent, dented and turned over. Jodie moved towards the heap, still shaking her can like it was pepper spray or something. I followed her, and I wondered if tonight was the night I was going to pull out my knife. Even Jodie didn’t know I carried a knife with me.

Jodie turned halfway towards me. “It’s a battle suit,” she said. “Hear the steps? It’s definitely a battle suit.”

“Let’s definitely get out of here,” I whispered back, but Jodie shook her head again. Instead she pulled a flashlight out of her pack and held it in her free hand.

As soon as the light clicked on, we saw the thing clearly. Grey metal, rusty and scratched all over, a humanoid battle suit maybe seven feet tall, crushing the garbage beneath it like it was walking on cardboard. There were no lights on it, not even tiny leds.

“Who the fuck is in it?” Jodie asked me. “That thing looks like it’s 30 years old. How is it even moving?”

“I wonder if its weapons still work,” I said. Jodie gave me a death stare and I shrugged in response.

The battle suit finally found level ground and was able to walk with more stability. One of its arms was limp, and its head was struggling to turn left and right.

“Maybe it’s a robot?” I asked. “I’ve never seen this model before.”

“If you saw this model, you’d be dead,” the battle suit said. Its voice was hoarse and thin, clearly of an elderly man.

“I don’t think it’s a robot,” Jodie said, turning halfway again. “They don’t give robots old-man voices.”

The battle suit raised its working hand and held a clenched fist pointed at us.

We waited.

“I think it wants us to give it a fist bump,” I said.

“They wrecked it pretty hard,” the battle suit man said. “I can’t prime my offensive systems. I can’t connect to the defence net. My arm is busted. I can’t move right. This is a fucking travesty.”

Jodie walked up to the battle suit, shaking her spray can as she went. “Last defence net shut down thirteen years ago, boss,” she said.

“What the heck is a defence net?” I asked from behind her.

The battle suit man grunted and lowered his arm. “It’s over, isn’t it? The war is over,” the man said. “I remember staring at the sky while pain surged through my body. I thought it was over for me, but a part of me said that the suit would keep me alive. I guess it did.”

Jodie whistled and stopped in front of the metal giant. “Didn’t think they had life support in battle suits that old,” she said. “I guess we keep underestimating history.”

She raised her spray can began showering the rusty metal with bubblegum pink paint. The man in the suit stood still, like he was receiving a medal.

“The war ended like, thirty years ago,” Jodie said. “You probably wanna get out of that clunker now.”

The battle suit man didn’t say anything. If it weren’t for the breathing picked up by his mic, I’d have thought he was dead.

“Wondering what happened to your friends and family, huh?” Jodie shook her head as she curved the spraying. “I guess you don’t want to find out.”

After she was done, she stood back to admire her work and shook the can some more.

It was a peace sign in glossy pink, emblazoned across the battle suit’s chest.

-

Everyone in the bus stared at us in the back, especially the kids, who stood on their seats and held onto backs of their seats. Jodie was reading a magazine, the kind with an oiled, nearly-naked person on the cover. I was trying to keep my attention out of the window. Meanwhile, the man in the battle suit sat with his right hand on his knee and his unlit gaze staring straight through the middle of the bus.

After Jodie was done with her magazine, she sighed extravagantly and stared at each of the passengers until they stopped looking at us.

“You should have a name,” Jodie said as she slapped her hand on the metal thigh. It was a pretty hard slap, you could tell from the sound.

“Jamshid,” the reply came.

Jamshid raised his right arm as if to slap Jodie’s thigh. She and I sat frozen, our eyes on the metal hand. A few seconds later, Jamshid put it back on his knee. “I thought it would be funny,” he said.

Our bus stop was in an underpass with graffiti and broken bricks. I identified some of the graffiti as Jodie’s handiwork, but it was my first time in that part of town.

“How far is she?” I asked, pulling out transparent slab of plastic that showed me a map of the area. Jamshid took a few steps closer to me, clearly looking at the map with interest.

“Not far,” Jodie said. “She’ll be super interested in the battle suit. She’s a collector of retro hardware, and a suit like this from the war… yeah, I think she’s gonna waive the repair fee on my bike.”

“And she can get Jamshid out of his suit?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she shrugged.

“That’s not what you said before,” Jamshid growled. “You said you know someone who can get me out of this suit.”

Jodie ran a hand over her peace sign handiwork on the chest of Jamshid’s suit. “I mean, it’s worth a shot,” she said. “What other option do you have? It’s not like we’re going to find the manufacturer warranty.”

“Take me to a military base,” Jamshid said.

“Yeah well, the military isn’t going to fix my bike for free, man,” Jodie shook her head. “And we’re not your mommies, you’re free to go if you think the military’s going to help you. If you lose us, though, I don’t know if you’ll ever find someone who can pull you out of that tin can.”

“The suit stays mine,” Jamshid grunted. “It’s not yours to sell.”

“That’s a lot of demands from someone who doesn’t even know if he can get out of his metal action figure,” Jodie snapped back. “Maybe you should just keep your suit with its limp arm and paralysed turning.”

I sighed and got between the two of them. “Can you two just relax? Let’s just get to Roohi and see what she has to say.”

Jodie and Jamshid stayed quiet from there as we entered the narrower alleys lined by street merchants and stray dogs. As in the bus, everyone had their eyes on the battle suit. And me? I had my knife.

-

Roohi loved the colour orange so much that she hung fake oranges and marigolds outside her door, her windows were stained orange, her walls were painted varying shades of orange, and the little glass mirrors on her bead curtains all reflected an orange juice reality.

As soon as you stepped into her place, it felt like you were on a different planet, or some kind of oddly colour-graded movie. Jamshid moved his battle-suited body a lot as he stared at the orange walls and the orange paper butterflies and the orange beads.

“Why is everything orange?” he asked as Jodie went to fetch Roohi.

“From what Jodie told me, it’s because Roohi’s father once gave each calendar month a colour, and Roohi’s birthday falls on the month marked ‘orange’. So she just kind of owned it,” I said.

“I’d get sick of it,” he said, but then he followed my gaze and turned around to find Jodie and Roohi enter the room.

Roohi whistled.

“When the hell did you learn to whistle?” Jodie asked her.

“A week ago,” Roohi laughed. “I had to modify the code a bit to have it work with my shell, but…” She whistled a tune from a popular song.

Jodie was carrying wrenches and screwdrivers in her hands, which she clattered onto a table that was already crowded by cables and hardware. As she went in to fetch more, Roohi’s wheels rolled forwards. Her digitised face looked intrigued while her periscope camera inspected the battle suit closely.

“Enki Original, oooh” she cooed. “This is a rare one. They had these imported, but very few were actually made. See, the acquisition was a hassle—corruption at every bureaucratic level, you know how it is. They got a few in, but most of the units that saw battle were Enki-Hydras. I didn’t know any of these Original models existed, let alone see battle.”

“There were several,” Jamshid said while Jodie reappeared and dumped more tools in. “They are hard to control, and only the best pilots could be trusted with them.”

“Yeah!” Roohi’s face lit up and her screen was crowded with happy emojis and hearts. “I’ve read that they had production issues, so they had to use off-the-market stabilisers and magnets. Again, corruption and stuff, you know how it is.”

Jodie leaned against the table, drenched in orange like the rest of us, and she put a hand on Roohi’s metal, egg-shaped shell. “We’re hoping to get our pal Jamshid out of his battle suit. Can you do it?”

Jamshid took a step forward with a clenched metal fist. “Get me out,” he said, grimly and resolutely. Militarily.

“Uh,” Roohi said, and didn’t say anything more for a while. We waited in what looked like the cabin of a sunk ship in an orange sea. “Okay, so, there’s no manuals for this kind of hardware. And they didn’t have standardised armouring systems back then, so you can only get this battle suit off at a very specific armouring station. I have no idea where you’d begin to find one for Enki Originals.”

Jamshid grunted and turned for the door. “I should’ve gone for the military first,” he said.

“Sorry, man,” Roohi said. Her screen made a disappointed face, the kind with a slanted line for a mouth. “I guess they could have one, but it’s still a long shot. You know how it is.”

Jodie began talking to Roohi about her bike, but I touched Jamshid’s arm. I couldn’t see a speck of emotion on his metal face, not even a flicker of light where his eyes were marked.

“It’s going to be alright,” I said. “We’ll find the military. We’ll get help for you.”

“It was alright,” he barked. “For 30 years, it was alright. It was all alright until I woke up.”

-

It took so long for the clerk to return from the archives room that I counted six different pencil-pushers finish their coffees. The entire time, Jamshid stood at attention, staring straight at the wooden door with the translucent window. I was on the verge of getting physically sick from all the bureaucracy.

“Did you say your last name was Nurzai?” the records clerk asked, stacking up the papers against the table.

“Yes,” Jamshid said. His breath caught his name with a slight hesitation, as if he were receiving a misplaced family heirloom.

“I’m not seeing anyone with that name, sorry,” the clerk said.

I leaned over her desk and frowned in her face. “Come on, check those papers, I’m pretty sure he’s there somewhere.”

The clerk clenched her fist like she wanted to knock me out. “These papers are not related to your case. We do more work at the Veteran’s Service Office than just…” she eyed me and Jamshid suspiciously. “Whatever it is you are doing.”

“N-o-o-r-z-a-i,” Jamshid said. “Try that spelling.”

The clerk sighed and spent a few precious seconds flattening the dog-ear crease at the corner of a document. Then she got up and disappeared behind the door marked ‘Archives’ again.

I checked the time. Jamshid waited. The ceiling fan creaked, and more cups of coffee were placed empty on glass desks. I hadn’t had any sleep in hours, and I half wanted to swipe everything on the clerk’s table to the floor, get on the desk, curl up, and sleep.

“You should get some sleep,” Jamshid grunted and turned 90 degrees to stop me from crashing on the desk, all with his right hand. “You’re getting tired. A tired body is a weak body.”

I glared at him, but it was no use. There was nothing to glare at, just a bunch of metal and more metal.

The door squeaked open, and the clerk brought exactly one page in her hands. It was yellowed and splotchy, and the edges were weathered. She placed it on her desk, right where my butt could have been, and traced the record with her finger.

“Enki Original?” she asked, looking up at Jamshid and then me. “It says here that Upper Tech Sergeant Noorani was killed in action. This is the date of death, location and time of engagement, date of notifications sent to family… all accounted for.”

“He wasn’t killed in action,” I said, feeling a new surge of waking. “He was injured and in coma for 30 years. His suit kept him alive, and he only recovered consciousness now.”

The clerk pursed her lips. “Did you memorise that?”

“Excuse me?” I leaned in close to her.

The clerk jabbed at the paper. “It says here that he is _dead_. Unless this individual you claim can prove that they are the same recruit as on record, we cannot make any amends or provide any support.”

“How the fuck is he supposed to prove that?” I asked. The office hushed and turned to face me. Moustaches and old hairstyles with fake pearl necklaces. I refocused attention on the clerk.

“Well, we would require biometric proof, such as fingerprints or retinal scans… those work the best as ID proofs.”

“He’ll need to get out of his armour to get fingerprints and retinal scans, lady,” I said. “Getting out of his suit is the reason we came to you in the first place. I mean come on, you’re the military, right? You guys _put_ him in his suit in the first place, and now you won’t let him out?”

The clerk groaned and rested her head on a fist. “Please approach me with the required documentation and I will move forward with your request.” Her voice was droning now. She looked like she wanted to lay on the desk and go to sleep herself.

-

They wouldn’t let Jamshid into the diner, so I had him wait outside while it rained. I got myself a chicken wrap and got out again to stand by him. He saw me fumbling with the umbrella while holding the wrap, and he offered to hold the umbrella for me. I said my thanks with a mouth full of spicy chicken.

“You don’t ever get hungry?” I asked him while we watched the cars cut through the water-glazed streets.

“I don’t,” he said. The way he said it, it was like he’d interrupted himself from saying ‘I don’t know’. He paused for a few moments. “I don’t feel hungry. I guess the suit injects me with suppressants.”

I shrugged. “That’s rough. But maybe not, I guess. It is sad, though, that you can’t eat.”

“Why is that sad?” he asked. I watched his armour glow in passing headlights, as if it was flaming torches passing us by.

“It feels good, my dude,” I said. “Just like cuddling, I guess. Or what everyone says sex is supposed to feel like. It’s just the most basic thing that feels good to anyone, that’s eating for you. You won’t ever hear anyone in the world say they hate eating. It’s like lying down after a really, really, tired day.”

I was expecting him to say something, but I ended up listening to the patter of the rain like it was call hold music.

Then I got it.

“Well, shit,” I said. “You can’t do any of those things now, can you? I’m sorry.”

“Your friend, Roohi,” Jamshid asked unexpectedly. “Was she… is she… well, is she a real person? Or is she a robot?”

“Oh, she’s not my friend,” I reacted as I reached the bottom of my chicken wrap. “She’s Jodie’s friend, really, and even then, not so much. They’ve known each other for a long time, maybe even since Jodie was a kid.”

“So she was in a shell? Even then?” Jamshid asked.

I paused tantalisingly close to gobbling up the last morsel of the wrap. “You know, I never thought to ask,” I said. “Maybe she was? I never really thought about any of that—whether she grew up human, or if she’s always been in a shell. I just thought she was cool.”

“Maybe she grew up human and had a very serious injury and she had to be put into that thing,” Jamshid said.

I finished the wrap and crumbled the paper cover that came with it. “Maybe she was born in a computer lab and all the memories she has of her father and his calender of colours—all that is just a script written by some imaginative intern. They’re both just as valid.”

“They’re not,” Jamshid said. Like before, he seemed to have stopped himself from saying any more. This time, he seemed to be reconsidering what he had just said.

“I’m gonna get another one, with sweet onion sauce this time,” I said, and returned to the diner.

Inside, most of the tables were empty and the few patrons there were loners. The woman behind the counter looked a lot more pleasantly at me than before, probably that I’d given her no trouble.

I placed my order and drummed my fingers against the counter, leaning back and forth to the rhythm of the music in the diner. My pocket buzzed, and I pulled out my phone to find Jodie’s face plastered on it with a toothy grin.

“You coming to the 'yard tonight?” she asked.

“Nah, I’m hanging with Jamshid,” I said.

“Still?” she groaned and cursed under her breath. “He isn’t a dog, you know. You don’t have to take care of him.”

“I know,” I said, but I didn’t have anything to qualify my position. “But he’s cool. I want to help him see his… I don’t know, his quest through.”

“His quest?” Jodie laughed and cursed at the same time. “You’re a slut for charity.”

“Did you get your bike back?” I asked.

“Nah, Roohi is being a hard ass,” she groaned again. “Says your new friend wasn’t good enough. Says 'What am I supposed to do with this? Money don’t grow on trees!’ and other bullshit. I mean come on.”

“Tough luck,” I said. “Maybe if you hadn’t wrecked it.”

Jodie chuckled. “Girl, that bike has a destiny of its own. It doesn’t matter if I wrecked it or not, it was just destined to get wrecked at that time of its life. You know what I mean?”

“I know that my chicken wrap is here.” I smiled and waved cutely before cutting the call.

The lady approached the counter and handed me by wrap while I swiped the payment on my phone.

“Nothing for your friend there?” she asked, nodding at the door.

“He doesn’t eat,” I said.

“Ah,” she said. “A robot?”

I raised a middle finger at her and left the diner with my wrap.

-

“So how different is the city from when you last saw it?” I asked. The robot-pulled rickshaw slid cleanly by the edge of the street. It was heavy, but at least the robot wouldn’t complain about a man in a battle suit.

“This isn’t the same city,” Jamshid said. “Not anymore.”

“After the war, the city changed a lot.” I felt a bump under the wheels of the rickshaw. “So much was damaged, they had to practically rebuild the city anew. Lots of people died, too, so they had to bring it immigrants from all over. Jodie’s parents were immigrants—but you probably figured that out already.”

“It used to be more beautiful back then,” Jamshid said. “Quieter, greener. People dressed decently, talked decently.”

“Declared war decently,” I added, and Jamshid scoffed under his helmet.

“I don’t recognise any of these streets,” he said. “Is this where you live? I don’t think this district even existed back then.”

“Nah, this one is pretty old,” I told him. “Perch, if you’ve heard of it.”

“Perch,” Jamshid said, almost like a machine hiss. “Parrot’s Perch. My family used to live in Parrot’s Perch.”

I turned to face the metal man. “No kidding?” I grinned. “Where? Maybe I know the place.”

Jamshid recited his address: a number, a building name, a street, a main street, a neighbourhood, a wider area, and finally, ‘Parrot’s Perch’. It was like he was reading off of a piece of paper in front of him.

“Uh yeah, none of those are ringing any bells,” I said. “But then they renamed all the streets after the war, and some places, too. I mean, you call it Parrot’s Perch, I call it just the Perch.”

“Kozue. That was an alcohol shop downstairs,” he mumbled. “And a bakery across the street. What was that name? Foragers’ Bakes. Funny name. Funny story behind it, too.”

I input the names he was mentioning into the Map and did not find any hits. The shop names were a bust, but I did find the street names in a database online. Navigating the old website for useful information was a mess, and I was really ticked off, but I finally found the name I was looking for.

“I found it. No liquor shop or bakery on there, but well…”

“Which way is it?” Jamshid asked with a tone of slight urgency.

“To the left from here, and then straight, taking another left by the bend,” I said.

“You heard her, rickshaw-bot,” Jamshid barked, and the robot recited an acknowledgement before turning to the left, down a street I’d seen a few times before.

“Maybe there’s someone in the area who knows your family. Someone old enough,” I said.

