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isshebreathing · 4 years ago

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Sharing my first resus story, please be kind:

Bringing up our child pt: 1

We sat together on the sofa trying to avoid the heat. Both sprawled out in nothing but a tank top and underwear, her bulging belly mounted in the center of her body like a rapidly growing hill to climb.

I was the one who wanted to give birth to a child, she would have been perfectly fine with adoption, but I was so desperate to experience a pregnancy my weak heart could never support that she agreed to carry our child.

Pregnancy had been awful for Lizzy, I knew it but she never complained, she would never complain because she loved me that much. She sat up suddenly and asked for antacids, it wasn’t uncommon so we’d started keeping them all around the house like little candy jars. She chews two and sits up to get more comfortable, despite siting directly in front of the air conditioner and a fan I notice beads of sweat forming on her forehead. These hot flashes had been happening at night, she’d wake up covered in sweat, make her way to the bathroom and take a cold shower, then make her way back, to bed I’d sit with her in the bathroom and offer to get her ice or a cold washcloth but she always declined, “just need to wash the sweat off” she’d say.

She was usually so reluctant to accept help, which was why I was surprised when she asked me to get her a cold washcloth and some ice.

As soon as I got back panic began to rise in my throat, she had shifted from the sofa to the floor on all fours, panting as her body started to drip with sweat. “Call for help,” she said weakly, “I can’t get up.”

“911 can you please give me your address?”

“1217 east main st, my wife is pregnant and something is wrong, please send someone to help, she looks really bad, she can’t get up and she’s dripping with sweat.”

“Okay ma’am I need you to stay calm, is you wife breathing?”

“Yes she is, she’s on the floor on her hands and knees, she can’t get up, she’s breathing really heavily”

Lizzy looks up at me with pleading in her eyes and doesn’t try to reassure me, I know something must really be wrong.

“Ma’am I need you to give me this info okay”

My mind snaps back into the phone call as I realize the dispatcher is trying to get information from me.

“How far along is she?”

“Six months, she’s due in September, she hasn’t had anything like this happen before, please hurry, I have a heart condition and I cannot help her up”

“Ma’am they are coming as fast as they can…”

I panic further as Lizzy’s eyes roll back in her head and she face plants into the floor, letting out a horrific groan and violently seizing

“Oh my god send help now she’s having a seizure”

“Okay ma’am you’re going to have to be calm to help her okay,”

“Don’t tell me go calm down bitch, my wife and child are seizing uncontrollably on the floor, I will freak out as much as I can thank you.” I think to myself.

“Is she still seizing?”

“Yes.” I snap back, “Oh fuck how long has it been”

“Okay I need you to roll her on her side and make sure there’s nothing in her mouth that she can choke on.”

I grab her back under her bloated belly and heave her onto her left side, she continues shaking and gasping in a horrific noise, I pry her mouth open and sweep my finger through it as a sickeningly pale foam gorges out.

The seizing slows but she continues to gasp horrible breaths, desperate for air. Her body goes limp as she desperately tries to pull air into her lungs one last time. Her eyes glaze over as she stares off into something that I cannot see.

I push my two fingers to the side of her throat to confirm my worst fear, her heart has stopped.

“Fuck she’s in cardiac arrest, send someone now!” I scream to the dispatcher as I rush to the front closet to get the “just in case” kit that Lizzy put there after one of my episodes. “Unlock the front door” a large note says on top, reminding me to open the house for the paramedics that I pray would be here soon. A wave of appreciation for my wife’s continuing fear that I would suddenly drop dead washed over me.

I rush back to her and I see her lying there sickingly still and with a blank stare as her body rapidly turns a horrifying gray/blue color.

“Ma’am can you hear me? What is happening now?”

I realize I haven’t responded to the dispatcher since screaming about Lizzy going into cardiac arrest.

“She’s in cardiac arrest, we have a defibrillator and a breathing kit, I have a very weak heart, I need help now”

“Ma’am they’re coming as fast as they safely can, what is happening now”

I flip Lizzy on her back and try to stay calm as the mound of her belly turns the same sickingly gray/blue color as the rest of her body. I rip off her top and have a bashful moment as her milk swollen breasts flop off to the sides, distracted for a moment by how beautiful my wife’s full and soft body was. I put one AED pad in between her breasts and lifting her up gently to place one between her shoulder blades. Putting one on her side like is usually advised would risk the shock jumping over to the baby and forcing the fetal heart rate out of control. The shock had to go directly into Lizzy’s heart to try and convince it to start.

“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient.”

The wait seems like hours before it says “shock advised”

I hesitate before pushing the flashing button, a shock goes through Lizzy jolting her limbs in an unnatural form as the mound in her belly shakes.

“Check pulse, if no pulse continue CPR”

I stick my fingers below her chin and feel nothing.

“Fuck please send someone now, I have a very weak heart I can’t do much CPR”

The dispatcher replies but I don’t comprehend what she says as I lock both of my hands over her chest and push down as hard and as fast as my weak and pathetic body will allow me to.

“One and two and three and four…” I count to myself, it’s the only thing from my YMCA CPR class that has stuck. I get to thirty and I swipe my finger through her mouth again removing more yellowish foam that I now notice has red streaks in it.

I tilt her head back and pinch her nose shut, I can feel my heart weakly pounding as I cover her mouth with mine and weakly breathing into her as her chest rises, I repeat the action again, then frantically comtinue compressions “one and two and three and four and…”

The defibrillator pipes up with its computerized voice again, “analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient.” I feel weirdly comforted that I have this sentient machine by my side.

Another agonizing few seconds pass before the machine says “shock advised” as the machine is powering up I look in the orange bag my wife diligently packed never expecting it to be used to sustain her own life, I see an ambu bag attached to a mouthpiece and another little bag with a hose attached and a note that says “O2 concentrator” I connect the tube to my oxygen concentrator and turn it on I hear the loud air intake noise as I push “shock” again.

The shock is stronger this time, Lizzy’s body contorts again in an unnatural surge. I push my fingers into her corroded again and feel nothing. I stick the plastic piece into her mouth to keep her tongue out of the way and slip it into the mask, and then squeeze the bag as two deep oxygenated breaths make her chest rise more than my pathetic weak lungs could ever imagine.

I lock my hands in the center of her chest again and start compressions “one and two and three and four and…” I can feel my heart start to murmur and skip from the strain.”

“Somebody please help” I scream in desperation, the thought of losing both my wife and child slips through my mind as I pump her chest harder, fully prepared to kill myself in order to save them.

My head starts to spin as I fill her lungs with another breath from the ambu bag. There’s a ringing in my ears as I start my weak compressions again “one and two and three and four and…” I feel my body weaken knowing it will never be enough. “I’m so sorry Lizzy” I thought as I failed to keep her heart beating for either her or our child.

I feel a hand on my shoulder pull me back as a hand puts an oxygen mask over my face as I gasp to fill my useless lungs with air. Someone shoves a nitroglycerin tablet into my mouth and slips a pulse ox meter on my finger.

“That’s it honey, deep breaths, just like that” they say.

I weakly try to remove the oxygen mask and choke out the words “no, her, baby”

“They’re on it” the woman moves aside to reveal three paramedics surrounding Lizzy and working in a perfectly choreographed dance.

One woman pounds on Lizzy’s chest so hard her breasts and belly cave in as a sicking “huf huf huf” sound escapes her mouth with each compression.