Jamshid held onto the steel railing in front of it. He gripped it so tightly, I was worried he’d damage the rickshaw. “I just want to see what it’s like now,” he said. His voice was a lot less convincing than it had been before.

We took the left at the bend, and as soon as the rickshaw stopped, Jamshid got up and jumped off. I swiped a payment and got down as well.

Jamshid stared at the mega-supermarket that spanned almost the entire length of the street. Shopping carts rattled and shoppers walked out with sodas and beers, clutching their precious bags of chips. Jamshid kept walking down the street, his angle seemingly ignoring the supermarket next to him. Finally, he found a really, really old fire hydrant. Jodie doesn’t even know what a fire hydrant is.

“Do you recognise it?” I asked.

“I’ve seen enough,” he grunted, and turned around before marching back from where we came.

-

When my parents are away for a while, I like to sleep on the roof. There’s no bed there, so I carry a thick mattress up. Jamshid helped carry it for me. I tossed the pillow onto one end and stretched myself under a black-orange sky. If you looked hard enough, you could see a star or two.

“Do you regret all this?” I asked. “Getting into the suit and all… I’d regret it.”

“I knew the risks,” Jamshid replied. He was looking at the city… or what would be seen of it, given that we didn’t exactly live in a high-rise.

“Did you?” I leaned back and looked at him with my head upside-down. “Did you know you’d be trapped in the suit for 30 years because of a coma?”

Jamshid sighed dryly. “No, I didn’t know that,” he said.

“What did you know? What did they tell you?”

“I’d read the literature,” he said. “I thought I’d be invincible. Hits that could kill a man would just be scratches on metal for me. It was supposed to be really quick, too. Forty minutes, that’s it. They didn’t want to tax these things too much that early.”

“Forty minutes?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Jamshid said. “And five of those would be assembly and disassembly. It was a quick engagement, and we were the cavalry. A special surprise just when the enemy thought they had us on the run.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, we won,” I said.

“Of course we did,” Jamshid said. “We knew that even back then. The enemy never really had a chance, but they fought fiercely. I thought I’d be back at the base in an hour. I’d be eating sausages in the mess. That hour never really ended for me.”

I watched a tiny black insect crawl along the surface of the rood, tiny antennas feeling twitching and searching. It scampered away when my phone began vibrating with a call. It was Jodie again. I swiped yes.

“Hey, Roohi wanted to talk to you about your new dad,” Jodie said, and handed her phone to Roohi’s metal arm.

“Hey honey,” Roohi greeted me. Her voice sounded less electronic, somehow. “I was wondering if your friend is still with you. I couldn’t help but get curious, and I wanted to know if I could find out more about him.”

“What can you find out about him?” I asked.

“I don’t know!” Roohi laughed. “Anything. I just wanna go digging.”

“Jodie’s that boring, huh?” I asked, and Roohi laughed for half a minute straight. I got up with the phone and walked up to Jamshid. “What do you wanna know?”

“Could you check his serial number, honey?” Roohi asked. “Should be somewhere on his chest, over where his heart should be.”

I scanned his chest. It took a while as I asked Roohi what to look for, and she told me what to look for, and I finally found what I was looking for. A small metal plate, the side of maybe three of my fingers. It had a serial number, a model number, and a bar code of some sort. Below that were the initials of the armed forces. The pink paint had narrowly missed the plate. Any further to the right, and it would be gone.

I took a picture of the plate and sent it to Roohi, who cut the line after a very curt thanks.

“Roohi’s gonna dig up what she can about you,” I told Jamshid, who just grunted. “Maybe she can find out something that could get you out of there.”

“Please don’t,” he said, and laid his working hand on the chain link around the roof’s edge.

“You don’t want to get out of there?” I asked.

“I don’t want to think about getting out,” he replied. “Because then I have to think about not getting out.”

I nodded and looked at the floor for a while. “But you know,” I said. “That’s the same as not thinking about success, because then you have to think about failure. If you do that, you’ll never be successful.”

“I don’t want to be successful,” he said. “I just want to not fail.”

Before I could respond, he held up his hand at me, making a stop gesture. I shoved my hands in my pyjama pockets.

My phone buzzed again, and I picked up the call.

“So this was kind of hard, given how fucking awful government websites are,” Roohi said without any greetings. “But I’ve got his name, rank, posting, origin. I did a few more searches, and I found his family, too. I know where they live now.”

I looked up at Jamshid. “Did you hear that?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, still staring out at the city.

-

The van-cab ride blew a chunk of my account balance, but I figured this was going to be worth it. I wasn't going to make Jamshid ride a bus to see his own family. On the way, we stopped at a record store. He made me buy a very old record called "Midnight Flight". The cab driver was a little annoyed we took so long, but I guess he didn't want to complain to a customer in a battle suit.

Jamshid held the record in front of him in the van, reading the back of the sleeve. I tapped my foot to a song that Jamshid would never have heard of. The blip on the map drew closer and closer to its destination.

"You must be nervous," I said.

Jamshid lowered the record from between us. "Are you going to stay out?"

I hadn't expected that, so I gave it some thought.

"What do you want me to do?" I finally asked.

"I don't know," he said, and his voice was a lot weaker than it usually is. "I don't even know what I want to do."

The van pulled over and the driver pulled the doors open. He was grinning under his spiky moustache. "You know, I mostly carry cargo. A real, flesh-and-blood person in a battle suit? Can't say I ever imagined that."

"Thank you for the ride," Jamshid said as he got out.

The alley we had to pass through was so cramped that we had to walk one behind the other. Jamshid's battle suit barely squeezed through, and there was still a fair bit of scratching on the sides. Wires hung from above, carrying data and power, and the tiles below were broken, some even before Jamshid stepped on them.

After some asking around, we found the address. The door looked like it could fall off any minute. A bunch of boys sitting on bikes nearby eyed us, splitting their attention between me and Jamshid. Crows took turns watching us.

I rang the doorbell.

We waited.

The door opened to reveal a woman wiping her hands on a rag. She was squinting at first, but that turned into an alarmed frown when she saw Jamshid's battle suit. "Who are you?"

"This is Jamshid Noorzai," I said. "You're his family."

The woman half-turned back and yelled out a name, and mentioned that there's a man in a battle suit at the door. Multiple sets of feet shuffled inside. The first out were a pair of kids: both girls, mouths agape and looking at Jamshid like he was a god.

An older woman appeared from inside. Her hair looked like white cotton candy, and she wore a rather cheap gown. She wore the kind of eyeglasses that have a thin chain on them.

Jamshid made a sound, and his breathing was loud enough for all of us to hear.

The older woman was also frowning as she made her way to us, and the younger woman stepped aside, herding the kids away. The older woman grimaced at us while she squinted for a better look through her eyeglasses.

"Who are you two? What do you want?" she asked.

I repeated what I had said to the younger woman before.

The woman looked a little angry now, a little disgusted, like I'd made a profane joke about a dead person. She could've eaten my head clean off. "There is no Jamshid Noorzai," she said. "He died three decades ago."

"I got you this," Jamshid said, lifting his record, making sure the front cover was facing the woman. "Happy birthday, sis."

The older woman stared at the record and the anger and the disgust faded away, washed away by her watering eyes. Her head shook a little. She looked up at Jamshid.

"I guess I missed thirty birthdays," he said. "But this is what you wanted first, so I got it for you, just like I said I would."

"Jamshid?" the woman asked. Her voice was choked, and the tears were breaking through now.

"We'll figure out the other twenty-nine birthday gifts later, right?" Jamshid said.

The woman took a few steps closer, and she embraced the battle suit, pressing her head against the peace sign on the chest. Her tears flowed down the metal. When she began crying, it was like her voice was being snapped in half each time.

Jamshid placed his working hand on her back and pressed her against him. "I told you, didn't I?" he said. "I told you I wasn't lying. I told you I'd really come back, and I'd bring the record with me. It just took me a while, that's all."

I wiped the tears off my own eyes. The younger woman touched my shoulder. "Why don't you sit? Would you like something to drink?"

I hugged her.

[thismanateelovestowrite]

When you’re Jooheon’s girlfriend but Minhyuk likes you too

Thank you for the request~ ^^ I sincerely hope this is to your liking and feel free to tell me your thoughts on this~ 

hahahaha i’m rusty sorry i feel like this isn’t the best of my writing but i truly hope this is enjoyable as it was nice to write!

Words: 2239

Some cheesy fluff and some heart-wrenching angst

Requested by anon ♥

”You two do know that you make everyone around you feel nauseous?” Minhyuk frowned at you and Jooheon from across the room.

“You’re just jealous,” Jooheon claimed and proceeded to keep hugging you from behind while you watched their performance on your phone.

“Are you going to have some time off now that you’re finished with promotions?” you ignored the two troublemakers and asked the five other members who were scattered around the room.

“Probably?” Shownu seemed like he wasn’t sure either. “We’ll probably find out today.”

“Do you have any plans?” you asked in curiosity and put down the phone as Jooheon rested his chin on your shoulder. You leaned your head against his.

Everyone else but Minhyuk and I.M nodded.

“Can you believe that the two of us are the only ones not in a relationship?” Minhyuk sighed in despair.

“I’m not dating anyone,” Wonho claimed, slightly confused.

“You’re basically married to the gym,” Hyungwon retorted, earning some amused chuckles from the other members. Wonho seemed to acknowledge the statement as he didn’t argue against it.

“Should we do something together?” Minhyuk asked I.M who shook his head immediately. “Why?” Minhyuk whined.

“I have my own plans already.”

“You just said you don’t,” Minhyuk frowned. “Come on, we could use the time to bond.”

“Yeah, no. Anything but that.”

Minhyuk pouted and soon his gaze landed on you and Jooheon. Before he could open his mouth, the group’s manager peeked his head in to the room, gaining everyone’s attention.

“Time for the meeting,” he said, causing everyone to head towards the door to leave.

Jooheon gave you a kiss. “I’ll call you tonight to fill you in on the plan for tomorrow,” he smiled and pecked your forehead quickly before hurrying after the other members.

***

[Anyway, sleep well~ Jooheon will kill me if he finds out that I kept you up this late~]Minhyuk’s message made you chuckle.

[It’s, like, ten o’clock, no he wouldn’t] you texted him back with a smile on your lips. [Besides, he knows that we’re good friends~ He’s not like that~]

[Well, I guess I’ll just have to trust you ^^]

As you were about to put your phone away, it started to buzz. A smile spread on your lips as you read the cute nickname on the screen

Oh, yeah, he said he would call.

“Who’s this?” you smiled playfully as you picked up the call from Jooheon.

“Your prince,” he played along, making you cringe and giggle at the same time. “What are you doing right now?”

“Lying in bed,” you answered truthfully as you stared at the ceiling above you. “How about you?”

“Same here,” he chuckled. “Anyway, about tomorrow… I have two plans.”

“Oh, you do?” you grinned at how excited he sounded and rolled onto your belly.

“Of course, I need to be prepared since these kinds of opportunities come so rarely,” he explained.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agreed.

“So… We either go outside or stay indoors.”

“Well, that’s a start,” you laughed at the simplicity of his options. “I thought you would have had something slightly more detailed on your mind.”

“I do! I’m just asking too hear which you prefer,” you could imagine him smiling widely.

“Hmm…” you thought about the two options for a bit. “I’m not sure. I heard that it’s going to rain tomorrow so maybe going outside isn’t the best option… What will we do if we stay indoors?”

You could hear him chuckle. “Indoors it is then. You’ll find out tomorrow. Oh, and wear something super comfortable.”

***

Your eyes widened in slight surprise. “Oh, I thought you were going to go visit your parents this weekend?” you wondered at Minhyuk with a smile as he let you inside the dorm.

“I’m taking a train that leaves in the evening,” he grinned. “I’ll be sticking around until then. Unfortunate news for you two, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “I don’t really mind. After all, this is your home and I’m just visiting, so I’m the one disturbing you.”

“Well, good thing I don’t mind you visiting,” he smiled and as you walked out of the hallway, you ran into Jooheon who was hurrying towards the hallway.

“Ah, I would have opened the door for you but Minhyuk was faster,” he walked to you, giving Minhyuk a look while passing by him. While you and Jooheon shared an affectionate hug, Minhyuk left and went to his room, letting you two have your moment in peace.

“I see you followed my orders,” Jooheon smiled at your laid-back outfit.

“Of course. So, what are we going to do today?” you asked with an excited smile as he pecked your cheek.

“Let me show you,” he held your hand and led you to the kitchen.

“Are we going to cook?” you looked at him in surprise after seeing different ingredients around the kitchen counters.

“Bingo!” he seemed extremely excited. “I remember we talked about this before.”

You nodded. “Yeah, we did. I’m glad you remembered that. It wasn’t exactly a lengthy conversation or anything.”

“I remember every moment I’ve spent with you,” his words caused you to cringe as he made them sound overly dramatic. Your reaction seemed to amuse him as he laughed wholeheartedly after seeing your face.

“Let’s just start cooking before I completely shut down because of your cheesy comments,” you shook your head with a smile.

***

“It was really good. We should watch it together some time,” you told Jooheon about a movie you had seen with a friend.

“It sounds interesting,” he seemed genuinely interested. “Maybe we can watch it next time.”

You nodded and even though the thought excited you, it also made you feel slightly sad - you didn’t know when the next opportunity for a lengthy date would be.

“I’ll make it happen as soon as possible,” he held your hand, knowing what passed your mind. “I’m sure we’ll get another break soon.”

His comforting words and smile made you feel reassured and you nodded again. “I hope so.”

Footsteps could be heard and soon Minhyuk walked into the kitchen. You both turned to look at him as he walked over to the table.

“It smells pretty good in here,” he stated and looked at the remainders of the food inside the pot. “Can I taste some?”

“Go ahead,” Jooheon said rather nonchalantly, though you could tell that he was rather proud of what you two had managed to make. Seeing the slight pride in his eyes made you smile subconsciously as you looked at him.

“Oh, it’s actually pretty good,” Minhyuk sounded surprised as he tasted the food.

“Of course it is,” Jooheon gave a laugh and you could see that he felt even prouder. “We made it together. The secret ingredient is love.”

Minhyuk frowned at Jooheon’s comment, and his disapproving expression made you laugh.

“It’s good and all but…” Minhyuk looked at you. “It’s not exactly to your taste, right?”

Jooheon seemed taken aback by his comment and looked at you.

“No, it’s okay,” you said even though Minhyuk was right. “I had fun making it, so it doesn’t really matter whether it was my favorite food or not, right?”

Minhyuk seemed pleased. “See? As expected from our strong friendship. Do you even know her?”

Jooheon snorted. “Yeah, well… I’m still closer to her than you are. I mean, you are just a friend to her.”

“I got to know her first, though,” Minhyuk retorted. “So, I’ve been close to her for a longer time than you have.”

You looked at them both with a disapproving frown but they were too busy glaring at each other murderously to notice your discomfort.

“Who knows, maybe I could have become her boyfriend if you hadn’t ruined everything,” Minhyuk shrugged and you felt offended by the tone of the conversation.

“Bummer, I was the one to ask her out first,” Jooheon sneered. “Sorry for having taken her from you, but that’s just how things work. First come first serve, huh?”

“What, I’m some object now?” you asked with irritation but got ignored by both.

“You know, we had a great friendship before you became all possessive of her,” Minhyuk claimed in anger and Jooheon got up from his chair. “As if she belongs to you. Don’t you think we should all be able to close be with her?”

“I’m just keeping her away from you because you’re so clingy it bothers all of us!”

“You’re just insecure because you know that I’m closer to her than you are! You’re just scared I’ll snatch her away from you!”

“I’d never let you snatch her away from me! As if she would ever like you!”

You just stared at the two in utter disbelief. You knew they had had their small disagreements about you before but never to the point of almost starting a physical fight, which they now seemed to be ready for. It made you extremely uncomfortable, to the point of feeling like you were unable to breathe.

Having heard more than enough, you got up and decided to leave the situation. As you walked to the hallway to leave the whole apartment, they finally noticed you.

“______,” you could hear Jooheon calling your name.

You quickly put your shoes and jacket on before grabbing your bag from the floor and opening the door to leave. You could hear hurried footsteps as you entered the corridor and soon enough, Jooheon stopped you.

As you turned around to look at him, you could only feel disappointment. He looked at you with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Where-“

“I’m tired of listening to your bullshit,” you snapped, startling him. “I didn’t come here to listen to you two fight like two five-year-olds over a toy.”

He just stared at you, regret filling his gaze as he looked at you and realized how uncomfortable and offended you felt.

“You two figure out what’s going on and once you’re not complete assholes anymore, come find me,” you sighed and turned around on your heels before walking away hurriedly, feeling like you would pass out from not being able to breathe.

***

As you heard the doorbell of your apartment ring, you almost didn’t want to go open the door. You knew it was Jooheon and after all the thinking you had done while waiting for him, you were scared to face him. You would have to tell him about those thoughts and you already knew how he would react. And how hard the topic would be for you both.

The handle felt cold as you pressed it down and slowly pushed the door open, coming face-to-face with Jooheon. He flinched a little and after a few seconds of eye-contact, his gaze dropped to the ground.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly and you let him in without a word.

As he took his shoes off, you walked into your kitchen where he eventually followed you. You sat down on one of the chairs around the dining table while he stopped to stand in front of you. You looked at him, waiting for him to speak.

“I’m sorry,” he hung his head low. “I didn’t realize how offending those words were to you. I was just… so angry at Minhyuk…”

Your heart ached a little as you looked at him. “Did you two make up?” He shook his head. “We tried but…” his words made you sigh. “I’m sorry. I made a mistake… I’ll be better…”

“This wasn’t the first time you two have said things like that, is it?” you felt a lump in your throat and he looked at you in surprise. “I’ve heard you bicker before. About me…”

You looked at him and waited for him to say something but he just stared at you in silence.

“I ignored it until now because I thought you two would figure it out but seeing how serious the fight got today… I…” You had to take a deep breath and look away from him. “I don’t think we should continue being together.”

“What?”  

You fought the tears in your eyes. “You two are in a group together, you need to get along. I’m afraid you won’t be able to do so if I’m around.”

He shook his head and got on his knees right in front of you before grabbing your hands gently. “I’m sorry, please… Let’s not break up… I… I’ll make up with him… I’ll… I’ll do anything.”

“Jooheon,” your voice cracked and you took a deep breath before looking at him again. “It’s better for you to choose your career than me… Those guys, they’re your second family. It’s not right if a fight over someone like me breaks it up…”

He looked in to your eyes with his glistening ones, making it hard for you to not tear up. He looked at you for quite a bit, as if searching your eyes for something.

“Were you… waiting for a situation like this? To break up with me?”

You forced yourself to look in to his eyes and said with the calmest voice you could: “Maybe.”

First his eyes widened in shock. Then he let his gaze drop, stood up and silently walked away. Once you heard the front door close, your tears spilled over.

[calumbringbackthewatermelonshirt]

Shoot Your Shot [Soccer!Cal AU]

part 3! (find the first to on my blog! I would have them linked but Tumblr is being screwy)

a/n: this one is a bit shorter than the other 2 parts but I need a little filler before I could progress the story (spoiler: its real real sad)

The trip to the mall ended up being a complete disaster, right from the start. As soon as they got there, while Cal was trying to get out of the car, one of his crutches broke. Cal, of course, insisted that it would be fine, not to take him home, that they could just borrow a wheel chair or something. So they went out and tried to find one, taking almost half an hour to do so. When they finally did, the wheels squeaked and were rusty so Cal had to be pushed by someone at all time. He of course, preferred Bia, but she was partial to just walk beside Kit instead, often wondering into random stores. Cal had a bit of trouble keeping up with her. He even got a manicure just to be able to sit next her for an extended period of time. It was stupid and pathetic, he knew, but it was his best friend on the line. She barely spoke to him the entire evening, and as soon as they got back to her apartment, she went right back into her office. Cal just sighed and went to his room. What on earth was in that damn office? He got too bored and stressed just sitting in his room so he called Ash.||

Ash picked up Cal at Bia’s house and together they went to a small cafe downtown.

“Ok so, this might sound crazy, but… I think Bia is mad at me. She hasn’t spoken to me in a couple days. Any ideas as to why?” Cal nervously twisted his favorite ring around on his finger. There was some soft music filtering through the speakers, low and beautiful.

Ash almost choked on his sip of coffee. Yeah he knew, but he couldn’t tell Cal. Right? Bia hadn’t said he couldn’t, but it felt wrong. In Ash’s opinion, those two were being completely stupid. To everyone except Cal and Bia (and Cassidy), they were meant to be together. Ash knew that Bia and Cal had been ring shopping, but it was a front so Cal could get her a present for her birthday. Still, their relationship? None of his business.

“Yeah, uh, no idea.” Ash chose to keep his mouth shut and figured a change of subject would help him stop anything from slipping. “So what’s the plan for her birthday? It’s coming up soon, right?”

“After what’s been going on lately, this party will have to be perfect. I mean, I think I already got her the best gift she’ll ever receive.” Cal usually wasn’t great at giving gifts, but he really thought that he had nailed this one. “I’m even planning on taking over the party planning from Sophie. I mean, we both know how big birthdays are for her.”

“Yeah. I just got her that pair of boots she wanted. Your gonna show everyone up, Cal.” Ash shook his head. “What’re you thinking for the party?”

“You know her. Elegant as always. I’m thinking we’ll have it in the art museum downtown. I’m glad you told me about the boots, though. Cassidy was kind of thinking of getting her those.” Cal was off in his own world, barely picking at the muffin in front of him. Cal figured that Sophie, Cassidy and Bia would all go dress shopping together, as a way for them to all bond. The party would be a surprise for Bia, but Cal knew his best friend was always down for shopping, no matter the reason.

“You can’t be serious.” Cal shot Ashton a confused look. Ash sighed and continued to explain, “Those two don’t like each other, and there’s no way that Bia would want her anywhere near her birthday party.”

“Please. They’re super close. How can they not like each other?” Cal knit his eyebrows together and took a sip of his drink. “My best friend and my girlfriend. They’re destined to be close, right?”

Ashton snorted. Clearly, Calum still had a lot to learn about their female counterparts.||

“Hey Bia, I was just about to text- wait, why are you crying? You never cry?” Sophie ushered Bia into her apartment and onto her couch. She was super worried. Sophie loved crying and was never afraid to let her emotion show, but Bia? She almost never let her emotion show, especially not in front of other people. In Sophie’s opinion, it was dumb, but she felt honored that Bia was willing to share them with her.

“I jus-I can-I jus-,” Bia was sobbing so hard, she couldn’t catch her breath. It wasn’t just sobbing either, it was painful. Each tear wrenched deeper and deeper inside her.  All Sophie was doing was watching and it still broke her heart. Seeing her best friend weeping, her best friend that doesn’t do emotions, nonetheless? Something was very wrong. Now she just had to figure what.

“Woah, hey, calm down. Take a deep breath.” Sophie sat next to Bia on the couch and put her arms around the crying girl. “You have to tell me what’s wrong before I can help.”

“I-It-It’s c-Calum.” Bia wiped her eyes on her sleeve, barely able to see through her tears.

“What about him? Surely living with him can’t be THAT bad.”  Sophie knew that Cal was messy and Bia was uptight, but she didn’t see a reason to cry about it.

“No.” Bia practically wailed. “It that stupid Cassidy bitch. She’s making him choose. Her or me.”

“Cassidy’s out of the state for two more days. What do you mean she’s making him choose?” Sophie wasn’t quite following. What on Earth was she rambling about?

“Ash told me. Cassidy is jealous of me and Calum’s relationship. She doesn’t think he can have both of us, so she’s breaking it off with him if he doesn’t break it off with me first. I mean, Cassidy is his future. I can’t take a lifetime of happiness from him. I can’t be that selfish. I can’t, I can’t, I-” Bia could barely breathe. Telling all of the to Sophie, it just drug up all the feelings she thought she was done with.

“Just breathe. Just focus on breathing. I’ll get wine.” Sophie was blown away. She was also going to kill that Cassidy bitch.

“Oh fuck.” Bia breathed. Her head was sunk into her hands, the tears still flowing. “You can’t tell him. You can’t tell anyone. Sophie, promise me. Promise me.”

“Okay. I promise.” Sophie said the words and felt their weight as the came off her tongue. This felt… wrong. Bia and Cal had always been the closest in their friends group, and sure, they had fought. But this? It was a new extreme, a new height they had never been to before. And Sophie wasn’t sure they could come back down from it.

“I can’t make Cal choose. I mean, he took me ring shopping for fuck’s sake. For Cassidy. This, this would break him.” Bia downed her entire glass of wine in one gulp.

“Yeah but… What else can you do?” Sophie refilled Bia’s glass with a small frown. She had never seen Bia drink this much, even when they went out. Still, Sophie figured it would be better if she did it here instead of anywhere else. “It’s pretty much Cal’s decision, right?”

“You don’t understand.” Bia sniffled and took another sip of wine. It was times like these she cursed her ability to hold her alcohol so well. Times when she was just so damn tired of feeling. “I can’t, won’t let Cal go through that. So, I’m making it easy for him. By kicking him out of my life first.”

“Oh, HELL no.” Sophie immediately went into protective friends mode. “Have you lost you damn mind? I mean, you two have been best friends for, like, ever and you want to shut him out over some girl he’s been dating for what, a year and a half? I think the fuck not.”

“Sophie please.” Bia was so, so tired. She couldn’t do this now. “You think this has been easy for me? I don’t even know what a peaceful night’s sleep is like anymore.”

“I just- I think this is bad.” Sophie disagreed with Bia choice, but one look at e the silent tears still streaming down her face, Bia’s eyes rimmed with red, and she knew it wasn’t up the her. “But, I’ll support you. And I won’t tell. Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Bia shook her head, instead laying her head softly into Sophie’s lap. Maybe she didn’t want to face Calum, but it was her apartment. She couldn’t avoid the inevitable.

_______________________________________________________________________

@daniellesimagines @marshmallowtraver (I believe xxx-calumexcess-xxx also wanted to be tagged but I couldn’t find them :( sorry)

[ghost-chance]

A New Lease on Life - 4: The Truth

A quick note: the book Dark of the Moon is an obscure poetry volume but it's very much worth the read. The poem Amber reads aloud in this chapter is from that very book; 'The Eye' by Donald Wandrei is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. Secondly: Occasional short, graphic present tense passages in italics denote intrusive memories; intrusive memories can be very overwhelming when they occur, and in my own experience, the memories they show are often exaggerated and warped, and sometimes even worse than what actually happened. This chapter dedicated to everyone reading, following, and fav'ing this story—especially ImpartingAbyss, for reviewing and just being hilarious!Trigger Warnings: Grossness, Intrusive memories, disturbing, graphic imagery, panic attacks, religious references, violent death.

Suggested Listening: Coldplay, "Fix You," Breaking Benjamin, "Fade Away"

-------------------

4: The Truth 

-------------------

‘Great, Amber,' she thought to herself as she hung face-first over the stream of running wastewater, hacking up a meal she didn't remember eating. 'Ya didn't cowk- all over Don's shell, but ya barely missed'is feet. Yer just too hot fer ya own good, ain'tcha?'- She spat once more, swiping a used tissue across her lips; hopefully, the other two hadn't seen her yank it out of her shirt. It's awkward enough getting caught using a bra for a pocket, but when you're clearly braless, people start wondering where you stashed whatever you just pulled out…and handy as boob-pockets were, it wasn't something she was ready to admit.

"S-Sorry," she said hoarsely. "I don't do so well with heights…just gimme a sec." Heat flooded her cheeks at the small metal canteen held at her eye level. "Thanks." She gratefully rinsed her mouth out and snapped the topper back on. "I'll wash that later—there anythin' you DON'T have in that bag'a yers?"

"The sink," he answered simply. Once her stomach settled, the blindfold went back on and she was lifted up over his shoulder again, thanking her lucky stars she couldn't see how high up she was. Not long after, her ears were assaulted by the screech of a rusty hinge; she felt her carrier tense.

"Better oil that," Leo said simply.

"As soon as this is resolved," Donnie replied lowly. "'Til then, it can wait." The shoulder Amber rested on slouched; she knew without a doubt what was going through his mind and it was unpleasantly familiar. Without Donatello, the lair would fall apart—the family would fall apart. As much as they depended on him, though, the others tended to take him for granted without even realizing it. It always broke her heart to see it before, knowing all-too-well just how it felt, and now it was even more distressing. She couldn't say anything, though. After all, she already proved that she knew more than she should, and would only be more suspicious. A gentle squeeze of his other shoulder conveyed what words could not, but sent a worrisome shiver through him.

"What is going on here?" a slightly raspy voice burst out. "Boys, why have you brought a stranger into our midst?!" Leonardo hurried to greet their father and master.

"We had no other choice, Master," He explained hurriedly. "The alarms were set off by this woman—she almost froze to death down here! We took her to April's, but…" He winced, trailing off.

"Casey disagreed," Donnie finished dryly. "From the tantrum he's throwing, you'd think she insulted his mother." Amber shrunk into the warm shoulder, certain she was in some serious trouble...even though she hadn't insulted any mothers lately. How could she have followed them home? How could she have believed they could bring her back to the Lair with them without trouble from Splinter? The Canon versions of him always struck her as crotchety but wise rather than prone to pointless anger but the idea of angering the aged Rat gave her chills. And Raphael…Casey had insisted that he and Raph had 'busted' Kimber repeatedly; she'd have no ally in Raph, she was sure of it, and that knowledge made her feel bitter.

"We did blindfold her, see?" The nervous reminder - Leo's attempt at placating Splinter's worries - drove Amber to blush.

She cringed behind the purple fabric blocking her vision. They blindfolded her alright—with a slightly ratty purple kerchief from Donnie's trouser pockets. Her lungs were too flooded with his familiar - and mouth-watering - scent (coffee, clean grease, a faint hint of spice, and clean sweat) to notice the sewer funk, but she'd been forced to take drastic measures to stifle her body's reaction to the combination. By the time they reached the lair, she'd mentally replayed the most bizarre songs she could think of - Time Warp, Feed My Frankenstein, Ballroom Blitz, nothing was overlooked.* As hard as she focused on distracting herself by methodically dissecting every possible meaning of every lyric, she never noticed the ninjas' breaths growing more and more shallow by the moment.

Soft grumbling from the woman still slouched over Donnie's shoulder made the brothers meet eyes in an awkward wince. To the average human, the woman's scent wouldn't have registered, but they were more than human - to them, the sudden flood of pheromones was stifling, and it seemed to only strengthen.

"Bring her here," Splinter conceded wearily, settling himself at the low table in his room. Donatello followed, easing Amber to the floor as Leo went about boiling water for tea. With a gentle tug of fabric, the barrier was gone from Amber's eyes, taking with it the delightful aroma that had driven her mad. She remained silent, head bowed and eyes closed as Donnie excused himself to the lab, leaving the door parted behind him. "We're no savages, Child, you needn't hide your eyes."

"S-Sorry," she mumbled shyly, glancing furtively up at the being on the other side of the table. "I'm not afraid of you…just—well, nervous an' sorry for getting your sons in trouble." His whiskers twitched in a suppressed smile as he recognized her odd speech from his stories; she spoke with what he interpreted as a Midwestern twang that bordered on Southern drawl, but it seemed off somehow - warped in some places and some pronunciations were forced, as though the strange woman was mimicking something foreign. He saw no threat in her posture or behavior, though, and decided to overlook the odd woman's speech quirk.

"Well, this changes things," he answered seriously. "I had no idea you forced my boys to bring you here against their own good judgment. How could an unarmed woman not much taller than myself accomplish such a feat?"

"What?" she objected frantically, finally looking up to fully meet his eyes. She was visibly horrified - good, maybe she wasn't a threat. "No, I di'n't- do any of that—I never asked'em- to bring me here! They…well, I've got nowhere else to go, an'—"

"Then you are not directly responsible for them bringing you here?" She chewed her lip a moment, staring through the lacquered wood. "Taking responsibility for others' actions is an injustice to you and a disservice to them. I am wary of their bringing a stranger home, you must understand, but we mean you no harm." Amber hesitantly met his dark eyes over the gunmetal rims of her glasses.

"Yes, Sir." At that moment, Leonardo arrived bearing a wooden tray laden with cups and a small steaming teapot; tears pricked Amber's eyes at the familiar scent wafting up the spout. "Oolong," she choked out without considering how random the comment would seem.

"Miss O'Brien?" Leo asked warily. "Is something wrong?" She shook her head, smiling weakly.

"No...uh...Leonardo. It's just—I'm just weird, I guess. All the things I could miss from my old life, an' I miss tea. Sunrise coffee, lightnin' bugs at dusk, wadin' in the crick in summer, warm dirt underfoot an' the mornin' fog—nope, I miss tea."

"Sometimes things that seem trivial can mean the most to us," Splinter admitted solemnly as Leo excused himself from the room. "I am called Splinter, Child; you have already met my eldest, Leonardo, and my second eldest, Donatello; I'm sure you'll meet my other second eldest Raphael, and their younger brother Michelangelo, before the night is out. Your name is O'Brien, yes?" She stared a hole through the bottom of the teacup, soaking in the sweet perfume rising from it.

"Yeah," she answered softly. "My name's Amber O'Brien, that much I know's- true, but I don't have many answers…at least not that I can get out. Casey seems convinced I'm someone by the name of Kimber Bryant, but I'm not—I'm just stuck in her body, as crazy as that sounds." She winced; it did sound crazy...it also sounded sexual, proof that even in this life, she was cursed to be gutter-brained. "I'll gladly answer any questions you have—if I can get the words out, at least. I can't—"

A low grating sound above drew her attention - a raspy rumble halfway between overfilled coffee grinder and rapidly approaching coal train. She fought the panic rising in her chest but scanned deliriously for the demon she knew would arrive any moment to take her away…again. Familiar, horrifying images fought their way to the forefront of her mind, manifesting with alarming ease. "I…"

Crushed foundations stained with blood. Toppled buildings groan in the night. A battered doll hangs in a stripped tree like a grotesque scarecrow.

"I can't—"

Circling buzzards stalk the ruins of a farmhouse. Flies gather on a dark stain in the mangled turf. Faded white curtains dangle from an empty window like a flag of surrender. Wind howls through trees stripped bare—

"Puh-Please!" she cried, curling into a ball. "M—Make it stop! I can't—can't make it—"

"DONATELLO!" The sudden shout from Splinter's rooms wrenched the genius from his daze; had he really missed dinner while staring through the recovered security footage? "HURRY!" The panic in his father's voice sent him barreling toward the source, only to freeze in the doorway of Splinter's room in disbelief.

Amber lay curled on the floor in a ball, her hands clasped over her neck, shaking violently. Even without his goggles in place, he recognized what was happening. Blood pressure elevated, pulse rate rising, breathing rapid and irregular, drop in blood oxygen levels imminent… Between her raspy breaths and choked sobs troubling words leaked through, hinting at what she clearly couldn't tell them. Blood. Wind. Glass. Hurt. Storm. Dead. Aaron. School. Book…Donnie shook himself out of his stupor, rushing to his father's side and skidding onto his knees.