Another man kneels buy her feet with a stethoscope to her belly.

“We have a fetal heartbeat, holding steady at about 100, baby’s very stressed though.

I am suddenly terrified for the life of my child. “Please stay alive baby,” I thought, “I will give my weakly beating heart to keep you alive”

I continue to suck up oxygen through the mask as I feel my chest start to open and my heart return to a normal pace. I notice Lizzy’s feet bending inward with each intense compression as they rock her whole body. I see another medic tilt Lizzy’s head back and slip a metal hook into it to force her jaw open and insert a plastic tube. She suctions up the blood and foam that had been blocking Lizzy’s throat, then hooked up an ambu bag and forced precious air into her lungs.

“STAND CLEAR” someone yells and I see them blast another shock through her heart. This one was stronger than the others and her body jolted and then hit the ground flopping uselessly like a rag doll.

I watch in a haze until the words “we have a sinus rhythm, let’s pack up for transport.” snap me back into reality.

The paramedic kneeling next to me says”we have your wife and baby back but they’re still in a lot of danger, we are going to take them to the hospital now. You are going to follow them, your heart rate is very high and your pulse ox is very low.

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chaseatinydream · 4 years ago

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pirate king (12) || atz

The two of you stop outside a dark, smoky cabin.

It’s dark now, the sun having sunk behind the waves a while ago, the moon taking its place in the sky. Shifting shadows are cast in the gloom of the shop, and the dead snakes hanging at the doorway really isn’t encouraging you to go in any further.

You turn to stare at Jongho dubiously.

“To be fair,” Jongho says as he looks over at the eerie, shoddy establishment with equally doubtful eyes. The rickety bamboo frame looks like it could collapse on itself any moment. “It didn’t look this creepy the last time I was here.”

You swallow uncomfortably. “Maybe we should go back-”

“There is no fear in stepping forward, only moving back…” A hiss comes from deep within the shack and you jump, hand clenching around Jongho’s wrist in a vice grip. A bead of cold sweat slides down your neck and you turn to the young battlemaster with a silent plea in your eyes.

He nudges you towards the entrance gently. “I’ll be with you. There’s no need to be scared.”

That does make you feel better about your chances of leaving the dingy building alive, but you still don’t feel very eager to step inside. With Jongho’s hand on your back, you step cautiously into the fortune teller’s booth.

The small space is dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering stubs of candles on the rough wooden table at the very back. Even as short as you are, you have to stoop underneath many of the strange things hanging from the ceiling. You hear Jongho’s muffled cursing behind you as he bumps into everything and anything in his way, things that you’re lucky to have been small enough to avoid.

There’s a small hearth at the side, coals still glowing red from a recently put out fire. Dried herbs and animal parts lie scattered everywhere on the floor, and to your left you see a stack of wooden cages stacked upon each other, every one holding some sort of rodent or gigantic spider. You inhale nervously and the pungent smell of burnt hair and animal excrement fills your lungs.

But there is no sign of the fortune teller.

You glance nervously at Jongho, who’s dusting the cobwebs from his shoulders. “It seems like she isn’t here-”

“Customers...” You shriek in horror as you see a pile of rags that had definitely been unmoving just seconds before burst into life, wheeling backwards as hysteria washes over you for a moment. Then Jongho catches you from the back firmly with strong arms, and calm washes gently over you once more. You catch your breath slowly.

“We’re here for a reading.” The young battlemaster’s voice is unwavering. You can’t quite make out her face underneath the tattered hood she’s wearing, but you can smell her breath all the way from across the table and see the light reflected in her near maniacal eyes. The fortune teller grins to reveal a mouth of yellowing teeth.

“Sit!” She demands, pointing dramatically a rickety seat in front of the table. You eye it doubtfully, unsure whether that can really hold your weight considering that it looks like it’s on the verge of collapse, but Jongho nods you forward.

Surprisingly, the seat doesn’t shatter under you.

“Fortune favours the fair.” The fortune teller leans across the table to take a closer look at you. You can count every single decaying tooth in her mouth, she’s much too close for comfort. Your skin crawls with goosebumps as you feel her eyes rake across your face.

“Don’t touch him.” Jongho snaps, his unyielding hand stopping the fortune teller in her tracks. She hisses at him, more animal than human, slinking back into her seat like a feline.

You clear your throat nervously, even though you’re honestly terrified at this point. You can feel phantom fingers brushing up your spine and neck and there’s an unsettling feeling in your stomach that feels like a coiling snake.

“You’re a fortune teller?”

“A magician, dearie.” The way she says it, so sickly sweet, sends a shiver down your spine. The room seems to drop in temperature. “It depends on what you want to know.”

“How much will a reading be?” Jongho cuts across her and the woman doesn’t look at him, eyes instead fixated on you. You don’t like it at all.

“You have a pretty face, my sweet.” The old hag croons, stroking your face with bony, coarse fingers. You resist the urge to scream out loud as ice creeps over in your veins. “I’ll give it to you free.”

Then a knife flashes out of nowhere.

This time, a scream does leave your lips, but then you realise that she’s only hacked off the end of your braid, leaving your hair tumbling around your face to above your shoulders in messy waves. Jongho’s hand clenches around the hilt of his cutlass. “One more time, magician, and the next thing getting cut is your neck.”

“You young ones are so skittish, like mice…” The wizened crone cackles as she hobbles to the fire, breaking a few twigs and setting them alight in a bowl. A strange, heady fragrance begins to fills the room, the air seeming to thicken as smoke spirals between you. You cough at the smell and spot the fortune teller sniffing your hair appreciatively.

You try your best to force down the bile in your throat.

With the same dagger she’d just used to cut your hair, she stabs an unfortunate rodent from a cage and you wince at its dying shriek. Its blood splatters across the table and seeps into the wood. You wonder exactly how many fortune and deaths it has seen.

The fortune teller then tears a sprig of dried plant from a bundle of herbs. Mistletoe, you recognise from your many lessons with San. She throws it over the fire and holds her hand out expectantly.

“Your finger.”

“She’s going to take my finger?” You whip around to stare at Jongho in horror, but by then the fortune teller has already grabbed your hand and yanked you forward.

To your relief, she simply pierces the tip of your index and squeezes three drops of your blood into the bowl. Then you hear San in your head lecturing you about the filth and dirt and grime and how you’re going to die from a thousand different illnesses and you shrink back into yourself, trying to clean the wound as well as possible as the fortune teller throws in a few strands of your hair, tucking the rest in her sleeves.

The fortune teller suddenly tosses everything in the bowl into the fire and to your shock, the flames turn bright green. You scramble backwards, nearly falling off your chair, but Jongho steadies you by the shoulders, hands warm against your freezing body.

“Watch.” He says seriously, and so you do.

The fortune teller leans over the fire, inhaling deeply for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, disembodied, as if she is underwater.

“Oh nameless one…”

Your eyes fly wide with shock at her first words. How does she know that you have no name?

“Child of the sea… you’re missing something very, very important to you… The secret you keep will ruin the trust you have built...”

Goosebumps prickle on your skin. You thought this witch merely wove fortunes that people wanted to hear, but she seems like so much more than that. Her eyes slowly blink open to stare at you with wide, dark eyes.

“To pass the trial, one must cross into death and awaken in life.” The fortune teller shudders, her arms trembling from the effort of holding her trance. “The biggest obstacle to overcome is yourself… I see a jewel resting in a jar of clay… Clay!”