"She's having a panic attack!" he explained frantically as he pulled her away from the broken china cup on the floor - the teacup she was given clearly suffered in the panic. "How'd I not see it before?! We've gotta—" At the sudden weight on his legs, all thought fled his mind. His eyes dropped to the shaking body huddled against him, the head buried in his armored chest, and the two low pigtails brushing against his side. He turned in dismay to his father; Splinter nodded gravely, hastily lighting some incense at the table. Donnie forced back his nervousness to focus on monitoring Amber's vital signs and ignoring the unnaturally red hair whispering across his skin.

The first thing to manifest in Amber's mind was warmth; the second was a strangely familiar aroma of coffee and clean grease, and the pungent, smoky perfume of burning incense. A strong hand rubbed slow, calming patterns on her back while another held her close to something warm and smooth, fingertips poised carefully on her neck.

Out of the darkness, a low humming broke through—soft, slow murmurs from another lifetime promised patience and understanding—promised to fix her broken soul.** Last of all, a dusky brown came into view as the memories faded from her mind's eye. That was a familiar brown, she realized fearfully. A glance upward revealed the truth, and two concerned hazel eyes fixed on hers; the humming stopped.

HOW did she wind up in Donatello's LAP?! "Eheh…Hi?" she attempted. Though the worry never left his eyes, he cracked a weak smile.

"Hi." She glanced awkwardly from the turtle still rubbing her back to Splinter.

"How'd I get here? Please tell me I didn't jus' crawl into his lap." Neither answered, triggering a deep blush. Yup...she just crawled into his lap - didn't even buy'im a drink first. Splinter scrutinized her silently a moment, then momentarily locked eyes with his son.

"Your soul has some very deep scars, Miss O'Brien," Splinter murmured softly as he gathered the shattered china - regretful of the loss, but not condemning the cause. "Scars that are too tender for inspection, much less display. If you are willing, though, I may know of a way to see your past without forcing you to speak it. Would you care to try?"

Amber thought long and hard, still flustered at being seated across Donnie's very warm, very comfortable lap—a lap she had no memory of invading. Search though she did, though, she still came up with the same answer. "If it'd clear my name an' prove that you have nothin' to fear from me? I'd do just about anything."

"What's going on, Bruh?" Mikey whispered. Leo shushed him as Raphael lumbered over. The three of them peered warily into Splinter's room where he and Amber sat back to back, silent and still, clearly in deep meditation.

"Sensei's trying to see her past," Donatello answered gravely as he joined them. "Talking about it sends her into a panic attack; he's hoping that deep meditation will reveal what she can't, in the Astral Plane."

"Wow, she knows how to meditate?" Mikey eyed her warily. "Maybe she's a ninja—or a Jedi! OW!" he exclaimed at Raph's brain-duster.

"She's knocked out, Mikey," Donnie answered dryly. "I had to sedate her…again. From what I understand, the last train that passed over triggered a panic attack...just like we saw in the Station."

"What made her afraid of the subway?" Mikey asked dubiously as they watched their sensei at work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another time, another life, another world

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two people in the front seat seemed to have not a care in the world, Splinter mused. He didn't quite care for the music they were blaring, but they were obviously very happy. What he couldn't quite understand was why he was in their backseat, and where Amber was in this memory.

"Shaddup,- O'Brien!" the blond man grinned as he skipped another track. "Ozzy could kick Sinatra's ass any day of the week!" The woman in the driver's seat grinned widely, swatting his hand away from the stereo.

"Willis," she shot back. "There's more to life than who kin- kick whose arse—an' Sinatra's not that bad! His music's got a great—"

"Rammstein!" Aaron interrupted loudly, yanking a massive CD binder from under his seat and digging through it like a man possessed. "O'Brien, please tell me you've got some Rammstein in here. All this culture's gonna make me puke."

"Yer gonna make me puke." Splinter studied the driver intently; he couldn't believe it! He'd heard that voice, that awkward accent before—it was the voice and accent of Amber O'Brien, whose memories he was currently experiencing. This woman looked nothing like the Amber he'd met, though…this woman had to be at least two hundred pounds and several years older, and both warm brown braids were liberally streaked with grey. "You do realize 90% of Rammstein's music is just foul language and banging, right? Ya won't find any'a that crap in my car."

"Picky. So, word is they're gonna make a new TMNT movie soon!" Aaron piped up; the car swerved sharply and she grinned over at him excitedly.

"Yes! Omigosh, yes! When?!" Aaron burst out laughing.

"Psych!" he cackled. "Oh, the look on your face—was Donatello wearin' pants again?" Her entire face red as a beet, she whacked him in the shoulder.

"Screw you, Willis. Why did I ever tell you about that dream? I mean, seriously?" 'That Dream...' As though she hadn't dreamt of that Donnie for years, his refractive hazel eyes, his shy, gap-toothed smile, his permanent slouch...Damn. Hello, Gutter. "Ugh," she groaned reaching down to rub her right knee. "I can't wait to git out'a- this car—my knees're- killin' me."

"I'd say that'd teach ya to jump in front of a bus, but it prob'ly wouldn't."

"Dumbarse, Fer the las' time, I didn't jump in front of a bus. Some damn idjit- ran a red light an' hit me in the crosswalk. Startin' to think I preferred ya hungover—at least ya were quiet."

They had to be driving through a war zone, Splinter thought sorrowfully. What else could have turned the small town into such a disaster area? Trees were ripped up, buildings crushed, even the very pavement the car drove on was gouged and crumbled in places. Amber, hadn't spoken since they crossed the city limits and stared fearfully around her searching for landmarks that no longer existed. By the time they reached the remains of her home, it became abundantly clear to the unseen passenger: somehow, despite the drastically different appearances, he had indeed found Amber O'Brien.

From atop a pile of provisions, Splinter watched Amber and Aaron. The Town Hall's basement, though touted as a Fallout Shelter, was never meant for so many people and conditions were ridiculously crowded. Aaron bustled from one place to another making himself useful; Splinter never expected such selflessness from him after his behavior in the car, but he supposed even his boys were prone to misbehavior among friends.

As of yet, Amber simply sat in a vacant corner staring through the wall as though she were completely dead to the world. She'd not spoken since she and Aaron broke down on her battered front lawn, nor had she eaten any of the meals the blonde tried to coax her with. It was as though she'd simply ceased to exist. Splinter's heart ached, realizing the truth; she was in shock—so deeply in shock that she'd ceased to think or feel anything. As troubled by this revelation as he was, he missed the moment she finally moved from her corner. Quickly catching sight of her he followed behind as she climbed the creaking stairs and wandered aimlessly away from the shelter as though following a distant call.

Splinter could only guess why she came to the school. Feeling certain that something terrible was about to happen, he trailed behind her as she made her way to the library. With an almost wistful expression, she traced familiar shelves, digging through the scattered volumes for a particular tome. Its plain black cover was worn and faded from age, but the sight brought tears to her otherwise empty eyes. Among the ruins of the once proud building, she leafed through the book for a particular page and in a soft, haunting tone, read aloud.

"A deep force pulls me toward the window-blind, some impulse urges me to raise the shade; why is it that I tremble, half afraid, with formless terrors running through my mind? What are the dim dread images that bind my hand? Why is my arm so strongly stayed? What sense of overhanging doom has made me fearful? What the sight I shall find? Some warning voice calls out: Go back—go back! I could not turn though fronted by the rack. And so I slowly raise the shade to greet whatever on the other side should lie, and stare and stare in horror as I meet the leering of a huge and sightless eye." ***

Her empty eyes turned to the window, drawn by a sudden movement and crack of thunder; chills raced down Splinter's spine. He was only here in spirit and could not be harmed for that reason, but he knew something dreadful was about to happen.

Amber wandered over to the only intact window, peering about with vacant disinterest. As though summoned by the words she'd spoken, a deafening, grinding roar filled the air. A wall cloud loomed overhead as a funnel cloud touched down somewhere southwest of the battered building. Right before Splinter's eyes, she tucked the book securely in her arms and fell to her knees in the rubble and glass, bowing her head in prayer.

"Please," she mumbled softly. "Protect my family…protect my friends…protect this town and those who live here. Forgive us our trespasses and guide us in our time of need. Help Aaron understand, and keep him under your care...he's too stubborn to ask for help." Splinter's ears felt ready to burst from the horrible pressure; surely Amber was hurting too, but she gave no sign of anything—pain, fear, sorrow, nothing! "Please, Lord…please wrap your arms around those who have been brought down by these storms, help them rise from the ashes anew, and help them rebuild their lives…thank you for everything." Finally, the mask broke - regret twisted her eyes and shook her parted lips. "If you gave second chances, I'd ask only for—"

Before she could finish, the window burst inward raining shattered glass over her prostrate body. Splinter flinched, choking up at the sight. Almost immediately a glass brick from a nearby building came careening through the window frame and struck her in the head. As the light left her eyes, and she died on her knees, the aged rat mourned the woman who' gave up on life.

The sudden change in location was dizzying. Splinter gazed around him in confusion, trying to come to grips with what had happened. One moment he was in a small town high school library, standing at the side of a woman who'd died needlessly, next he stood in a familiar chamber. Intricate green and ivory tile, tarnished brass fittings, elegant bronze plaques, bright blue glass skylights and bare-bulb light fixtures…he gazed around him, struggling to make sense of the situation.

The abandoned City Hall subway station…He'd been pulled from a ruined schoolhouse to the abandoned City Hall station! Almost frantically he searched the large cavern; how could he have woken from his trance so far from his family?!

Movement in the corner startled him. He faded into the shadows with the ease of a ninja master, watching as a pile of rubbish shifted with a groan. "Aw, ma heid,"- a familiar voice groaned. Right before his eyes, Amber—the Amber his boys had brought to him—groggily struggled upright, rubbing her forehead right where the glass brick had struck her counterpart in his vision. The truth was all too clear now, though he still couldn't fathom how it was possible.

Amber O'Brien died at the school, died in the library from a blow to the head. Against all logic, she woke up in that very cavern in the body of another: a woman formerly known as Kimber Bryant. It made no sense, but still, he knew it was true. Right then, the roar of a passing tram echoed through the chamber. Amber screamed, falling to her knees with her hands over her neck, firmly in the grips of a panic attack. The world faded around Splinter as she fought the demons of her previous life, cowering in the rubbish of another.