“Clay?” You repeat after her, puzzled, but then she lunges for you before either you or Jongho can react. Her bony hands grab for your collar in a vice grip, her eyes searching your face hungrily. A scream leaves your mouth as you try to pry her from you.

“Let go of him!” Jongho snarls, but the little shack is too small for him to reach around you to remove the fortune teller's hands. The old woman ignores him completely, fingers stroking at your cheeks and nose haphazardly.

“How beautiful you are.” She breathes almost reverently, completely ignoring your frantic struggling and fear creeps over your skin. “I never thought it was possible, that I would see one like you… One as perfect as you…”

What?

“What are you saying, you old hag?” Jongho snaps, trying to remove her from you, but her grip on you is surprisingly strong.

“Such a new creation, such a perfect work of art!” The fortune teller almost sobs, and at this point terror seizes you. “I can't believe I got to lay eyes on a vessel that has only existed for a moon!”

Your heart stops beating inside your chest.

Jongho stills besides you, deathly silent. “What did you say?”

“Who made you?” She begs you, shaking you back and forth. You simply stare at her blankly, unable to comprehend what she's saying. Made you? What did she mean, made you? As in your mother? The person who had given birth to you?

As if in answer, the necklace you wear around your neck slips out of your shirt, and everything stands still for a moment.

Maybe it’s because you’re so close to the fortune teller, but you see every expression that crosses her face. First curiosity, then recognition, then shock. Her eyes fly open, as if she’s just been struck by some sort of divine revelation and her pupils instantly dilate with raw fear, the black almost swallowing the brown of her irises.

The fortune teller shrieks and yanks her hands back from you as if she's been burned. “You're one of hers! Leave! Leave before she finds me!” You’re too shocked to move.

Hers?

“Let's go.” Jongho urges you, clearly as stunned by the encounter as you are but in control of his wits a million times more than you’ll ever be. But you fight your way back to the fortune teller, who's slumped in a pile of rags against the wall.

“Who is she? And what do you mean by 'who made me’?” Your voice cracks at the last question, torment ripping at you from the inside. What did she mean, made?

“Leave me be!” The woman screeches and Jongho claps his hands over his ears. The people walking past outside must think that there's a murder going on. “I have no wish to meet your mistress!”

Mistress?

Desperation snaps in you. You have no idea what she's talking about, but you need answers to the hundred questions spilling over in your mind.

“Answer me or I'll stay here till she comes for you!”

“You fool!” The woman wheezes, curling into a ball. “I am unworthy of looking upon her face, the one who you have made a deal with, the sea witch!”

Deal.

“What deal?” You snap, furious. The one clue you have to who you are, and she's unwilling to tell you what it is. You made a deal? A deal for what?

Sea witch.

Jongho clearly has had enough of this voodoo talk, because he pulls on your hand a little more insistently. “Come on, let's go.”

“How do I find her?” You shout at the fortune teller, as you're dragged out of the shop. “Tell me!”

The old crone meets your gaze one last time, her eyes crinkling with madness. “You don't find her. She finds you!” She cackles aloud, shaking her head and rocking back and forth like a woman possessed. The glint in her eyes has turned crazed, unhinged, completely off her rocker. On the other hand, her voice remains strong and steady.

“But I'll tell you one last thing, my love.”

You jerk forward, insistent on hearing whatever her last words are to you.

“You will never find what you so desperately seek as long as you live.”

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akiwisfics · 5 years ago

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In the Middle Chapter 6

Notes: Cross-posted from AO3. If people get annoyed by this, please savior “kiwi crossposts” to save your eyes.

Description: The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairings: KasumixSha’ira

Her chest felt tight. Why was it so quiet?

She didn't think she was dead. Probably not anyway. Kasumi had taken far worse hits in her life, ones that promised much more damage and much more deathy. Whatever light she could see through her eyelids was low and out of the way, the corner of the tent she thought. Two quiet voices above her, and though she couldn't make out what they were saying, they were morose and depressing-- deep. Whatever she missed in the mean time hadn't ended well.

The blanket was snugged tightly against her body. Mm. Warm. Pleasant too, like a home comfort when home was so very far away as a concept. She was used to that. Packed light, but brought the things that reminded her what she had to leave behind. Usually small things, like old novels that Keiji had surprised her with over the years they had been together. Others were... simpler. Blankets were always good for that, especially on the harder nights when the ship was far too cold and empty. A blanket brought more of something familiar, and perhaps make a portrait of a place that wasn't home but more, paradise. A vacation that's farther away from the worst.

But eventually, eventually reality would call back to her. Kasumi flickered her eyes open to see the canopy of a tent that wasn't hers, but similar. White, low-ceiling. There was a candle burning in the corner she thought, lavender and a mix of chamomile. Calming agents. Oh. So this was Sha'ira's. Suddenly, the paradise felt more like an intrusion.

She twisted her head and found Sha'ira kneeling next to her, in a heavy conversation with the red salarian. There were tools behind them, doctor ones, and a few medi gel applicators. Her head ached, and even the low light seemed too much. So maybe she had been hit harder than she thought. Her hearing seemed to be coming back at least.

“Ms. Maeda?” Sha'ira's voice was soft, remorseful. The harsh shadows that danced along her face made it seem all that more morose, but relieved. She could see that too with the way her eyes softened, and that. That made it easier to smile in return.

“Proximity mines are a favorite in the Terminus Systems.”

She breathed a small laugh. “You'd know about that, wouldn't you?”

The red salarian sighed, and turned to the doctor's bag. “Then I'm sure you've heard the whole 'another angle and that would've killed you' lecture, so I'm gonna save it. I kinda figured that anyway. Any discomfort in your chest?”

“A lot.”

“Cracked ribs. Ache in your head?”

“Concussion?”

“Yep. Though to be sure have you had any memory loss, disorientation, mild confusion?”

“Just over how long you've been a medic.”

“Long enough. It's mild then.” He snapped the bag closed, and seemed satisfied with the diagnosis. “I'll leave you two then. I'm sure Sha'ira can give you the news.” Then he eyed her critically, a scowl clear on his face. “You're off your feet for today. That medigel needs to work its magic and all that.” Not surprising, but she kinda missed that awkward, scarred smile on his face.

“Okay. But why am I in Sha'ira's tent?”

He ignored her, much to her annoyance, and instead slipped out of the tent flap. The silence was uncomfortable to say the least, and for once, neither of them seemed to be up for breaking it. Sha'ira's frown and furrowed brow easily killed any voice that would've risen in her throat, and the way she focused on the slow rise and fall of her chest told her there was plenty on her mind to keep herself occupied. She wanted to ask a hundred different things that could come to her, but looking at her, it was almost like she didn't have the right.

Still, she had to break it. “So... why am I in your tent?”

“I was closer than yours,” her mouth twitched, “We wanted to get you... situated as soon as possible.”

“Was it bad?”

“... No. The dirt made it seem worse. We couldn't really tell until...” She took a deep breath before finally looking her in the eye. There was an unsteady gaze. “I apologize. Are you okay?”

“You didn't get hurt any, right?”

“Thanks to you, yes.” She blinked once slowly, sucking in a deep breath. This had shaken her, and how she tried to loosen her shoulders out. How long had she been unconscious? Enough time to be dragged back to camp, and whatever medical practice needed to be done and not feel it. It had been more like a pleasant afternoon nap with a side dose of a headache and a little bit of heartburn-- not unlike post-food coma after a particularly noisy holiday dinner. She'd only ever been to three in her lifetime, once as an uninvited guest to Kiera's.

Her bedroom window had been left a crack, and Kasumi had simply slipped in, and greeted the downstairs family as if she was an expected guest. Her mother, an old willowy matriarch with just as much fear as there was wisdom with those that had followed her, had roared at the mere sight of her and rose from her seat as a tall, brightly gleamed with biotics, tower. That matriarch never cared for her too much. She was much like Kiera, a creature of selfish control and careful planning, but couldn't see her pats the initial threat she had posed.

Everyone was a little fragile once or twice to people you didn't want to be. It didn't matter if it was her mother, Shepard, herself, or even Sha'ira. Especially Sha'ira now.

“You ever had this happen to you before?” Kasumi chanced to ask with the fact that neither of them seemed ready to move-- Kasumi unable to move. It was worth asking, to know, and perhaps give what little comfort she knew to give.

“Once.” The consort glanced away, fingers curling against the fabric of her dress. It still was grimed with dirt and what seemed to be a little metal shrapnel stuck in between. “The Geth had not been known to discriminate in their targets. Everyone lost something in that first takeover.”

“I saw what happened to your office.” It was an ugly, twisted mess. Entrance caved in, bullet holes all over the walls. Furniture turned over, and again that scent of gun smoke and metal-- blood. She could've lost more, but still. “Were you there?”

Sha'ira sighed. “At the start, yes. Nelyna and I...” And then just as suddenly, she shook her head. The tension vanished as if it never existed, and Sha'ira's face remained just as placid as ever. “It's well passed in any case, and I have made steps to... adjust.” It didn't surprise her that Sha'ira knew how to guard herself as well. To keep things tightly locked and key. Still, very disappointing. It'd be nice to pry open and see what was inside, not just have her under scrutiny from watchful, careful eyes.

“Lost an aunt from it too.”

At the mention, Sha'ira immediately perked up. “So you do have a family.”

“Little, but I did.”

“I imagine not quite so eccentric.”

She didn't know. Not as much as she would've liked. From what she remembered, her mother was a quiet figure, gently chiding, and working hard. Did a lot of... pipe work for the colony, she thought. There were wonderful, tempting aromas of spices and something sweet whenever she would walk into her kitchen, and her burly bear of a father would be standing behind the counter, occasionally with a cigar in his mouth. Shipments from the Alliance. Always took one out on a good day. Her sister... she was an elusive image. One replaced by blood and fragments of bone. Long hair. She had longer hair.

“They were pretty normal, I guess.”

Sha'ira studied her for a moment, and she could feel how naturally her gaze traveled to that well-worn scar at the back of her skull. “That is surprising, considering where you ended up.”

“Normal families don't birth consorts either, Sha'ira.”

A long, thin smile formed, then a delicate hand against her forehead as she brushed the bandages just barely back to see the healing wound. “... I'm glad you're okay, Ms. Goto. It would have been a shame to see our arrangement end so early.”

“Arrangement sounds so formal. You have other friends, right?”

“Of course. Some of my clients can be worth knowing outside of work.”

“That sounds really boring.”

Sha'ira laughed before applying the bandage back against her temple, gentle as she did so. “Not everyone can lead a life so exciting, Ms. Goto. Though, I get the feeling I may last longer than you will.”

She hmphed. “Or have already.” Kasumi would do the math every now and then, when the days seemed to grow and twisted into a crazy, niggling wounds and betrayals. It was hard to see the old wounds and the new ones eventually, though she never looked too hard at her skin. The lessons stuck well enough on their own, and the catsuit, it was already like her skin. Stuck to her close enough to be. But now? Now she can look at her hands freely. See all the little lines that sunk into her palm. Little callouses too that built up closer to her fingers. The skin was smoother than she expected though.

“Does it bother you?”

She didn't know. It was more like a pale hand that followed her, every now and then taking something else away, just to remind her that it was there. And eventually her luck would and her time would start wilting, and she would feel that cold brush against the back of her neck. Days where she begged it. Days where she questioned it.

A shudder and Keiji's old touch seemed so far away from her. Death always led to him, one way or another. And another part, gone. But it felt... necessary to keep him in mind, that little note in her head that no matter who it was or what was happening, no one was invincible. Sha'ira wasn't either.

…. What was she doing?

“Kasumi?”

She looked back, saw the concern glazing over her clear blue eyes. It wasn't unattractive to think of her the same as she did Keiji and Shepard. To think nothing could take them, especially if she was there to do something about it. But Kasumi had looked away long enough, and both of them were rotting somewhere. Shepard in the city, Keiji back in Bekenstein. Sha'ira would have something more dignified with the luck of not being a soldier like so many others that she knew. Maybe quiet. Maybe a disgruntled customer getting too emotional.

That sudden intruding thought told her to run. Run. But she swallowed it down this time and refused to look away. “My death is inevitable,” she said, ignored the bile sticking to her throat, “I already made peace with that.”

“And others?”

That was a question she knew was coming. The silence gave her away, and Kasumi knew the flow of the game by now. It was simply a matter of moving the game forward, another little piece and twist. “Tell me something,” she ducked the question, but no, she wouldn't give Sha'ira the benefit of looking away. “For folks that live for so long, you see plenty of death yourself, don't you?” She didn't respond, but Kasumi barely gave her the time to. Just kept pushing. Push, pry. Who was that woman underneath? “Does it ever get easier every time? You have centuries to recover, but when it matters, doesn't it always...”

“Yes.” She broke the gaze, and saw the small switch inside of her, reverting to the scared, small thoughts that crept inside her when Kasumi had first woken up. “... Death is an awful, wonderful fact. It will come before you are ready, and it will take what you love. But that, in itself, creates some of the most wonderful memories I have had the pleasure to hold.”

And she was locked out. Still though, she felt amazed by the response, unexpected, pleasurable. She could want more of that. “Why?”

Sha'ira chuckled, even if there was still a fragility in the air. “Because when we have learned, we take each moment, each greeting with someone for what it is, and we cherish it. How many times did it take you to watch someone die to realize that?”

She was just a small girl quivering away from beady eyes looking for them. “Once.”

“Once.” And those blue eyes were like fire. “Nelyna took the shot for me. Kept them away from me, and... she died.” Oh. … Oh. The archives she dug through had never mentioned that. Whatever had happened that morning, Sha'ira had kept it tightly locked. “I will have to live with the last memory of her... her dying. And her blood. That is something that will never be removed. In those instances, recovery may seem simply a relative concept.”

May? The possibility was still there, but in the depths of it all, she couldn't stop how much it hurt.

“But we must, Kasumi. Not just for their memory, but for our sakes as well.” It was gentle, but noticeable with the way she shook as she brushed Kasumi's hair back. “I have to ask this... I am sorry.” No. She knew where this was going. “I saw what was in your bag the other night. Just enough to know what it was.”

“Sha'ira. No.” Not when she couldn't run. Not when she couldn't hide. “I'm the one whose supposed to cheat.”

The smile was more of a taut grimace. “I only do when I feel it is important.”

“It's not.”

She laughed. “They may have worked on everyone else, Kasumi. I am positive that Shepard, and you for at least a time, have disagreed.”