When did his life become so complicated?

~~~~~~~ The Lair ~~~~~~~

Splinter came back to himself with a start, glancing feverishly around for his sons. In mere moments the four gathered around him, Raphael shooting distrustful glares at the still unconscious woman still seated against his back. Unbidden, the aged mutant recalled her death - the way she died slumped over on her knees, head bowed in prayer but back abnormally straight in defiance...he shuddered. Finally, sure he had everyone's attention, the aged rat answered the question hanging silently in the air.

"She speaks the truth...Kimber is gone; Amber lives again."

Amber regained consciousness to the sound of distant arguing. Never realizing she was being watched, she sat up cross-legged, rubbing her aching forehead. "Owww...Di' I skelp my heid er somethin'?"- she asked weakly, thickly.

"Blunt force trauma to the skull," Donatello muttered from the shadows. She jumped but gripped her skull again.

"When?" she asked quickly chasing the thick, gruff tone away from her words. "I don't recall ani'thin'- after that injection."

Donatello took a moment to compose himself, padding toward her and dropping to one knee at her side. "It's..." His fingers dug into the worn rug beneath them, anchoring himself in the moment. "You died. Do you remember?"

"Of course, I know I died," she answered slowly, "what I don't remember is the dyin' bit...an' why's my head killin' me?" Donatello stared through the still smoking incense, his shoulders fairly trembling. "Donnie?"

"A cube of blown architectural glass," he muttered, then hesitantly met her eyes. Her lungs forgot their purpose when he gently, almost timidly brushed her punch red bangs away from her forehead. The contact sent a sharp throb through her skull; against her will, she hissed at the pain. His face fell. "The point of impact...It was quick, but I can't guarantee it was painless." It took a moment but she finally realized the connection.

"Wait..." She cringed. "Yer tellin' me I was beaned in the brain-pan- with a glass brick?! The only place in town with glass bricks was Mum's church!" She scoffed bitterly. "Oh, the irony...everythin' that congregation put me through wasn't enough, the building had to kill me, too. I take it Master Splinter was able to see everything, then…an' he told y'all what happened."

"Not everything, no, but he gave us the basics…Raphael doesn't believe him." A sudden crash rang out in the living room, followed by Splinter shouting in Japanese. "We're safer in here, trust me."

"Safe?" she scoffed. "What's that? I was killed by a church - Nothin's safe anymore." She glanced over at her silent company, her cheeks pinking. "So did Splinter figure out how I got here, in this world?" Donnie shook his head, clearly disturbed by something.

"No, but he has an idea. He thinks you and Kimber might be inter-dimensional counterparts—the same soul existing in two different worlds—and that you were somehow drawn into her body when you both died. Sensei says you had regrets which may or may not be a factor." He dug his knuckles into the worn rug, clearly fighting some unknown emotion. "She died before you got there, probably the night before we found you." Not yet seeing the subtext, she sighed in obvious relief.

"You have NO idea what a relief that is," she muttered. "I've been so worried I somehow forced'er out of'er own body—that I'm responsible for her death! I just couldn't—Dee, what's wrong? Ya look like someone kicked your puppy!" He didn't answer; instead, he hoisted himself to his feet and padded dejectedly out of the room. It wasn't until later that night when he showed her to the spare cot in the Lab that she figured out what he wasn't saying.

He had arrived in time to prevent her death, but not Kimber's…and Purple Dragon or not, the knowledge weighed heavily on him. Amber spent the whole night staring at the concrete ceiling, ruminating. It seemed even in her new life, she was too careless with her words and actions.

Somewhere between rumbling trains, memory assaults, and musings about stunning hazel eyes, the sewer faded into the world of dreams.

Still with me, y'all? Sure hope so

 Words (Midwestern Twang unless otherwise noted)

- Ain't'cha? - 'Aren't you?' - Ani'thin' - Anything, a local pronunciation similar in cadence to "Anikin" if the name started with an 'Enn.' This may be a largely localized pronunciation as I've not heard it often and have never heard it outside my own area. - Cowk - Vomit, Scottish slang/Scots. - Di'n't / Din't - Didn't - Ma heid - Scottish slang my head. - Idjit - slang pronunciation of idiot. - Kin - This one has two different possible meanings depending on how it's used. If it's used as a noun, it means family, and not only blood relations but the family you choose. It's not a commonly used term anymore because people tend to associate it with family feuds and redneck living. If the word is used as a verb - as in "You kin kiss my arse," it's just a twisted pronunciation of "can," differentiated because the -a- is instead prounced -i- like bin. - Knees're - knees are - Out'a - Out of - Prob'ly  - Probably - Shaddup / Shuddup - 'shut up,' generally more common in the South than the Midwest, but in Southern Missouri, it's not unusual to hear either. The second pronunciation is the more common. - Di' I skelp my heid 'er somethin'? - Amber's first major speech relapse, this is mostly an ungodly meshing of twang and Scots. Basically, 'Did I hit my head or something?' - That much I know's true. - That much I know is true. - Beaned in the brain-pan - slang 'hit in the head'

- Adding 'e, 'is, or 'im to the end of a word - means he, his or him respectively. - Adding 'er to the end of a word - means her. - Adding 'ey, 'em, or 'eir to the end of a word - means they, them, or their respectively.

NOTES

* Credits for songs: "Time Warp" is by Patricia Quinn, Richard O'Brien, and Little Nell, from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." "Feed My Frankenstein" is by Alice Cooper, (AKA, the king of bizarre music) from album "Hey, Stoopid." Lastly, "Ballroom Blitz" is by the band Sweet, best known for this song, "Fox on the Run" and "Love Is Like Oxygen."

** The tune is Coldplay's "Fix You;' two guesses as to who's humming it, and you really should only need ONE. It's pretty obvious.

*** The book Amber reads here really exists. "Dark of the Moon" is a poetry anthology compiled by August Derleth, and includes "poems of fantasy and the macabre." It's highly uncommon—there were only a couple rather limited printings and most copies are found in libraries—but it's very much worth the read. "The Eye" was written by Donald Wandrei and is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. It appears exactly as it's typed in my copy of the book and it makes my inner grammar nazi twitch; the correct phrase would be "Why is my arm so strongly STAID," not "STAYED." RRRG! Pretty sure its copyright is expired, as the volume was published in 1947.

UP NEXT: You Can't Set a Broken Soul.

[art-killed-the-superstar]

i’m in love with the mecha turtles short and in headcanon hell i accidentally... started shipping, because i don’t headcanon they’re siblings based on how disjointed their teamwork was in the short lol. beneath is the context for this sketch, a vignette from a more complete fic i’m currently working towards. Not everything is explained because it’s part of a bigger picture, so if it gets confusing I’m sorry.

Rooftop Talks (Frida x Kusama)

“What are you doing topside?”

Frida peered down over the edge of the local pizza joint to see Kusama climbing out of the manhole, wobbling a little. She wasn't in the traditional dress that Frida had seen hanging in her wardrobe earlier, instead in some sweats and a duffel coat.

“Wanted some air. I thought you were making buckwheat noodles with Sensei?”

Kusama began to climb up the fire escape, wincing with every creak and groan from the rusty metal rungs, and Frida offered her a hand up.

“Yeah, they'll be ready in five. He told me to come get you so we could all eat them together. Looked everywhere, ya know.”

Frida offered an apologetic smile as she hoisted Kusama onto the roof.

“My bad.”

Kusama flopped down gracelessly next to Frida and peeked down at the small bottle in her hands. “That beer?”

“Cider, actually. Want some?”

Kusama blinked. “I'm fifteen, Frida.”

Frida shrugged. “And I'm sixteen, Mecha-langelo. I don't make a habit of this, you know, and neither should you, but it's new years so we might as well. Don't you like, drink way more alcoholic stuff in Japan at new years anyway?”

“Traditionally, we drink sake, but Mama's never let me try it,” Kusama said with a huff. “And Leo... hah! 'An inebriated ninja is a dead ninja' is what he always says! Whatever, tradition stinks. He sent me a kimono but I haven't even worn it yet.”

“There's still time before the countdown,” Frida said, handing Kusama the bottle. “Maybe put it on before the fireworks?”

“No way! He thinks sending me a pretty kimono is gonna change anything? I'd rather be in my jammies!” She patted her pikachu-patterned sweats with a grin. “Comfort beats fashion, any day.”

Kusama took a swig and pulled a face. “It's like... kinda bitter apple juice? With a bit of strawberry to it?”

“Yeah, it's the weak stuff,” Frida said with a laugh. “Raph would sometimes slip me one when we were on the road together. He was like, 'I'll only give you the apple juice stuff, so I don't get arrested for anything', but I didn't mind. I think he just didn't want to admit that he preferred the fruity ciders too. For some reason guys are sensitive about this stuff.”

Kusama filed this interesting scrap of knowledge in her mind for later.

“Men are weird.”

“That's for sure.”

Frida took the bottle back and sipped, staring up at the moon.

“You know, Leo cares about you. Reckon it's the guilt that made him send that kimono, not the goodness of his heart.”

Kusama rolled her eyes. “Don't need to tell me that, Fearless. I know he feels bad about it. Doesn't exactly make it right, does it?”

“Well, no.” Frida handed the bottle back, and they took turns drinking. “It's probably the same reason that Raph sent me that biker jacket for Christmas. He dumped me at Sensei's door after we got into a fight, so there wasn't any closure. Why'd we get stuck dealing with dumb old farts who can't just say they're sorry, huh?”

Kusama burst out laughing.

“That's an understatement! Leo hates being wrong. All these gifts he's been sending are just a testament to his guilt. Since he won't go back on his word, this is the next best thing.” She shivered, and instinctively Frida pulled her into a side on hug.

“It's getting cold out here,” mumbled Frida, feeling her heart begin to pick up as Kusama's smaller shoulders leaned in close.

“When are the fireworks starting again?”

“The big ones start around midnight, but I've seen people setting them off on every block,” she said dryly. Kusama wrapped her arms around Frida's waist, pulling her in a little closer.

“You know, you guys do things differently here, but at the end of the day it's all the same,” Kusama remarked. “When I first came here I expected New York to be so different to Japan, but in all honesty it's like a grimier version of Tokyo.”

“Oh, so it fell short of your expectations?” Frida joked, nudging her. Kusama giggled and rested her head against her shoulder.

“You aren't from here either, right?”

“No, I grew up in Philly,” Frida said, feeling electric as one of Kusama's stubby pigtails tickled her cheek. “It's different here, that's for sure, but... It's not so bad. I liked roadtripping with Raph, but it's nice having a roof over my head after so long. I like being here with you guys.”

She took the final swig and set the bottle down beside them.

“You had a rough time,” Kusama murmured softly, and Frida's heart felt like it was going to stop if things kept heading this way. “It's gonna get better.”

Frida forced a smile and rested her head atop Kusama's, even if it was slightly uncomfortable to strain her neck like that. “Of, of course it is! I mean, we're heading into the next decade! 2090 is gonna be so much better than 2089, I'm telling ya!”

Kusama reached over to squeeze Frida's hand, and the two of them found their faces inches apart.

“I hope so. 2089's been a shitty year,” Kusama admitted with a giggle that showed her missing teeth.

“Yeah,” Frida said quietly, heart in her mouth, unsure of where to train her eyes.

For a beat, the two of them sat in an unspoken ceasefire, just peacefully counting the moments they could sit like this and just relish in each other. Unfortunately, even ninjas were destined to be discovered eventually.

The scraping noise of a manhole being dislodged wrenched them from their own private moment.

“Fri? Kusama?”

They jolted apart like they'd been struck by lightning as the cover came off completely and Basque pushed himself out clumsily, peering around. “You guys up here? The noodles are ready!”

“We'll be down in a sec,” Frida called, hoping her face wasn't burning as red as it felt. Basque spied them sat on the roof, legs dangling, and frowned disapprovingly.

“Kusama, you're wearing slippers! What if you stepped on some glass? And, and what if you guys catch a cold? Come on, it's freezing out here!”

Kusama rolled her eyes and pulled one of her slippers off, lobbing it square at his forehead.

“Stop babying me, Mecha-tello, we're coming already!”

Basque pursed his lips but said nothing, leaving her slipper neatly beside the manhole lid before disappearing back down into the sewers. Frida and Kusama flopped back, lying flat against the roof, and erupted into helpless giggles.

“Oh my god,” groaned Frida, running her hand through her fringe. “Oh my god.” “His timing is just incredible,” snorted Kusama. She wound her fingers between Frida's and rolled over slightly so they were facing one another. “He sure knows how to pick his moments.”

“Damn straight,” Frida agreed, and burst out laughing all over again. When their giggles died down, the two of them watched each other for a few moments, and nothing really needed to be said. Besides, if they opened this particular can of worms again, Master Michelangelo would never let them hear the end of their tardiness. As prone to lateness as he was, to be late for a meal was near unforgivable.

Frida sighed, reluctant to let go of the moment, and sat up, releasing Kusama's hand. “Come on, let's go. Sensei will be wondering about us.” After a pause, she added, “They all will.”

“What's there to wonder about?” Kusama asked, with a grin that borderlined between sickeningly innocent and sweetly wicked. “Just two girls, hanging out on a rooftop in the dead of night...”

“Drinking something they shouldn't, almost doing something they also probably shouldn't,” Frida agreed, and Kusama rolled her eyes fondly.

“You know, I really don't think we're the type to put feelings before a mission objective, so if you're worried about it affecting the team...”

“Of course it won't,” Frida said quickly, beginning to climb down the freezing cold fire escape. “We're, y'know, professional. As the leader, I would never put the team at risk over, you know, emotional stuff.”

Kusama hummed in amusement and followed her down. “You know, I definitely wouldn't go easy on you in training. If we did decide to carry on with whatever that was on the roof.”

“Good,” Frida shot back, “because neither would I. You're still my teammate first and foremost, Kusama.”

“And you're still the know it all fearless leader.”

Kusama jammed on her rogue slipper and with one last wistful glance up at the waning moon, pulled the manhole lid over once more.

[thattahoeecojournalist]

Saint Bellamarre Catacombs

Title: Saint Bellamare Catacombs Word Count: 2,130 Project/Pairing: Saint Bellamare RP (The Very First Sebastian/ Raphael) Genres: Horror, Adventure Warnings: Horror, Cussing Notes: This short story takes place in the underground of Bellamarre. Older than anyone can remember, never mapped out before. The boys take on the challenge of exploring the catacombs with unexpected results.

Originally I had written this as a birthday present for Luke. This is how it all got started; fleshing out who they are, and what they’re like as people. If Luke minds, I can post art of them as well. Enjoy this first installment of short stories :)

“Fucking christ what time is it?” I kept shaking Raph without answer until he grabbed my arm and peered at my watch, bleary eyed.     “It’s about 8:15” I answered only after he sat up. The sun had just set about a half hour ago. He stretched and groaned smacking his lips in a satisfied manner. “You were asleep for three hours”, he rubbed his eye and scratched at his tuft of red chest hair. “A good nap is supposed to be twenty to forty minutes, you realize?” His eyes finally focused on mine, squinting a little in the light of my lamp.      “And mine was longer right? So it’s twelve times better” He said, reaching over onto the floor and picking up the shirt he threw there mere hours ago. He put it to his nose then put it on. “Why am I awake again?” I clenched my teeth and kept myself from saying something along the lines of ‘I need a human meat shield and you’re the only expendable option I thought of’.      “We’re gonna see if the barrels in the catacombs contain supplies” He leapt out of bed at that.     “Oh for god’s sake, Raph” I muttered, turning my gaze to the closest object on the wall. “Remember when I promised to not read until four in the morning in exchange for you not doing that” I heard him fiddle with his jean’s zipper followed by a belt.      “And you read until three in the morning so I wore blankets to bed. What’s fair is fair” he replied grabbing his bag. The bell tower rang its usual tune to tell the students that curfew is now in effect.       Without hesitation Raph flung the door open into oncoming student traffic. He shoved through annoyed first years like an unapologetic salmon swimming upriver. I followed close behind with my backpack slung over a shoulder and muttering a quick sorry to anyone either of us bump into.      Luckily within a few corridors, the students dispersed leaving us to ourselves. Raph squared his shoulders and barreled through new corridors without thought or worry. I also didn’t want to tell him that he made me feel safe. Standing nearly a head taller than I am, he offered an imposing figure that I could never achieve.      “So are we goin’ for a few bevs after we steal whatever’s down there?” he said turning down a final hallway to a dead end.      “You go ahead. I’d rather get some sleep” I replied holding up a lamp for Raph to see where he was going. The tall windows were too far away to offer any useful moonlight. With a swift motion he flipped over the rug to reveal an oaken trapdoor.      “If you took a nap, you wouldn’t need sleep” he said, motioning for the lamp. I handed it over as he lifted the door revealing an impenetrable darkness. The lamp offered nothing to light the ladder and beyond. “Ladies first” He said smiling and making a grandiose motion toward the ladder. I frowned at him and closed my eyes as I gripped the ladder rungs tightly on my way down.      A pit of fear grew in my gut with each step downward. I opened my eyes to see if I had any further to go. It didn’t matter if my eyes were open or closed. It was the same level of darkness either way.      I certainly didn’t feel better as my foot landed in something soft and squishy. I yanked it back out and clung to the ladder.      “This lamp’s heavy. Can you shove off so I can get down there?” Raph said from somewhere above me.     “I can’t see anything, Raph. Hand it down here” He bent down and gave it to me. I leaned out from the ladder and tried getting a lay of the land. We were indeed at the bottom.      I looked down to see what I stepped in. What a mistake. Several rats had died at the bottom of the ladder in in a peculiar pile. Or something threw them here. I shook my head and leapt over the small pile onto solid tiles.     “Watch your step” I warned. He stepped down onto the rats and simply walked to my side. My stomach did flips as terrible squishing noises emerged from under his feet.      “Bit nasty isn’t it” he said, searching through his bag. He took out a giant wrench and slung it over his shoulder. I looked at him agape. “Did you think I’d come here unprepared?” he said.      “Well no but….where’d you get that?”     “Metalworking. The supply room’s easy to jimmy” he said slinging his backpack over his other shoulder. “Let’s grab what we can and get out of here before I need to use it” he said almost gravely as he looked around in the dim area that my lamp fails to illuminate.      I looked around too. We were in a corridor that reached out for who knows how long. Stone archways reached overhead dripping with water and mold. The only semblance of direction we could gather is that the two trenches on either side of the tiled pathways had water currents flowing forward.      I steeled myself and pushed forward, lamp extended, careful not to look at what I’m stepping in. A series of empty barrels where other students scavenged started appearing in nearby hallways. The further we went, the more they appeared, with a few objects at the bottom of them.      We made sure only to scavenge the ones on the main pathway, there’s no telling what twists and turns these dark corridors would take us. We walked about a mile. It felt like twelve.      Something kept pushing us. Perhaps it was that we found more useful things the further we went. Raph pocketed all the matches we found. I dug through rotten food to retrieve unreadable scrolls and potion ingredients.      Maybe it’s that I got more and more curious as we walked further and further. Raph must’ve been curious as well because he didn’t start complaining until we were nearly two miles down the road.      “My shoulder is starting to hurt something fierce. And my feet hurt like a bitch” he started to mention. “Can we go back now?”      “One more barrel and I promise” I said. I hoped that it’d be worth all the effort. I reached in and retrieved newt eyes, frog legs, and one really heavy book. “Here, hold this” I handed him the lamp and flipped over the book. Latin. All of it.      “Can we just bag it please? Let’s go” he complained again. I sighed and shoved it into my bag. He was a good sport about coming so I might as well go along with what he wants.      “I’ll even buy you a drink when we get back” I said as we started back where we came from.     “It better be a good drink. None of those watered down cocktails” he said, shifting the wrench from one shoulder to the other.     “Whatever drink you want that’s under twelve bu-“ I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t see it clearly but we couldn’t possibly have made it back already. I walked faster and my light reached a wall in front of us. It looked the same as the dead end we entered near. With one very worrying difference.      “Where’s the ladder gone” Raph said, walking in front of me. He swiped at the air with his arm. “It’s just not here anymore” He stomped around looking at the ceiling. I just stood there with my arm out, frozen. “There’s not even a hole”       “Raph, did we make a turn somewhere?” I managed to say out loud. “Are we lost?” He whirled around and looked at me, a flash of fear in his eyes.      “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure we just went straight” he said. I turned around in a slow circle, going toward each possible direction.      “Let’s go back and retrace our steps” I finally said, “Maybe we just got turned around when we were scavenging” Raph let out a sigh of relief.      “Yeah, ok. Let’s do that” We began to walk back the way we came with Raph taking the lead this time. Our footsteps echoed in the empty chambers as we made our way back to the ladder.      We didn’t speak. I was too busy concentrating on not stepping on the amount of dead squishy things.     “Oh no….oh fuck. Shit” Raph began to swear more and more and sped up. I jogged to keep up and finally saw what he spoke of. Another dead end. “That’s impossible. We were just through here” He took his wrench off his shoulder and began to pound on the wall. With every slam, he cursed and bits of concrete flew everywhere.      “Raph, stop. You’re only wasting your energy” I said coming up behind him. He threw a look at me that made me shiver.     “Then how bout you do something. Get us the fuck out of here” he said. I turned around and looked down the hallway. He kept pounding.      “Raph…stop. Give the light here” I said, my blood audibly rushing in my ears. I held it up and my heart rate kicked into high gear. The place we just came from. The wall. It’s right there. It’s barely out of my light radius but it’s definitely right there. “Raph….do you see this?” He walked up next to me.       “Oh my….god” he barely whispered. “The walls are getting closer” We spun around. The wall was definitely a few yards away. Now our noses nearly touched it. Raph spun around again. “Sebastian, the other wall’s about fifteen feet away” I put the lamp down.      “Keep your eye on this one, I’ll look at the other one” I said sitting down on the floor and rummaging through my bag.     “What’re you doing?” he shouted keeping his eyes trained on a wall. I flipped open the book, keeping my back to a wall. My Latin is rusty but I can puzzle through a few paragraphs.       “Trying to see if there’s some sort of ritual I could do to get us out of here” I replied, scanning the pages frantically.      “The sides are getting closer too, Seb”, he said, looking at all the walls as quickly as he could. “I can’t look at them all by myself” I finally flipped open to a page that had two circles and a line of text separating them. I scanned through the instructions and looked up. Rat bodies were stacked up against the wall behind me as though they’d been pushed. The side walls had overtaken the water currents and contributed their own piles.      I began picking them up and arranged them in a semi-neat circle around Raph and myself.      “We don’t have time. Hurry up” he shouted.     “I’m doing my best, it takes a bit of time to arrange an alchemical circle” I said, looking up at what he meant. The walls around us offered about a ten foot by ten foot square. We were really running out of time.      I finished the circle and began etching into the tiles with one of the many bones that were strewn about. I probably set the world record for the most hastily drawn circle of all time. I put the book in the center and brought the lamp closer. Raph stood over me and kept his wrench up above his head. Scraping noises started to grate on my ears and I looked up quickly.      The walls pushed up against us until the rat piles nearly spilled onto my circle. The edges of Raph’s wrench were propped against both walls. “Seb, do it now!” I snapped out of my fear trance and looked down at the page, finding the sentence we needed. I read the sentence word for word as the wrench groaned under the pressure. I finished the ritual and the lamp went out. I shut my eyes and hoped.     Nothing happened. Then my ears could faintly pick up cricket noises. “Raph, are you ok?” Raph gasped deeply and put his hands on his knees.      “Jesus fuckin Christ, Seb” he wheezed. He’s fine probably. I looked down to see my book and lamp were in the middle of a crude circle on the trapdoor we had used to enter the catacombs. It looked to be drawn on with someone’s fingernails. “I’m not going down there again”      “Agreed” I picked up my things from the hatch. My blood still raced in my ears and I wanted more than anything to erase what happened from my mind.      “I’m gonna need a stiff drink or four” he said. For once, it sounds like a splendid idea.      “I think I’ll join you”

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

MC Re-Watch-Before and After

We’ll start off with the case, since I rarely talk about any of the cases. I did think this was a better episode, and better case than the first episode. What this guy did, preying on young women with low self esteem was heart wrenching. I was certainly not sorry that he ended up dead.

“You haven’t been in charge for 8 years”. “Yeah, well now I’m mad about it.”–This exchange between Andy and Provenza really shows the difference in their acceptance levels of their new leader. It is interesting  that it took the entire first season of “The Closer” for Andy to come to terms with Brenda’s leadership, whereas, here we are in episode 2 of MC and he’s already telling Provenza to get over it. Conversely, while Provenza often grumbled, because that’s just who he is, and openly mocked Brenda in the beginning, he accepted her far more quickly than Andy did–and he never actively tried to get rid of Brenda the way Andy did. I think this shows that first of all, Andy is definitely not that same guy from season 1 of TC (when he had the Sharon role of being Brenda’s antagonist and was written to be a real jerk most of the time) and that Andy has found a comfort level in working with Sharon off and on over the past three years, whereas Brenda was a completely unknown entity when she stepped on the scene. Also, I’m not sure what the structure was before Priority Homicide was created, but now that it exists and is just changing its name, Provenza assumed that as second in command he would simply step into the leadership role. When that didn’t happen after all his years of service it was a real blow. Yes, he’s pissed that it was given to someone with far less experience in homicide, but as he later says, his feelings aren’t personal, anyone other than him in that office is a slap in the face to him. Andy is happy where he is so he doesn’t have that feeling of being overlooked.

“She makes me keep all my clothes in trash bags”- LOL, Rusty is really working it. Sharon is mortified. But it gives the opportunity to get a little Sharon backstory. Her kids keep clothes in the guest room for when they visit, so they aren’t just off at college and her husband keeps one suit in there in case he visits.

“My husband and I have been legally separated for 2 decades, I can assure you he does NOT live here.” The emphasis on that not tells us there is definitely some bad blood there but the suit in the closet proves there is still a tenuous connection.”

“Are you going to grace us with your presence at the crime scene?” “I’m sorry Lt. Are you in over your head?” Great humor here, and more insight into how Sharon will be running things compared to Brenda. Provenza isn’t sure what to do without Brenda running in and taking over, whereas, Sharon trusts him to be able to take charge of things, knowing they are all fully capable in her absence. Also, the sarcastic retort from Sharon is very much in line with Sharon from TC. She is starting to feel more comfortable in her role. This whole home visit scene also shows us that Sharon is now a single mother again and she is going to have to jump right back into that juggling act, balancing the needs of her “child” and her work.

“I wouldn’t mind living here myself.”-Oh Cynthia, me too! I love Sharon’s condo–though it’s time for the Raydor/Flynn/Beck family to move on and find a home that is theirs.

Now as far as Rusty goes, I’m not sure what he hopes to achieve in trying to sabotage his placement with Sharon. His mother is still nowhere to be found, they aren’t going to let him live on his own again and if he isn’t with Sharon he’ll just end up in another foster home, which he hated. So, it doesn’t make much sense except for showing us that Rusty is so messed up at this time he would rather live on the streets and prostitute himself because there was a sense of freedom in that then to be in a comfortable home being watched over and told what to do by somebody. Also, it shows how strong the parental bond is. Sharon Beck often didn’t feed Rusty, she was a drug addict who overdosed more than once in front of him, she went from one druggie boyfriend to another, prostituted herself in front of him, allowed her boyfriends to beat him up and finally abandoned him at the zoo–leaving him to have to sell himself to survive and yet he is still desperately hoping to find her–as if when he does his world will magically be okay again. She’ll be drug free, will apologize for leaving him and all be right with the world. Sure, it’s a pipe dream, but that’s all he has to hold on to. I think Rusty is where Sharon was  20-25 years ago, still hoping that Jack might come around, clean up his act and be the husband she wishes he would he would be. She gave up on that dream a long time ago, just as Rusty will in the next couple years–both finally able to see Sharon Beck and Jack Raydor for exactly who they are, not who they want them to be.

Who is in charge here?- Provenza tries to take control of the murder room. Sharon is still treading a bit lightly and doesn’t directly call him out but she quite firmly asks Andy to join her in the interview room and gives Provenza a stern look. She is not happy with him. Andy follows Sharon and gives Provenza a “you jerk” look. Andy has definitely joined team Sharon.

Sykes bursting in on the interview-She’s definitely a rookie in all this and has a lot to learn. Sharon, while frustrated, has the patience to train her without tearing her down or making her feel like an idiot. Love Andy’s “she’s dumb and smart at the same time” and then Provenza’s “oh, she’s not dumb, she’s choosing sides” because Provenza is not only talking about Amy, he  is also referring to Andy. It also shows that Sharon truly understands teamwork, whereas Provenza–and Taylor don’t. You can’t have sides on a team, you all need to be working as one to achieve the best results.

“You do realize there’s a freeze on all promotions.“ “Except apparently on Asst. Chiefs”-

Sharon was promised a promotion to commander by Pope and Taylor when she agree to take over Major Crimes- It’s not surprising that they didn’t come through on their promise. Both of these men have always been on power trips and if they have to stab people in the back to get what they want, they will. There is no sense of honor or loyalty, it’s all about getting what they want. Taylor got exactly what he wanted, he got a new rank with his job and proved that he is actually even worse than Pope. At least Pope sometimes felt bad about the way he jerked people around. Taylor was a total prick in his scene with Sharon, telling her the JOB is her promotion and that it’s a gift. A GIFT, are you effing kidding me? Basically he was telling her– Hey, you’re a woman, you’ve spent your career in FID, you’re over 50, you ought to be grateful you even got that job so you shouldn’t be complaining that you didn’t get the commander title we promised you. As if she hadn’t earned any of it. No, they promised her commander, they didn’t say “we’re giving you a gift in this job.“ Pathetic. Of course Taylor is the same age as Sharon and he got his job and the rank he was promised–the only difference is that he is a man. In one of the WWSRD pod casts Mary talked about that and said that she did believe that the reason Sharon didn’t get the rank increase was because she was a woman and that women have to deal with being overlooked like this all the time. And remember, it’s not just the rank, with the rank increase there is also a salary increase, so Sharon lost out on that too.

Sharon has to file this one away as just another of life’s little disappointments and try to make the best of things, which seems to be something she’s had to do all her life, both professionally and personally. But at least now she has Taylor’s measure. He is not a team player, not an ally and not someone she can ever really trust.

“He needs to stop by sometimes, he’s the father of my children.”Though we don’t know this yet, it does give us more insight into the Raydor marriage/separation. Emily later says that Sharon would not let Jack around her and Ricky when he was drinking. So,  when Jack did make one of his infrequent visits they were done in Sharon’s presence because she couldn’t trust him. Hence the suit. She wasn’t going to let her kids go off with Jack anywhere, it would all be supervised by her which was just another reason not to divorce him.

“There are some very good things about him although I can’t think of anything right now.”- This is not a woman pining for anyone. While she doesn’t hate her semi-ex and tries to remember there are good things about him, he is definitely completely out of the picture.

“I am not your child, and kids like me don’t get into college and we both know that.”–Though this is only a temporary arrangement Sharon is trying to do the very best she can for Rusty, because that’s just who she is. She could easily have just dumped him in public school and let them deal with him. Instead, she is trying to get him into the exclusive, and expensive, Catholic school that she sent both of her children to (subtly showing us that in accepting Rusty into her home she is accepting him as one of her children) and explaining to him how great the school is and how it helped both her children get into great colleges.

This statement right here shows us that while Sharon has raised two children she is going to have to learn to relate to Rusty in a different way. She raised her children with education as a priority, so yes, getting into a good college was something that was important to Emily and to Ricky, but it isn’t to Rusty.

College is something that isn’t even on Rusty’s radar at this point. Just a few weeks ago he was turning tricks to survive and now this woman is talking about college? It’s too much for him, hence his explosion. First of all, to accept Sharon’s vision for his future means he is giving up on his mom, which at this point he is not willing to do.

Also, Rusty‘s never had expectations made of him before, other than the expectation that he take care of his mother. Sharon Beck was far more interested in getting wasted than worrying about what school Rusty went to or his homework and grades—and certainly college was never anything that was even remotely discussed. It’s a lot of pressure on him. How is he supposed to live up to the ideal of Sharon’s children whom he’s never even met before and who had been raised with the kind of interest and expectations that he‘s never experienced?

And last but not least why hope for something that is unattainable? He truly doesn’t believe he’ll be staying with Sharon and wherever he ends up, college will not be something he can ever hope for. Nor at this point does he think it’s important. Being raised the way he was, education was certainly not a priority so by now Rusty really has no hope of a better life.  In fact the only thing he hopes for is to find his mother. That is one of the many things that Sharon will bring into Rusty’s life, a hope for a better future.

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal of this, dirt bags get deals all the time”-Andy really can’t understand why Provenza is having such a hard time adjusting because he has already put the past behind him and seems happy with the new arrangement. Provenza basically admits that he’s too old and set in his ways to deal with another long term unhappy relationship.  Having overheard this statement, as usual Sharon handles things very well. She could have ignored it, or confronted him belligerently the way Winnie Davis would have, but instead she steps in and commiserates with him, offering up the idea that they both probably have misconceptions about each the other. When Provenza declines her offer of dinner and a drink he does understand that she is offering an olive branch and admits that it isn’t just about her personally, that anyone in that office other than him would be an insult. He then says that if he stays he’ll only complain and point out her mistakes. But that is exactly what Sharon needs–and she admits that to him by asking “Haven’t you  been around long enough to be able to speak your mind and respect my rank?” When he says the situation sucks, Sharon agrees. She too is disappointed. She didn’t get the promotion she wanted and was promised but unlike Provenza she accepts that life isn’t always fair and moves on trying to make the best of things.

Then, because Sharon understands people and what makes them tick, she is able to turn things around and offer Provenza the out that he needs to stay with MC and save face at the same time. She handles people and their egos very, very well and she doesn’t always need to get an in your face win. She got what she wanted without rubbing Provenza’s face in anything.

“I’m here and your mother is not, and you are going to have to make the best of it”–Just as she is starting to gain control at work, Sharon is now gaining control in her relationship with Rusty.  No longer will she tread quite so lightly. Rusty is going to start learning about respect and boundaries. It isn’t easy, Rusty is used to being the parent in the parent/child relationship, so Sharon laying down the law is rather shocking to him–and it doesn’t set well–however, he does listen to her and moves his things into the spare bedroom which will become his room.

Sharon then ends the day exactly the way she ended it in the first episode, exhausted on her couch. This hasn’t been an easy transition, personally or professionally.

[erinych]

Steve | Parents Have Their Ups and Downs... Or Just Downs

¤▪Warning▪¤ Same gender/sex relationship and a bitch of a mother

Steve and y/n drove up to a large house. It was a cute, baby blue, 2 story with a screened in front porch wrapping halfway around the entirety of the house. A small garden sat in front of the porch and rose bushes grew along the outside of the fence. A tree protected the left side of the yard from the sun, were three dogs were sprawled. A porch swing, a fan and a rocking chair sat on the porch and a tire swing and hammock could be seen in the backyard.

It looked like the houses that Steve had typically seen in the movies y/n had shown him where the family looked perfect but ended up being a complete mess. Hopefully that wasn't y/n's family. Y/n, who was now obviously driving, parked their car and opened his door, Steve following. As soon as the car was locked, y/n stuffed the keys in the pocket of his jeans before they walked towards the gate entrance.

The dogs, who had heard the gate open, all got up and ran over to the duo, sniffing and licking them as if they'd never see them again. Finally, Steve and y/n escaped the trio of dogs and walked up towards the screen door, opening it and making their way to the front door. Y/n knocked a rythmic pattern and the two men waited for a few moments before the door opened. An older man, who looked to be about 50-60 years old, greeted them with a smiling face.

"Hey, dad. Haven't seen you in, like, a decade, huh?" Y/n greeted the man, whom Steve now knew was y/n's dad, with a shaky voice.

"Hey, kiddo. Me and (y/[s/b]/n or Amelia) are real happy to see ya. Who's the gentleman you brought with you?" Y/n's father questioned.

"Dad, this is Steven. Steve this is my dad. You can call him Mr. Y/l/-" "Oh nonsense, call me y/d/n." Y/d/n interrupted before y/n could speak.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir. Y/n was raised wonderfully" Steve said as he shook y/d/n's hand.

"Good to hear, good to hear and might I say, you've got a good grip. Anywho, come on in, both of you!! The party just started!!!" Y/d/n exclaimed.

A few good hours passed before another knock came at the door. Everything paused as y/n went to get the door, and just as it opened an older woman dressed in a tight dress wrapped in faux fur pushed pass y/n with a man dressed in a suit. As the woman's heels clicked against the hardwood floor, Steve could see the angered expression that y/n threw at his father.

Y/d/n gave y/n an apologetic look that basically said 'I'm sorry but I wanted to see you before it was too late'. Y/n closed the door, but not before letting the dog trio inside, which were some really large dogs. The dogs, who were named Chloe, Rusty and Max, all ran pass the woman, who stumbled as they made a beeline for the kitchen. Y/n stalked over quietly as if he was gonna attack the fancy woman.

"Eewww!!!! I can't believe you kept these things y/d/n!!! They're a bunch of mutts!!!" The woman complained.

"You ignorant woman, mutts are dogs that have unidentified breeds mixed into them. They aren't mutts because we know what their breeds are." Y/n stated, annoyance laced in every word he spoke.

"Ugh. I don't know why you kept him either. He's just as much of a mutt as his moth-GAAAH" She screamed as she fell. She smacked her back on the floor pretty hard and before anyone could say anything about his actions, y/n made a beeline for the front door, slamming it shut as he ran to the car. Suddenly, Steve's phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and read the message that stated "We're going home NOW" He closed his phone before he stood.

Steve said his goodbyes to y/n's family before making a beeline for the car. He sat down and buckled his seatbelt before he felt the car quickly race backwards and soon they sped off to Stark Towers. Y/n face was wet with tears that came down like nonstop waterfalls. The car ride was short and silent. As soon as they made it to Stark Towers, y/n pulled the keys from the ignition and slammed his head onto the steering wheel.

He lifted his head up before screaming and beating on the wheel, causing the horn to sound a few times, scaring a few of the late workers. He slammed his head on the steering wheel again and began sobbing. Not light, sweet, little sobs. Full on body shaking, heart wrenching, ugly sobs. Steve saw that blood was very evident on y/n's knuckles and decided to take matters into his own hands.

He opened his car door and shut it before walking around to the driver's side and opening the door. At that point, y/n was tugging at his hair and scratching at his scalp, blood making an appearance on his fingernails, too. Steve crouched down and turned y/n so he was facing him. He slipped his hands into y/n's so he would loosen them from his hair and sat there, waiting for y/n's sobs to quiet down so he could talk to him.

Soon, it was to the point where y/n's eyes were half-lidded, he was still shedding light tears, his breathing was shaky and he looked about ready to collapse. Steve stood up taking y/n with him, and closed the car door, making sure the keys were somewhere safe. He lifted the smaller male up and carried him to the doors of the tower. By the time they made it up to their shared floor, y/n was sound asleep. His breathing was raspy from the amount of crying he did but Steve knew nothing else was wrong with him respiratory wise. Steve decided to lay y/n down before returning to the lounge floor, where the Avengers hung out. He had changed into something more casual before returning so he didn't look too bad.

Natasha looked in his direction and spoke up. "So how did it go with the parents Rogers?" She lightly smiled at him. At his furrowed eyebrows, pursed lips and shaking head, her smile fell and she looked worried.

"Is everything okay? Nothing happened to him, right?" Bruce questioned, honestly worried about his teammate.

"I honestly don't understand what happened. He was fine one minute, this lady shows up and says some rude things and boom. He's a mess. He kicks her and she's on the floor and then he's gone. He throws some serious tantrum out front and hirts himself. I'll have to bandage him up in the morning but for now I'll just let him sleep."

The Avengers looked worriedly towards the elevator that Steve came from and that back at him. Even Tony looked really worried and that wasn't completely normal. At the shake of his palm, they all invited him to come sit with them.

In the morning, Nat did come with Steve to help him with y/n and they sat through lots of crying, hugs and unfinished sentences before they understood what had happened. They bandaged him up and tried to help him have a good day. Nat was a lot of help cause if she wasn't there, Steve would've been lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope y'all enjoyed cause it was actually fun to write. It was inspired by my relationship with my father. Not the best, at all. Anyway, I'll come around with other stuff. If you wanna request, just send me a message beginning with "Request:" so I know it's a request and not another person trying to rape me over the internet don't do it that's really weird and I'm like super underage sooooo yeah, weird. Anyway, come back soon for more or not so soon.

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life - 4: The Truth

A quick note: the book Dark of the Moon is an obscure poetry volume but it’s very much worth the read. The poem Amber reads aloud in this chapter is from that very book; ‘The Eye’ by Donald Wandrei is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. Secondly: Occasional short, graphic present tense passages in italics denote intrusive memories; intrusive memories can be very overwhelming when they occur, and in my own experience, the memories they show are often exaggerated and warped, and sometimes even worse than what actually happened. This chapter dedicated to everyone reading, following, and fav'ing this story—especially ImpartingAbyss, for reviewing and just being hilarious!Trigger Warnings: Grossness, Intrusive memories, disturbing, graphic imagery, panic attacks, religious references, violent death.

Suggested Listening: Coldplay, “Fix You,” Breaking Benjamin, “Fade Away”

-----------------

4: The Truth  

-----------------

‘Great, Amber,’ she thought to herself as she hung face-first over the stream of running wastewater, hacking up a meal she didn’t remember eating. 'Ya didn’t cowk- all over Don’s shell, but ya barely missed'is feet. Yer just too hot fer ya own good, ain'tcha?’- She spat once more, swiping a used tissue across her lips; hopefully, the other two hadn’t seen her yank it out of her shirt. It’s awkward enough getting caught using a bra for a pocket, but when you’re clearly braless, people start wondering where you stashed whatever you just pulled out…and handy as boob-pockets were, it wasn’t something she was ready to admit.

“S-Sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t do so well with heights…just gimme a sec.” Heat flooded her cheeks at the small metal canteen held at her eye level. “Thanks.” She gratefully rinsed her mouth out and snapped the topper back on. “I’ll wash that later—there anythin’ you DON’T have in that bag'a yers?”

“The sink,” he answered simply. Once her stomach settled, the blindfold went back on and she was lifted up over his shoulder again, thanking her lucky stars she couldn’t see how high up she was. Not long after, her ears were assaulted by the screech of a rusty hinge; she felt her carrier tense.

“Better oil that,” Leo said simply.

“As soon as this is resolved,” Donnie replied lowly. “'Til then, it can wait.” The shoulder Amber rested on slouched; she knew without a doubt what was going through his mind and it was unpleasantly familiar. Without Donatello, the lair would fall apart—the family would fall apart. As much as they depended on him, though, the others tended to take him for granted without even realizing it. It always broke her heart to see it before, knowing all-too-well just how it felt, and now it was even more distressing. She couldn’t say anything, though. After all, she already proved that she knew more than she should, and would only be more suspicious. A gentle squeeze of his other shoulder conveyed what words could not, but sent a worrisome shiver through him.

“What is going on here?” a slightly raspy voice burst out. “Boys, why have you brought a stranger into our midst?!” Leonardo hurried to greet their father and master.

“We had no other choice, Master,” He explained hurriedly. “The alarms were set off by this woman—she almost froze to death down here! We took her to April’s, but…” He winced, trailing off.

“Casey disagreed,” Donnie finished dryly. “From the tantrum he’s throwing, you’d think she insulted his mother.” Amber shrunk into the warm shoulder, certain she was in some serious trouble…even though she hadn’t insulted any mothers lately. How could she have followed them home? How could she have believed they could bring her back to the Lair with them without trouble from Splinter? The Canon versions of him always struck her as crotchety but wise rather than prone to pointless anger but the idea of angering the aged Rat gave her chills. And Raphael…Casey had insisted that he and Raph had 'busted’ Kimber repeatedly; she’d have no ally in Raph, she was sure of it, and that knowledge made her feel bitter.

“We did blindfold her, see?” The nervous reminder - Leo’s attempt at placating Splinter’s worries - drove Amber to blush.

She cringed behind the purple fabric blocking her vision. They blindfolded her alright—with a slightly ratty purple kerchief from Donnie’s trouser pockets. Her lungs were too flooded with his familiar - and mouth-watering - scent (coffee, clean grease, a faint hint of spice, and clean sweat) to notice the sewer funk, but she’d been forced to take drastic measures to stifle her body’s reaction to the combination. By the time they reached the lair, she’d mentally replayed the most bizarre songs she could think of - Time Warp, Feed My Frankenstein, Ballroom Blitz, nothing was overlooked.* As hard as she focused on distracting herself by methodically dissecting every possible meaning of every lyric, she never noticed the ninjas’ breaths growing more and more shallow by the moment.

Soft grumbling from the woman still slouched over Donnie’s shoulder made the brothers meet eyes in an awkward wince. To the average human, the woman’s scent wouldn’t have registered, but they were more than human - to them, the sudden flood of pheromones was stifling, and it seemed to only strengthen.

“Bring her here,” Splinter conceded wearily, settling himself at the low table in his room. Donatello followed, easing Amber to the floor as Leo went about boiling water for tea. With a gentle tug of fabric, the barrier was gone from Amber’s eyes, taking with it the delightful aroma that had driven her mad. She remained silent, head bowed and eyes closed as Donnie excused himself to the lab, leaving the door parted behind him. “We’re no savages, Child, you needn’t hide your eyes.”

“S-Sorry,” she mumbled shyly, glancing furtively up at the being on the other side of the table. “I’m not afraid of you…just—well, nervous an’ sorry for getting your sons in trouble.” His whiskers twitched in a suppressed smile as he recognized her odd speech from his stories; she spoke with what he interpreted as a Midwestern twang that bordered on Southern drawl, but it seemed off somehow - warped in some places and some pronunciations were forced, as though the strange woman was mimicking something foreign. He saw no threat in her posture or behavior, though, and decided to overlook the odd woman’s speech quirk.

“Well, this changes things,” he answered seriously. “I had no idea you forced my boys to bring you here against their own good judgment. How could an unarmed woman not much taller than myself accomplish such a feat?”

“What?” she objected frantically, finally looking up to fully meet his eyes. She was visibly horrified - good, maybe she wasn’t a threat. “No, I di'n’t- do any of that—I never asked'em- to bring me here! They…well, I’ve got nowhere else to go, an'—”

“Then you are not directly responsible for them bringing you here?” She chewed her lip a moment, staring through the lacquered wood. “Taking responsibility for others’ actions is an injustice to you and a disservice to them. I am wary of their bringing a stranger home, you must understand, but we mean you no harm.” Amber hesitantly met his dark eyes over the gunmetal rims of her glasses.

“Yes, Sir.” At that moment, Leonardo arrived bearing a wooden tray laden with cups and a small steaming teapot; tears pricked Amber’s eyes at the familiar scent wafting up the spout. “Oolong,” she choked out without considering how random the comment would seem.

“Miss O'Brien?” Leo asked warily. “Is something wrong?” She shook her head, smiling weakly.

“No…uh…Leonardo. It’s just—I’m just weird, I guess. All the things I could miss from my old life, an’ I miss tea. Sunrise coffee, lightnin’ bugs at dusk, wadin’ in the crick in summer, warm dirt underfoot an’ the mornin’ fog—nope, I miss tea.”

“Sometimes things that seem trivial can mean the most to us,” Splinter admitted solemnly as Leo excused himself from the room. “I am called Splinter, Child; you have already met my eldest, Leonardo, and my second eldest, Donatello; I’m sure you’ll meet my other second eldest Raphael, and their younger brother Michelangelo, before the night is out. Your name is O'Brien, yes?” She stared a hole through the bottom of the teacup, soaking in the sweet perfume rising from it.

“Yeah,” she answered softly. “My name’s Amber O'Brien, that much I know’s- true, but I don’t have many answers…at least not that I can get out. Casey seems convinced I’m someone by the name of Kimber Bryant, but I’m not—I’m just stuck in her body, as crazy as that sounds.” She winced; it did sound crazy…it also sounded sexual, proof that even in this life, she was cursed to be gutter-brained. “I’ll gladly answer any questions you have—if I can get the words out, at least. I can't—”

A low grating sound above drew her attention - a raspy rumble halfway between overfilled coffee grinder and rapidly approaching coal train. She fought the panic rising in her chest but scanned deliriously for the demon she knew would arrive any moment to take her away…again. Familiar, horrifying images fought their way to the forefront of her mind, manifesting with alarming ease. “I…”

Crushed foundations stained with blood. Toppled buildings groan in the night. A battered doll hangs in a stripped tree like a grotesque scarecrow.

“I can't—”

Circling buzzards stalk the ruins of a farmhouse. Flies gather on a dark stain in the mangled turf. Faded white curtains dangle from an empty window like a flag of surrender. Wind howls through trees stripped bare—

“Puh-Please!” she cried, curling into a ball. “M—Make it stop! I can’t—can’t make it—”

“DONATELLO!” The sudden shout from Splinter’s rooms wrenched the genius from his daze; had he really missed dinner while staring through the recovered security footage? “HURRY!” The panic in his father’s voice sent him barreling toward the source, only to freeze in the doorway of Splinter’s room in disbelief.

Amber lay curled on the floor in a ball, her hands clasped over her neck, shaking violently. Even without his goggles in place, he recognized what was happening. Blood pressure elevated, pulse rate rising, breathing rapid and irregular, drop in blood oxygen levels imminent… Between her raspy breaths and choked sobs troubling words leaked through, hinting at what she clearly couldn’t tell them. Blood. Wind. Glass. Hurt. Storm. Dead. Aaron. School. Book…Donnie shook himself out of his stupor, rushing to his father’s side and skidding onto his knees.

“She’s having a panic attack!” he explained frantically as he pulled her away from the broken china cup on the floor - the teacup she was given clearly suffered in the panic. “How’d I not see it before?! We’ve gotta—” At the sudden weight on his legs, all thought fled his mind. His eyes dropped to the shaking body huddled against him, the head buried in his armored chest, and the two low pigtails brushing against his side. He turned in dismay to his father; Splinter nodded gravely, hastily lighting some incense at the table. Donnie forced back his nervousness to focus on monitoring Amber’s vital signs and ignoring the unnaturally red hair whispering across his skin.

The first thing to manifest in Amber’s mind was warmth; the second was a strangely familiar aroma of coffee and clean grease, and the pungent, smoky perfume of burning incense. A strong hand rubbed slow, calming patterns on her back while another held her close to something warm and smooth, fingertips poised carefully on her neck.

Out of the darkness, a low humming broke through—soft, slow murmurs from another lifetime promised patience and understanding—promised to fix her broken soul.** Last of all, a dusky brown came into view as the memories faded from her mind’s eye. That was a familiar brown, she realized fearfully. A glance upward revealed the truth, and two concerned hazel eyes fixed on hers; the humming stopped.

HOW did she wind up in Donatello’s LAP?! “Eheh…Hi?” she attempted. Though the worry never left his eyes, he cracked a weak smile.

“Hi.” She glanced awkwardly from the turtle still rubbing her back to Splinter.

“How’d I get here? Please tell me I didn’t jus’ crawl into his lap.” Neither answered, triggering a deep blush. Yup…she just crawled into his lap - didn’t even buy'im a drink first. Splinter scrutinized her silently a moment, then momentarily locked eyes with his son.

“Your soul has some very deep scars, Miss O'Brien,” Splinter murmured softly as he gathered the shattered china - regretful of the loss, but not condemning the cause. “Scars that are too tender for inspection, much less display. If you are willing, though, I may know of a way to see your past without forcing you to speak it. Would you care to try?”

Amber thought long and hard, still flustered at being seated across Donnie’s very warm, very comfortable lap—a lap she had no memory of invading. Search though she did, though, she still came up with the same answer. “If it’d clear my name an’ prove that you have nothin’ to fear from me? I’d do just about anything.”

“What’s going on, Bruh?” Mikey whispered. Leo shushed him as Raphael lumbered over. The three of them peered warily into Splinter’s room where he and Amber sat back to back, silent and still, clearly in deep meditation.

“Sensei’s trying to see her past,” Donatello answered gravely as he joined them. “Talking about it sends her into a panic attack; he’s hoping that deep meditation will reveal what she can’t, in the Astral Plane.”

“Wow, she knows how to meditate?” Mikey eyed her warily. “Maybe she’s a ninja—or a Jedi! OW!” he exclaimed at Raph’s brain-duster.

“She’s knocked out, Mikey,” Donnie answered dryly. “I had to sedate her…again. From what I understand, the last train that passed over triggered a panic attack…just like we saw in the Station.”

“What made her afraid of the subway?” Mikey asked dubiously as they watched their sensei at work.