Kasumi still did. It was just easier to dismiss its presence when others noticed. Keiji was with her in a way that he promised, though never really, fully intended. It was a gift that comforted her when she needed it, and drove the knife inside when she wished for the reminder. That was not a place for anyone else to bring up, not without her making the first move. “Perhaps another day then, my friend. He's...”

That look. Sympathetic, but still, sad. “I understand.” She gave a moment's pause before standing up and brushing off the edges of her dress. It still had dirt, grime, and blood. She hadn't changed yet? “If you would, offer some condolences to Sura. … She might appreciate whatever advice you could give.”

“Uh--”

“Her wife is who we found. Thyra.”

Oh. Oh. “Sha'ira---”

She was gone before she could finish, in what Kasumi could imagine with almost a self-satisfied look on her face. Kasumi sighed, defeated.

It was fair, wasn't it?

–

The priest came by to see her first, QEC with hand. Before she could have the gall to reject, he raised a placating hand. “The consort asked me to pass it along to you. She is... preoccupied with other matters.”

“I suppose she said yes to letting you come in here,” Kasumi huffed. But she never said yes to Sha'ira walking into her tent either. If she hadn't known better, she'd think the consort just took her grey-box and destroyed it herself. That would be a little beyond her though. At least, she hoped so. If not, this friendship would be ending very shortly. She extended her hand out for it, and felt a small bit of relief with the cold metal against her bare skin.

The priest lingered though. Again. “Ms. Maeda?”

“Hm?”

“Do you, er, did you happen to see the body?”

“On the count of being nearly blown up? Not really.”

“Oh... Yes, that would stop you from seeing the sights, I suppose.” He fiddled with his hands for a moment, only making them both uncomfortable before sighing. “... I'm happy to see you remained mostly intact. A former--”

“Stop.”

“It's a compliment to your resilience, Ms. Maeda,” offering a small smile in reconciliation. “Though I regret that it ever happened in the first place. You---”

“I know I can't forcibly throw you out, but I will try, and when I fall and start screaming, they're going to blame you.” He didn't bother to respond, instead bowing politely and tucking his tail to go. She gave the courtesy of a, “If you tell anyone, you're dead, priest!” just as the flap closed.

She unwound in a long sigh and tried to settle herself in a way that still made it easy to breathe through the unsettling pressure on her chest. A quick couple of boots and she was greeted to the familiar sight of static before Khalisah's face showed on the screen. The smile was smug initially before she got a good look at her appearance, she thought.

“Uh.”

“So there's a guy setting mines in the city. And that girl was definitely dead... or so I've been told.”

“You're taking this well. … You were hurt?”

“A little.”

She eyed the bandages with a well-worn scowl that paled her cheeks. “Right. Try not to do that again, I guess? Erm...”

The way it made her squirm was funny. “So, maybe you should think about telling the others you're here? Just in case they find you a particularly helpful lone ransom.”

“I'm sure you'll take care of it just fine, thanks.”

Kasumi laughed. “See, that's the sort of thought that gets you killed, dear.”

“If you call me dear again, I swear I'll scream your name to the nearest person.”

“Stay alive, dear.” And with that, she switched off the QEC for now. Khalisah was making a mistake, but if she managed to be caught in one of those trip mines somewhere down the line, it'd save her some of the trouble. She didn't like to drag people that didn't know how to fight in shit like that though. It was her biggest dividing factor when it came to the Terminus Systems. Whether a poor choice or not, others simply tried to live in those neon lights. And just as well, even underneath the veil of blackmail, Khalisah was trying to do the same.

Death. Death was a heavy hand to deal. Maybe one she could finally break and leave behind.

–

The asari came in later when the sun began to sink from the darkening of the folds in the tent. The candle had long since burned out, leaving a fragrant, slightly ashy scent behind. She had dozed somewhere in the early afternoon, tired of the uncomfortable unsettling movement of her ribs and out of sheer boredom. In a way, she was thankful that Sha'ira hadn't dug enough to grab one of her books out of the bag, but it would've been far better company than the QEC-- which she would only connect to a few friends anyway, subordinates not withstanding. So, instead, she slept.

Someone had come in beforehand. This, she knew. Delicate fingers had peeled back the bandages, an unsteady breath before a sigh of relief. It had been warm, and the quiet study had been enough to lull her back to sleep, but she remembered it. She remembered feeling the smile that had been left behind.

That wasn't the asari wife though. The tension settled in with her entrance, just the quick snap of the tent flap. Her eyes were brimmed with something red, and her eyes still looked glossy. A quivering bottom lip, and that lost, listless gape in her expression. Maybe Sha'ira was actively trying to draw those buried down thoughts and feelings, and this was her plan. Expose, and maybe, eventually, that mask would break. Instead, she just wanted to go home.

“The consort...”

“I know. Sit down for me?”

She hadn't wanted to be there either. Her legs dragged to the side of the cot, and she knelt down into something almost prim and proper, only broken by the curvature of her spine, sagging with the weight of her grief. She watched her with the expectation of answers, but that. That wasn't anything anyone could give.

Kasumi sighed. “I'm sorry first of all. If we knew from the start, we may have been able to save her.”

She nodded.

“But those what ifs will always be there. You can hold onto them, or accept that what happened did.” She spent weeks wondering the scenarios. Maybe she could've turned away when Keiji had second-guessed the heist. Maybe she could've stayed with him. Maybe there had been a way to stop the bleeding. Maybe... But none of them brought him back now. Nothing ever would. Not without dying maybe, and if there was a place for the soul, she'd find him there. “And whatever I say here won't change what happens now. It's horrible. That love is.”

The asari furrowed her brow, and the gaze turned into stone. “The consort said you'd know. How--?”

No. She didn't want to talk about it. “That's not important. It... It happened a while ago.” She tried to grab what little advice and comforts she remembered those first few weeks, but she remembered feeling a torn, empty void that swallowed so much of her. Told her it was all for nothing if it didn't mean him. And it was such a scary thought, to remember how much she had put herself in him.

Kiera's hands were warm as she tried to bring her back from it, but it took stripping herself down to just a woman, and putting herself at her aunt's doorstep that she realized no matter how deeply she dug, she wasn't completely human either.

That wouldn't help the newly-made widow. She had no real comfort to give her. Why was she put in this position again? Keiji.... he would've been so much better at this. “I can't say it gets easier either, but... it's manageable. Remember whose with you now--- the kind of people that reach out to you. It may not seem much, but when it's at its worst, you'll remember them.”

“It... it gets worse?”

She grimaced. “You'll be alone. Eventually.” Then the cold would creep in, subtle at first but almost frigid with its loneliness. Then she would remember the steady pattern of his heartbeat against her ear, and the way he seemed to sigh with every second breath. And she would crave it. She would crave it more than anything, and the hurt was so indescribable. Some nights, it'd still sweep her, and today, it just seemed to be waiting. Just when she would close her eyes.

The woman stayed for a time, though for how long, Kasumi couldn't say. Just that with every moment, she could feel how the widow tried to pick up the pieces that were left behind. There wasn't any comfort to give, but hopefully, as she left the briefest of smiles with her departure, she left something to think about.

Kasumi wasn't good at it, and everything hurt so much more and seemed so much more raw now, but maybe, it would be worth it to see someone else step closer to better.

–

“You must hate me.”

Sha'ira only smiled.

“Why did you send her here?”