~~~~~Another time, another life, another world~~~~~

The two people in the front seat seemed to have not a care in the world, Splinter mused. He didn’t quite care for the music they were blaring, but they were obviously very happy. What he couldn’t quite understand was why he was in their backseat, and where Amber was in this memory.

“Shaddup,- O'Brien!” the blond man grinned as he skipped another track. “Ozzy could kick Sinatra’s ass any day of the week!” The woman in the driver’s seat grinned widely, swatting his hand away from the stereo.

“Willis,” she shot back. “There’s more to life than who kin- kick whose arse—an’ Sinatra’s not that bad! His music’s got a great—”

“Rammstein!” Aaron interrupted loudly, yanking a massive CD binder from under his seat and digging through it like a man possessed. “O'Brien, please tell me you’ve got some Rammstein in here. All this culture’s gonna make me puke.”

“Yer gonna make me puke.” Splinter studied the driver intently; he couldn’t believe it! He’d heard that voice, that awkward accent before—it was the voice and accent of Amber O'Brien, whose memories he was currently experiencing. This woman looked nothing like the Amber he’d met, though…this woman had to be at least two hundred pounds and several years older, and both warm brown braids were liberally streaked with grey. “You do realize 90% of Rammstein’s music is just foul language and banging, right? Ya won’t find any'a that crap in my car.”

“Picky. So, word is they’re gonna make a new TMNT movie soon!” Aaron piped up; the car swerved sharply and she grinned over at him excitedly.

“Yes! Omigosh, yes! When?!” Aaron burst out laughing.

“Psych!” he cackled. “Oh, the look on your face—was Donatello wearin’ pants again?” Her entire face red as a beet, she whacked him in the shoulder.

“Screw you, Willis. Why did I ever tell you about that dream? I mean, seriously?” 'That Dream…’ As though she hadn’t dreamt of that Donnie for years, his refractive hazel eyes, his shy, gap-toothed smile, his permanent slouch...Damn. Hello, Gutter. “Ugh,” she groaned reaching down to rub her right knee. “I can’t wait to git out'a- this car—my knees’re- killin’ me.”

“I’d say that’d teach ya to jump in front of a bus, but it prob'ly wouldn’t.”

“Dumbarse, Fer the las’ time, I didn’t jump in front of a bus. Some damn idjit- ran a red light an’ hit me in the crosswalk. Startin’ to think I preferred ya hungover—at least ya were quiet.”

They had to be driving through a war zone, Splinter thought sorrowfully. What else could have turned the small town into such a disaster area? Trees were ripped up, buildings crushed, even the very pavement the car drove on was gouged and crumbled in places. Amber, hadn’t spoken since they crossed the city limits and stared fearfully around her searching for landmarks that no longer existed. By the time they reached the remains of her home, it became abundantly clear to the unseen passenger: somehow, despite the drastically different appearances, he had indeed found Amber O'Brien.

From atop a pile of provisions, Splinter watched Amber and Aaron. The Town Hall’s basement, though touted as a Fallout Shelter, was never meant for so many people and conditions were ridiculously crowded. Aaron bustled from one place to another making himself useful; Splinter never expected such selflessness from him after his behavior in the car, but he supposed even his boys were prone to misbehavior among friends.

As of yet, Amber simply sat in a vacant corner staring through the wall as though she were completely dead to the world. She’d not spoken since she and Aaron broke down on her battered front lawn, nor had she eaten any of the meals the blonde tried to coax her with. It was as though she’d simply ceased to exist. Splinter’s heart ached, realizing the truth; she was in shock—so deeply in shock that she’d ceased to think or feel anything. As troubled by this revelation as he was, he missed the moment she finally moved from her corner. Quickly catching sight of her he followed behind as she climbed the creaking stairs and wandered aimlessly away from the shelter as though following a distant call.

Splinter could only guess why she came to the school. Feeling certain that something terrible was about to happen, he trailed behind her as she made her way to the library. With an almost wistful expression, she traced familiar shelves, digging through the scattered volumes for a particular tome. Its plain black cover was worn and faded from age, but the sight brought tears to her otherwise empty eyes. Among the ruins of the once proud building, she leafed through the book for a particular page and in a soft, haunting tone, read aloud.

“A deep force pulls me toward the window-blind, some impulse urges me to raise the shade; why is it that I tremble, half afraid, with formless terrors running through my mind? What are the dim dread images that bind my hand? Why is my arm so strongly stayed? What sense of overhanging doom has made me fearful? What the sight I shall find? Some warning voice calls out: Go back—go back! I could not turn though fronted by the rack. And so I slowly raise the shade to greet whatever on the other side should lie, and stare and stare in horror as I meet the leering of a huge and sightless eye.” ***

Her empty eyes turned to the window, drawn by a sudden movement and crack of thunder; chills raced down Splinter’s spine. He was only here in spirit and could not be harmed for that reason, but he knew something dreadful was about to happen.

Amber wandered over to the only intact window, peering about with vacant disinterest. As though summoned by the words she’d spoken, a deafening, grinding roar filled the air. A wall cloud loomed overhead as a funnel cloud touched down somewhere southwest of the battered building. Right before Splinter’s eyes, she tucked the book securely in her arms and fell to her knees in the rubble and glass, bowing her head in prayer.

“Please,” she mumbled softly. “Protect my family…protect my friends…protect this town and those who live here. Forgive us our trespasses and guide us in our time of need. Help Aaron understand, and keep him under your care…he’s too stubborn to ask for help.” Splinter’s ears felt ready to burst from the horrible pressure; surely Amber was hurting too, but she gave no sign of anything—pain, fear, sorrow, nothing! “Please, Lord…please wrap your arms around those who have been brought down by these storms, help them rise from the ashes anew, and help them rebuild their lives…thank you for everything.” Finally, the mask broke - regret twisted her eyes and shook her parted lips. “If you gave second chances, I’d ask only for—”

Before she could finish, the window burst inward raining shattered glass over her prostrate body. Splinter flinched, choking up at the sight. Almost immediately a glass brick from a nearby building came careening through the window frame and struck her in the head. As the light left her eyes, and she died on her knees, the aged rat mourned the woman who’ gave up on life.

The sudden change in location was dizzying. Splinter gazed around him in confusion, trying to come to grips with what had happened. One moment he was in a small town high school library, standing at the side of a woman who’d died needlessly, next he stood in a familiar chamber. Intricate green and ivory tile, tarnished brass fittings, elegant bronze plaques, bright blue glass skylights and bare-bulb light fixtures…he gazed around him, struggling to make sense of the situation.

The abandoned City Hall subway station…He’d been pulled from a ruined schoolhouse to the abandoned City Hall station! Almost frantically he searched the large cavern; how could he have woken from his trance so far from his family?!

Movement in the corner startled him. He faded into the shadows with the ease of a ninja master, watching as a pile of rubbish shifted with a groan. “Aw, ma heid,”- a familiar voice groaned. Right before his eyes, Amber—the Amber his boys had brought to him—groggily struggled upright, rubbing her forehead right where the glass brick had struck her counterpart in his vision. The truth was all too clear now, though he still couldn’t fathom how it was possible.