She unfurled her sleeping bag beside the cot, shoulders loose and free from stress despite what Kasumi was willing to guess was a long day. “It worked, I believe. She seemed in better spirits at dinner. Thank you.”

“You could've done it better.”

She settled herself with her legs tucked underneath her, amusement clear in her eyes. It was a better look on her. “You sell yourself short, Kasumi. The pain of a loved one lost is better described by those that have experienced it. Shut yourself all you like, but you have compassion for those that feel it.”

“You hate me.”

Sha'ira sighed, an amused smile forming on her face as she turned on her heel and scrounged an electric kettle in between what seemed to be a pair of dresses. It didn't take long for steam to begin to form around the spout, and the heat brought some small measure of comfort. “Does it alarm you to be able to relate to someone?”

“More that they could relate to me.”

“And why is that?”

She wasn't sure if that was a serious question or not. There was that whole being a thief thing, and she was... Oh. That was a thought she didn't need to get into. The day had been depressing enough, and all of the reminders had been so unavoidable. It was her fault, clearly. Whether good intentioned or not. They were her thoughts, and from the start, had never been meant to be shared with anyone else on this trip. She still remembered the look the asari widow gave her. How did anyone help heal that? No one could fix her problems, much less herself.

But a warm cup was being passed to her, and the smile that was given made it easy to return, even if a little strained and tired. “Some pains you would never wish on your worst enemy, Consort. That should be reason enough.”

She situated herself beside Kasumi, and the smile waned into content as she breathed into the steam. “... I suppose so. From what little I could gather, I assume this hasn't been an easy road for you.”

“Oh, never.” She grinned. “But we reap what we sow, right? You don't rise up to your status as consort without a little backlash.”

The chuckle died into something more contemplative, the silence creating a thin line for her mouth. Had she said the wrong thing? It wasn't for her to think about, but that was part of making friendships right? Come up with something exciting, try not to piss each other off. But still, there was a gentleness with the way she looked at her. “And you have to consider the damages, don't you?”

“Not when I can count them.”

“Some scars don't show on the skin.”

And the circle came around again. She blew against the hot liquid, ignoring the underlying question, and hoping perhaps that the burning on her tongue would numb the rest of her too. It was a shame that almost never worked. It was a nice little thought to distract her, as if it was ever really possible to absolve all emotional limitation with the sip of something hot. There was the comforting edge of it, a reminder of younger times when magic seemed real enough and her mother's-- She was getting off topic. Sha'ira looked at her expectantly, either for rejection or explanation. Kasumi wasn't sure which one to give.

“You've serviced... that sort of thing before?”

“In a manner of speaking. The side-effects were discovered rather quickly after release. … It has been some time since I have seen a functioning one.” She took a chance in inching a little close to her, just enough for their knees to touch. “Do you have a grey-box installed as well?”

“Of course.”

It didn't seem to be the answer she wanted, because Sha'ira hesitated, noted how little her own expression had changed-- as if afraid at how natural her decision had been. “Did anyone speak to you about the issues that it can pose?”

Enough so. There had been a long, drilling lecture by Kiera, then a series of private hired doctors that had been paid just enough to install it but not enough to not be nervous about doing the procedure. She had joked that Kiera had done that in the hopes that Keiji would die during the installation, a joke that had been briskly brushed off. The both found the idea tempting. The ability to remember every secret, every memory whether on the job or between them. Every little bit of gossip and every detail of a person's face and mannerisms. If anything was forgotten, it was out of willfulness, but oh, if she dug hard enough, it would be there. “I have good doctors, promise,” she decided waving it away would be better than anything else, “You'll be the first to know if anything weird happens.”

“And the other one?”

“No protection plans for assholes splitting your skull open.”

Neither of them laughed, but Kasumi was fine with it. She was fine joking about it because it was easier that way. Coping mechanism, whatever. It kept people from digging too much, but it didn't surprise her to see that Sha'ira wasn't impressed with it. “They must've been important to you.”

“Partner. He was my partner.” And the humor died with it, if it had been there at all.

“I'm sorry.”

The sorry had already been repeated to her countless times before, and it had become almost as sickening as the mere thought of him could be. Revenge was a nice driving force for a while, using that anger and regret to one singular goal, to be thrilled to have that man's blood on her hands. Sometimes, she still relished in the memory of his face sinking and glowering as she removed the shield off the gunship. The evening would come though, and even with the comfort of the grey-box, the lack of direction had been stifling. She never really knew what she wanted after that, and that, she was convinced, was why she went on the crucible project in the first place. “You knew already though,” she said plainly, “Or you wouldn't have sent her in there.”

“I had a hunch that it had been personal.”

She felt tempted by it still, even as the hurt settled in. “So. Tell me, Sha'ira,” she began, “You let yourself fall in love once, and in an instant, it's all gone-- just imagine that briefly.” And still, Kasumi watched her carefully, noted how her eyes briefly flickered away, to a far-off corner of personal affects-- one she could see as an old photo of a younger, livelier her, standing side by side with a gentle matriarch. “You think you could throw something like that away? That's every piece of his life. As it will be mine when I die.”

“It's unlike you to simplify a situation, Kasumi.”

What? She had gotten plenty of responses about that thing, mostly from Shepard after a few drinks, and she had felt the need to say something to save herself from the guilt of letting her keep it. Shepard was perhaps the only person that had the power and her respect to take it from her, but even that, still, didn't start with something so off the rails. “... Why?”

“I can't speak for your partner, of course, but just looking at your history, to say that is all of you is...” And she seemed to think better of her wording, paused with a furrowed, thoughtful look. “... It's irresponsible. We all leave traces behind, and that on its own, can bring comfort where we need it. We leave our memories behind in others. That...”

She didn't want to hear the rest of it.

“That destroys every person that touches it,” and her voice shook as Sha'ira said it. “I have never seen anyone come out of that attachment unscathed. To recover would take even longer.”

“I'm going to sleep.” The silence that followed was nothing like Kasumi had felt in so very long. It was those clear blue eyes staring into her back as she leaned back into the cot, and feeling the concern cut through her. To be asked was nothing. But to have the sympathy? She wasn't sure if it was a thought that scared her or insulted her.

Sha'ira hid a low sigh, and she heard the cot briefly whine and give as she slipped to the small pallet she had made for herself. The only thing that was left behind was a small graze at her calloused finger-tips. Whether out of apology or another small gesture to reach out to her, Kasumi didn't know. For the evening, it was too much for her to think about.

The long silence would be interrupting with the morning, and the startled and stern commands of a salarian that waited for them from the other side of the tent flaps. It would only be then that Kasumi would miss the peace that only came from a closed mouth.

#kiwi crossposts #mass effect #fanfiction #multichapter fics #kasumi goto

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 6 years ago

Text

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND Chapter 3

aaaaaahhhhhh, do you know how LONG and HARD I had to look for that picture of Jon Campling?! Like the man keeps his hair to the small of his back. His hair is more glorious than mine. But seriously, that’s like the closest picture I can find of him to what I invision in my head, now just imagine the hair being cut and styled how it was in Kingsglaive but with a lot less gray, like more black in his youth because remember- he doesn’t have a ring sapping his youth and strength, he just has kids, draining his youth with their shenanigans, it’s debatable which is more tolling and taxing on him. That super yacht is actually the Serene, it’s glorious and I’m totally diving into the fantasy aspect of this fic because this is me indulging myself. Pry it from my cold dead hands.

My apologies to everyone who has familes touched by drugs (including mine but thankfully not in my immediate family) and heads up because this touches on that a little.

Yo- @the-immortal-marshal GURL. I had to pull the trigger. I had to. I’m sorry. And I’m just...so sorry. For all those reading this and going...why are you sorry? It’s fine? JUST WAIT. It’s not going to be fine for long. A storm is a BREWIN.

AO3 or below and Tumblr- keep being cool and keep this under a cut. Be a Bro man. Don’t let me down.

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND

Chapter 3

“So let me get this straight, you got this super yacht for going on one date with an Arab billionaire?” Crowe asked as she drank her super-food smoothie with extra ripe pineapple as the group sailed to the Caribbean.

“Uh huh- granted it was a week long “date” spent in Dubai at the demand of my mother but yeah.” Sylva nodded as she sipped her own drink with a smug grin.

“Damn,” all the girls exclaimed.

“Oh and my super jet? That came from a Russian billionaire, when it came to the states, it had a case of beluga caviar in a secret compartment in the hold to get it past customs. I ate so much of it because it was only good for two weeks, I thought I was going to be sick and couldn’t eat it again for months. And that was another week long “date” spent in Moscow also at the demand of my mother.” Sylva revealed.

“Holy fucking shit.” All the girls giggled except for Selena, Luna and Stella who just shook their heads.

“Hey, I’m not saying my parents pimped me out, but they totally tried and I can only hope my mother is rolling in her grave now. So if anything I’ve earned both putting up with those guys for as long as I did and the moment I got back from Moscow because Dubai and Moscow were consecutive weeks and before Dubai I spent a week between China and Tokyo going on even more “dates” with even more billionaires but that is besides the point. Anyway, my point is, I came home in the jet and drove straight to Regis’ house and fucked him so hard neither of us could walk straight to make up for my three week absence and nothing pushes you towards your true love quite like spite for your own gold digging parents, in particular my mother, it makes me so happy to see you wear her most prized pieces girls.” Sylva cooed to Selena, Luna and Stella as Selena giggled and touched her necklace as her own grin grew as Lunafreya and Stella just shook their heads and touched their own jewelry too. Between Sylva, Lunafreya, Selena and Stella they had divided up Agnes’ jewelry between them with Sylva getting the vast majority of it but Agnes’ favorite pieces that Sylva hated because she always felt her mother loved them more than she loved her, went to the three younger girls and Samantha as well to spite Agnes- with the promise that none of the girls would ever sell or give the jewelry away, simply pass it down to the next generation because the Anders line rightfully died with her and Sylva would be damned if the Nox Fleuret line ever would.

“So if any of you think that your parents are being unreasonable, or impossible, at least your parents aren’t nearly as bad as mine were.” Sylva cautioned all the girls.

“That’s so fucked up.” Crowe just shook her head.

“Well, what’s worse, your parents or Tredd’s mother?” Stella posed as Sylva and the other girls grimaced and hissed.

“Ooh, yikes, that’s a tough one.” Sylva had to admit. “How is she doing?” Sylva asked Stella.

“Well the day after Tredd proposed, Ted went looking for her and found her strung out at a crack house and put her into rehab that’s also a psyche ward, so it’s touch and go. If they can manage to get her on the right meds and with the right therapy, it’ll help but I don’t know if she’ll take to it or not.” Stella sighed tiredly.

“But she also has to want to get better for the right reason. Does she know about your trust fund? Because I’m worried that will be the only reason she gets better.” Sylva cautioned.

“Oh that worries me too and so far Tredd has forbidden his dad from telling her and won’t tell her either, he doesn’t want her around me and he’s mad at his dad for finding her to begin with. I think he would rather she die of an overdose than be a thieving leech on him and his dad again.” Stella answered. “I think for Ted, he sees me and Tredd together and doing well and it reminds him of what him and Shyanne used to be and he wants that again and misses that.” Stella ventured.

“If he’s that lonely there’s a lot of women he could be introduced to.” Sylva reminded her niece.

“Oh I know, Tredd and I both have offered but he’s not having it, it’s all or nothing with him.” Stella shrugged.

“Well here’s to hoping she stays off of meth, crack and alcohol.” Sylva clinked her glass with Stella’s as the two shared a meaningful look.

“Same.” Stella snorted a laugh.

“I heard my name.” Tredd pointed out as he came up behind his fiance and stole a sip of her drink as he laid a hand over her shoulder and fingered her necklace teasingly as if he was itching to take it off of her but Stella knew that Tredd was only teasing- that he actually wouldn’t do such a thing. Part of his asshole behavior in the beginning had been bravado to cover up his own insecurity because he felt he knew that she was too good for him and if he was an ass enough, it would drive her away. Much the same way Stella liked to be a brashy bitch to drive nice guys away because she, deep down, didn’t think she deserved them even though her behavior spoke of entitlement, she was surprisingly not and once they both saw each other for what they really were and cut through each other’s bullshit, it only helped them fall in love with each other even if they felt they still needed to put on a show for appearances, when they were alone and by themselves with each other, they felt safe enough to be vulnerable with each other and really show their true colors and realize what a pair they made and how they were actually good to and for each other.

“We were talking about your mom, Mom was asking about her.” Stella said as she gestured to Sylva.

“Fucking bitch.” Tredd grumbled before he really started sucking Stella’s drink down.

“Why don’t you get your own if you like it this much?” Stella teased him.

“Because I’m not a pussy, but it’s really fucking good.” Tredd answered as all the girls rolled their eyes.

“Well I hope your mom can make a recovery and sobers up.” Sylva offered sweetly.

“Yeah you’re the only one.” Tredd played off. “So anyone want to change their bets on Lil Mama?” Tredd asked, quickly changing the subject.

Meanwhile Cor was meeting Clarus for a drink after work.

“You gotta help me.” Cor pleaded as they both sat at the bar as Clarus raised a curious brow.

“With?” Clarus asked warily.

“You gotta let me go on a drug bust or serve a warrant or something. I’m going insane.” Cor confessed. “I haven’t left my desk in months, I go to get coffee from the shop down the street and I fantasize about some idiot knocking over the joint while I’m there or I go to the bank and I fantasize about someone robbing it while I’m in it. Like I’m looking over the bar and hoping someone gets drunk and will start a fight right this second.” Cor revealed and Clarus could only shake his head as Sylva’s words washed over his head.

“Well part of being settled down means actually liking the peace and quiet.” Clarus teased and Cor just whimpered and laid his head on his folded arms.

“Gradual peace and quiet! Not all at once!” Cor argued and Clarus just snorted a laugh and continued to shake his head. He could practically hear Sylva’s sing song tone of ‘I told you so’.

“Fine, if something comes up, I’ll let you know.” Clarus agreed.

Meanwhile back at home Ada eased into bathtub, she had splurged and got a little island getaway candle and a bath bomb and a sugar scrub for her skin and a deep hair conditioning mask and next to the bathtub sat a drink made out of some tropical blend juice spiked with whiskey, it was the closest to a tropical drink she could manage and enjoyed her night in alone. She dropped the bath bomb in and watched it swirl and dissolve in the hot water as she sipped her drink as she breathed in the scent of the little candle next to the tub. While she felt jealous of all her friends, at least she could do this for herself. Being furious with Cor over New York had only lasted a couple of days and it was broken by some amazing makeup sex before she groaned when she realized she forgot to pick up her birth control from the pharmacy again. She had been late getting it last month and now she was late getting it again this time. She had such a fickle memory lately.