Amber O'Brien died at the school, died in the library from a blow to the head. Against all logic, she woke up in that very cavern in the body of another: a woman formerly known as Kimber Bryant. It made no sense, but still, he knew it was true. Right then, the roar of a passing tram echoed through the chamber. Amber screamed, falling to her knees with her hands over her neck, firmly in the grips of a panic attack. The world faded around Splinter as she fought the demons of her previous life, cowering in the rubbish of another.

When did his life become so complicated?

~~~~~~~ The Lair ~~~~~~~

Splinter came back to himself with a start, glancing feverishly around for his sons. In mere moments the four gathered around him, Raphael shooting distrustful glares at the still unconscious woman still seated against his back. Unbidden, the aged mutant recalled her death - the way she died slumped over on her knees, head bowed in prayer but back abnormally straight in defiance…he shuddered. Finally, sure he had everyone’s attention, the aged rat answered the question hanging silently in the air.

“She speaks the truth…Kimber is gone; Amber lives again.”

Amber regained consciousness to the sound of distant arguing. Never realizing she was being watched, she sat up cross-legged, rubbing her aching forehead. “Owww…Di’ I skelp my heid er somethin’?”- she asked weakly, thickly.

“Blunt force trauma to the skull,” Donatello muttered from the shadows. She jumped but gripped her skull again.

“When?” she asked quickly chasing the thick, gruff tone away from her words. “I don’t recall ani'thin’- after that injection.”

Donatello took a moment to compose himself, padding toward her and dropping to one knee at her side. “It’s…” His fingers dug into the worn rug beneath them, anchoring himself in the moment. “You died. Do you remember?”

“Of course, I know I died,” she answered slowly, “what I don’t remember is the dyin’ bit…an’ why’s my head killin’ me?” Donatello stared through the still smoking incense, his shoulders fairly trembling. “Donnie?”

“A cube of blown architectural glass,” he muttered, then hesitantly met her eyes. Her lungs forgot their purpose when he gently, almost timidly brushed her punch red bangs away from her forehead. The contact sent a sharp throb through her skull; against her will, she hissed at the pain. His face fell. “The point of impact…It was quick, but I can’t guarantee it was painless.” It took a moment but she finally realized the connection.

“Wait…” She cringed. “Yer tellin’ me I was beaned in the brain-pan- with a glass brick?! The only place in town with glass bricks was Mum’s church!” She scoffed bitterly. “Oh, the irony…everythin’ that congregation put me through wasn’t enough, the building had to kill me, too. I take it Master Splinter was able to see everything, then…an’ he told y'all what happened.”

“Not everything, no, but he gave us the basics…Raphael doesn’t believe him.” A sudden crash rang out in the living room, followed by Splinter shouting in Japanese. “We’re safer in here, trust me.”

“Safe?” she scoffed. “What’s that? I was killed by a church - Nothin’s safe anymore.” She glanced over at her silent company, her cheeks pinking. “So did Splinter figure out how I got here, in this world?” Donnie shook his head, clearly disturbed by something.

“No, but he has an idea. He thinks you and Kimber might be inter-dimensional counterparts—the same soul existing in two different worlds—and that you were somehow drawn into her body when you both died. Sensei says you had regrets which may or may not be a factor.” He dug his knuckles into the worn rug, clearly fighting some unknown emotion. “She died before you got there, probably the night before we found you.” Not yet seeing the subtext, she sighed in obvious relief.

“You have NO idea what a relief that is,” she muttered. “I’ve been so worried I somehow forced'er out of'er own body—that I’m responsible for her death! I just couldn't—Dee, what’s wrong? Ya look like someone kicked your puppy!” He didn’t answer; instead, he hoisted himself to his feet and padded dejectedly out of the room. It wasn’t until later that night when he showed her to the spare cot in the Lab that she figured out what he wasn’t saying.

He had arrived in time to prevent her death, but not Kimber's…and Purple Dragon or not, the knowledge weighed heavily on him. Amber spent the whole night staring at the concrete ceiling, ruminating. It seemed even in her new life, she was too careless with her words and actions.

Somewhere between rumbling trains, memory assaults, and musings about stunning hazel eyes, the sewer faded into the world of dreams.

Still with me, y'all? Sure hope so

 Words (Midwestern Twang unless otherwise noted)

- Ain’t'cha? - 'Aren’t you?’ - Ani'thin’ - Anything, a local pronunciation similar in cadence to “Anikin” if the name started with an 'Enn.’ This may be a largely localized pronunciation as I’ve not heard it often and have never heard it outside my own area. - Cowk - Vomit, Scottish slang/Scots. - Di'n’t / Din’t - Didn’t - Ma heid - Scottish slang my head. - Idjit - slang pronunciation of idiot. - Kin - This one has two different possible meanings depending on how it’s used. If it’s used as a noun, it means family, and not only blood relations but the family you choose. It’s not a commonly used term anymore because people tend to associate it with family feuds and redneck living. If the word is used as a verb - as in “You kin kiss my arse,” it’s just a twisted pronunciation of “can,” differentiated because the -a- is instead prounced -i- like bin. - Knees’re - knees are - Out'a - Out of - Prob'ly  - Probably - Shaddup / Shuddup - 'shut up,’ generally more common in the South than the Midwest, but in Southern Missouri, it’s not unusual to hear either. The second pronunciation is the more common. - Di’ I skelp my heid 'er somethin’? - Amber’s first major speech relapse, this is mostly an ungodly meshing of twang and Scots. Basically, 'Did I hit my head or something?’ - That much I know’s true. - That much I know is true. - Beaned in the brain-pan - slang 'hit in the head’

- Adding 'e, 'is, or 'im to the end of a word - means he, his or him respectively. - Adding 'er to the end of a word - means her. - Adding 'ey, 'em, or 'eir to the end of a word - means they, them, or their respectively.

NOTES

* Credits for songs: “Time Warp” is by Patricia Quinn, Richard O'Brien, and Little Nell, from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” “Feed My Frankenstein” is by Alice Cooper, (AKA, the king of bizarre music) from album “Hey, Stoopid.” Lastly, “Ballroom Blitz” is by the band Sweet, best known for this song, “Fox on the Run” and “Love Is Like Oxygen.”

** The tune is Coldplay’s “Fix You;’ two guesses as to who’s humming it, and you really should only need ONE. It’s pretty obvious.

*** The book Amber reads here really exists. "Dark of the Moon” is a poetry anthology compiled by August Derleth, and includes “poems of fantasy and the macabre.” It’s highly uncommon—there were only a couple rather limited printings and most copies are found in libraries—but it’s very much worth the read. “The Eye” was written by Donald Wandrei and is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. It appears exactly as it’s typed in my copy of the book and it makes my inner grammar nazi twitch; the correct phrase would be “Why is my arm so strongly STAID,” not “STAYED.” RRRG! Pretty sure its copyright is expired, as the volume was published in 1947.

UP NEXT: You Can’t Set a Broken Soul

Chapter List

[roslinadama-sinequanon]

MC Re-Watch-Before and After

We’ll start off with the case, since I rarely talk about any of the cases. I did think this was a better episode, and better case than the first episode. What this guy did, preying on young women with low self esteem was heart wrenching. I was certainly not sorry that he ended up dead.

“You haven’t been in charge for 8 years”. “Yeah, well now I’m mad about it.”--This exchange between Andy and Provenza really shows the difference in their acceptance levels of their new leader. It is interesting  that it took the entire first season of “The Closer” for Andy to come to terms with Brenda’s leadership, whereas, here we are in episode 2 of MC and he’s already telling Provenza to get over it. Conversely, while Provenza often grumbled, because that’s just who he is, and openly mocked Brenda in the beginning, he accepted her far more quickly than Andy did--and he never actively tried to get rid of Brenda the way Andy did. I think this shows that first of all, Andy is definitely not that same guy from season 1 of TC (when he had the Sharon role of being Brenda’s antagonist and was written to be a real jerk most of the time) and that Andy has found a comfort level in working with Sharon off and on over the past three years, whereas Brenda was a completely unknown entity when she stepped on the scene. Also, I’m not sure what the structure was before Priority Homicide was created, but now that it exists and is just changing its name, Provenza assumed that as second in command he would simply step into the leadership role. When that didn’t happen after all his years of service it was a real blow. Yes, he’s pissed that it was given to someone with far less experience in homicide, but as he later says, his feelings aren’t personal, anyone other than him in that office is a slap in the face to him. Andy is happy where he is so he doesn’t have that feeling of being overlooked.

“She makes me keep all my clothes in trash bags”- LOL, Rusty is really working it. Sharon is mortified. But it gives the opportunity to get a little Sharon backstory. Her kids keep clothes in the guest room for when they visit, so they aren’t just off at college and her husband keeps one suit in there in case he visits.

“My husband and I have been legally separated for 2 decades, I can assure you he does NOT live here.” The emphasis on that not tells us there is definitely some bad blood there but the suit in the closet proves there is still a tenuous connection.”

“Are you going to grace us with your presence at the crime scene?” “I’m sorry Lt. Are you in over your head?” Great humor here, and more insight into how Sharon will be running things compared to Brenda. Provenza isn’t sure what to do without Brenda running in and taking over, whereas, Sharon trusts him to be able to take charge of things, knowing they are all fully capable in her absence. Also, the sarcastic retort from Sharon is very much in line with Sharon from TC. She is starting to feel more comfortable in her role. This whole home visit scene also shows us that Sharon is now a single mother again and she is going to have to jump right back into that juggling act, balancing the needs of her “child” and her work.

“I wouldn’t mind living here myself.”-Oh Cynthia, me too! I love Sharon’s condo--though it’s time for the Raydor/Flynn/Beck family to move on and find a home that is theirs.

Now as far as Rusty goes, I’m not sure what he hopes to achieve in trying to sabotage his placement with Sharon. His mother is still nowhere to be found, they aren’t going to let him live on his own again and if he isn’t with Sharon he’ll just end up in another foster home, which he hated. So, it doesn’t make much sense except for showing us that Rusty is so messed up at this time he would rather live on the streets and prostitute himself because there was a sense of freedom in that then to be in a comfortable home being watched over and told what to do by somebody. Also, it shows how strong the parental bond is. Sharon Beck often didn’t feed Rusty, she was a drug addict who overdosed more than once in front of him, she went from one druggie boyfriend to another, prostituted herself in front of him, allowed her boyfriends to beat him up and finally abandoned him at the zoo--leaving him to have to sell himself to survive and yet he is still desperately hoping to find her--as if when he does his world will magically be okay again. She’ll be drug free, will apologize for leaving him and all be right with the world. Sure, it’s a pipe dream, but that’s all he has to hold on to. I think Rusty is where Sharon was  20-25 years ago, still hoping that Jack might come around, clean up his act and be the husband she wishes he would he would be. She gave up on that dream a long time ago, just as Rusty will in the next couple years--both finally able to see Sharon Beck and Jack Raydor for exactly who they are, not who they want them to be.

Who is in charge here?- Provenza tries to take control of the murder room. Sharon is still treading a bit lightly and doesn’t directly call him out but she quite firmly asks Andy to join her in the interview room and gives Provenza a stern look. She is not happy with him. Andy follows Sharon and gives Provenza a “you jerk” look. Andy has definitely joined team Sharon.

Sykes bursting in on the interview-She’s definitely a rookie in all this and has a lot to learn. Sharon, while frustrated, has the patience to train her without tearing her down or making her feel like an idiot. Love Andy’s “she’s dumb and smart at the same time” and then Provenza’s “oh, she’s not dumb, she’s choosing sides” because Provenza is not only talking about Amy, he  is also referring to Andy. It also shows that Sharon truly understands teamwork, whereas Provenza--and Taylor don’t. You can’t have sides on a team, you all need to be working as one to achieve the best results.

“You do realize there’s a freeze on all promotions.“ “Except apparently on Asst. Chiefs”-

Sharon was promised a promotion to commander by Pope and Taylor when she agree to take over Major Crimes- It’s not surprising that they didn’t come through on their promise. Both of these men have always been on power trips and if they have to stab people in the back to get what they want, they will. There is no sense of honor or loyalty, it’s all about getting what they want. Taylor got exactly what he wanted, he got a new rank with his job and proved that he is actually even worse than Pope. At least Pope sometimes felt bad about the way he jerked people around. Taylor was a total prick in his scene with Sharon, telling her the JOB is her promotion and that it’s a gift. A GIFT, are you effing kidding me? Basically he was telling her-- Hey, you’re a woman, you’ve spent your career in FID, you’re over 50, you ought to be grateful you even got that job so you shouldn’t be complaining that you didn’t get the commander title we promised you. As if she hadn’t earned any of it. No, they promised her commander, they didn’t say “we’re giving you a gift in this job.“ Pathetic. Of course Taylor is the same age as Sharon and he got his job and the rank he was promised--the only difference is that he is a man. In one of the WWSRD pod casts Mary talked about that and said that she did believe that the reason Sharon didn’t get the rank increase was because she was a woman and that women have to deal with being overlooked like this all the time. And remember, it’s not just the rank, with the rank increase there is also a salary increase, so Sharon lost out on that too.

Sharon has to file this one away as just another of life’s little disappointments and try to make the best of things, which seems to be something she’s had to do all her life, both professionally and personally. But at least now she has Taylor’s measure. He is not a team player, not an ally and not someone she can ever really trust.

“He needs to stop by sometimes, he’s the father of my children.” Though we don’t know this yet, it does give us more insight into the Raydor marriage/separation. Emily later says that Sharon would not let Jack around her and Ricky when he was drinking. So,  when Jack did make one of his infrequent visits they were done in Sharon’s presence because she couldn’t trust him. Hence the suit. She wasn’t going to let her kids go off with Jack anywhere, it would all be supervised by her which was just another reason not to divorce him.

“There are some very good things about him although I can’t think of anything right now.”- This is not a woman pining for anyone. While she doesn’t hate her semi-ex and tries to remember there are good things about him, he is definitely completely out of the picture.

“I am not your child, and kids like me don’t get into college and we both know that.”--Though this is only a temporary arrangement Sharon is trying to do the very best she can for Rusty, because that’s just who she is. She could easily have just dumped him in public school and let them deal with him. Instead, she is trying to get him into the exclusive, and expensive, Catholic school that she sent both of her children to (subtly showing us that in accepting Rusty into her home she is accepting him as one of her children) and explaining to him how great the school is and how it helped both her children get into great colleges.

This statement right here shows us that while Sharon has raised two children she is going to have to learn to relate to Rusty in a different way. She raised her children with education as a priority, so yes, getting into a good college was something that was important to Emily and to Ricky, but it isn’t to Rusty.

College is something that isn’t even on Rusty’s radar at this point. Just a few weeks ago he was turning tricks to survive and now this woman is talking about college? It’s too much for him, hence his explosion. First of all, to accept Sharon’s vision for his future means he is giving up on his mom, which at this point he is not willing to do.

Also, Rusty‘s never had expectations made of him before, other than the expectation that he take care of his mother. Sharon Beck was far more interested in getting wasted than worrying about what school Rusty went to or his homework and grades---and certainly college was never anything that was even remotely discussed. It’s a lot of pressure on him. How is he supposed to live up to the ideal of Sharon’s children whom he’s never even met before and who had been raised with the kind of interest and expectations that he‘s never experienced?

And last but not least why hope for something that is unattainable? He truly doesn’t believe he’ll be staying with Sharon and wherever he ends up, college will not be something he can ever hope for. Nor at this point does he think it’s important. Being raised the way he was, education was certainly not a priority so by now Rusty really has no hope of a better life.  In fact the only thing he hopes for is to find his mother. That is one of the many things that Sharon will bring into Rusty’s life, a hope for a better future.

“I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal of this, dirt bags get deals all the time”-Andy really can’t understand why Provenza is having such a hard time adjusting because he has already put the past behind him and seems happy with the new arrangement. Provenza basically admits that he’s too old and set in his ways to deal with another long term unhappy relationship.  Having overheard this statement, as usual Sharon handles things very well. She could have ignored it, or confronted him belligerently the way Winnie Davis would have, but instead she steps in and commiserates with him, offering up the idea that they both probably have misconceptions about each the other. When Provenza declines her offer of dinner and a drink he does understand that she is offering an olive branch and admits that it isn’t just about her personally, that anyone in that office other than him would be an insult. He then says that if he stays he’ll only complain and point out her mistakes. But that is exactly what Sharon needs--and she admits that to him by asking “Haven’t you  been around long enough to be able to speak your mind and respect my rank?” When he says the situation sucks, Sharon agrees. She too is disappointed. She didn’t get the promotion she wanted and was promised but unlike Provenza she accepts that life isn’t always fair and moves on trying to make the best of things.

Then, because Sharon understands people and what makes them tick, she is able to turn things around and offer Provenza the out that he needs to stay with MC and save face at the same time. She handles people and their egos very, very well and she doesn’t always need to get an in your face win. She got what she wanted without rubbing Provenza’s face in anything.

“I’m here and your mother is not, and you are going to have to make the best of it”--Just as she is starting to gain control at work, Sharon is now gaining control in her relationship with Rusty.  No longer will she tread quite so lightly. Rusty is going to start learning about respect and boundaries. It isn’t easy, Rusty is used to being the parent in the parent/child relationship, so Sharon laying down the law is rather shocking to him--and it doesn’t set well--however, he does listen to her and moves his things into the spare bedroom which will become his room.

Sharon then ends the day exactly the way she ended it in the first episode, exhausted on her couch. This hasn’t been an easy transition, personally or professionally.