She quickly shrugged it off and just as the bath bomb fully dissolved, her phone went off and she huffed and got it and saw all the pictures of Crowe and all her friends back on Sylva’s yacht before Crowe sent another picture of another ultrasound picture. She could see Luche in the background, talking with Tredd, Libertus, Nyx, Ravus and Pelna and smiling and still looking handsome as ever while Crowe was with all the girls, Sylva, Stella, Selena and Luna all wearing diamond necklaces and drinking proper island drinks. It wasn’t fair. Ada felt tears prick at her eyes before they fell from her eyes and down her cheeks. She sniffled and turned the phone off and tried to get back into the groove of her bath as she washed her hair then put the deep conditioning mask on it and then shaved her legs and underarms before scrubbing her skin with the sugar scrub then when she was done with that she took a foot file and tried to take off all the calluses from her feet. Being a waitress and being on her feet all the time meant her feet were tired and achy and often blistered if not callused.

When she was done the candle’s scent overpowered her nose and she blew it out before she started chugging her own drink again and before she knew it the drink was gone, the water was turning cold, the candle was out and her hair needed to get rinsed and instead of feeling refreshed, she felt even more frustrated...with everything. She laid back and rinsed the conditioning mask out of her hair and once she was done she sat back up and drained the tub and got out, putting a towel around her and got dressed and went to bed early after plugging in her phone again. Baxter jumped up on the bed and snuggled with her as she fell asleep.

In her dream she was back in the tea shop with Luche sitting across from her, pouring her a cup of tea, in a suit again and looking particularly handsome while she felt raw and compromised internally.

“I’ve missed you.” Luche finally said.

“You’ve been too busy to miss me.” Ada gently argued as she took the tea cup and drank from it again, the warmth of the tea cup warming her hands as the tea and his presence seemed warmed her soul.

“No I haven’t, it’s impossible for me to be too busy to miss you.” Luche countered with a gentle grin as he picked his own tea cup back up and sipped it.

“Are you sure you’re not missing something really important back at the office right now?” Ada questioned.

“Nope, I don’t deal with anything that’s life or death, whatever is there can wait until whenever I get back, you’re way more important than any paperwork I could do.” Luche insisted, his gentle grin turning reassuring and Ada felt warmed by the sentiment and she could tell he wanted to say more but forced his mouth to stay shut and let her have a moment of peace but part of her wanted to hear whatever he would say.

“What?” Ada asked, hoping that would help him say whatever he wanted or needed to stay.

“I’ve only ever wanted you. So anything I can do to spend time with you, no matter what the cost is- is something I’ll always do if it’s for you.” Luche finally spoke, his voice dropping to a low murmur so that he wouldn’t draw attention to them. But the look in his eyes brought tears to hers. The words were eating their way out of her throat as she stood as Luche did the same and came into his arms as he hugged her tight.

“I’ve only ever wanted you too. I love you.” Ada heard herself sniffle into his chest as she felt so safe and warm in his arms again. Like nothing could hurt her, like nothing could even disappoint her either.

“I love you too, let’s get out of here.” Luche proposed and Ada nodded before he kissed her and then Ada woke up with a start which woke Baxter up who started licking her tears away just as Cor came home from the bar and Ada quickly got control of herself again.

“Hey, you’re still up.” Cor grinned when he came into the room and noticed her sitting up in bed and petting Baxter.

“No, you woke me up when you came home.” Ada teased with a grin, praying her face didn’t betray her.

“Oh I’m sorry.” Cor apologized as he stripped out of his clothes and put his badge and his gun on the bedside table before he crawled into bed with her. “Well I’ll help put you back to sleep then.” Cor offered as he brought her into his embrace. “Wow, your skin is really soft.” Cor noticed as he smelled her hair as he kissed the crown of her head and touched the small of her back.

“Thanks, scrubbed it during my bath.” Ada smiled, pleased that he noticed and rewarded him with a kiss and soon that kiss led to another and a touch led to a caress and before either of them realized they were having soft, sweet sex with each other and when they were done, Cor noticed a little bit of blood on his shaft.

“Did you start your period Love?” Cor asked as he got a tissue to clean himself off with.

“Oh, I must have.” Ada blinked in surprise. “I feel like it’s early.” Ada muttered to herself as she got up and got a pad into her underwear.

“Well it’s always better to be early than it is to be late.” Cor joked and Ada laughed.

“I know right?” Ada grinned as she climbed back into the bed to rest and relax and really fall asleep.

Meanwhile back on the yacht.

“Why were you girls talking about Shyanne?” Tredd asked as he helped take the necklace off and put it away so himself and Stella could get ready for bed.

“Oh Mom was telling us the story of how she got the yacht and the jet.”

“Because her mom was the baddest pimp of them all, yeah.” Tredd nodded which got Stella to laugh.

“And she was telling us to be grateful our moms are nothing like that.” Stella added.

“And let me guess, you just had to drag Shyanne into it and go- ‘actually no, Tredd’s mom is much worse’.” Tredd surmised.

“Sorry if I embarrassed you.” Stella apologized softly as she hugged him and held him tight as he in turn clung to her and kissed the crown of her head. “I can promise you that I’ll never touch any of that.” Stella swore. “And just because she’s that way doesn’t mean you’ll ever be that way. I know we would beat the shit out of each other if we ever tried.” Stella lightly teased which got Tredd to crack a grin and huff a laugh through his nose as he continued to just hold her for a long while.

“So would you draw me like one of your French girls Jack?” Tredd teased as he let go of her and playfully tried to put the diamond necklace on himself which got Stella to crack up laughing.

“Yes I would.” Stella cackled.

“Show it to me when you’re done!” Crowe teased through the wall as Tredd jumped and panicked and threw the necklace back into case as Stella nearly went to her knees she started cracking up as she heard Crowe cackle a laugh too.

“Fucking go to sleep! Your knocked up body needs it!” Tredd spat at the wall as Stella was in tears and literally had to go to her knees, holding her sides and laughing her ass off as she could only imagine Crowe was in a similar state on the other side of the wall as Tredd got the necklace and made sure it wasn’t damaged before he put it back properly. “Or do I have to fuck Stella against that wall again?” Tredd threatened.

“Go to sleep! All of you! God!” Luche yelled through the other wall.

“Shut the fuck up and keep fapping!” Tredd yelled back at Luche.

“Fuck you!” Luche groaned before Tredd picked Stella up off the floor and pinned her to the wall between their room and Luche’s and started fucking her hard just to prove a point before Luche groaned again and left his room to go find refuge somewhere else but every room he passed he could hear every other couple being intimate which only made him more frustrated before he got to the couch in the main lounge and collapsed onto that before pulling a throw onto himself as he continued to grumble to himself, if Ada was here and back with him, he wouldn’t give a fuck because he’d be fucking her against the wall too. This wasn’t fair. Everyone else was with the love of their lives and he was in a constant state of anguish because his was still with someone else. Maybe he should have pushed Sylva to introduce him to her nieces. But at the same time Ravus kept reassuring him that if he was patient enough, that Ada would come back to him. He just had to be patient and endure this for now. He could do that. He had to. Now he understood what Ravus felt like when Selena had been with Pelna. If Ravus could wait for Selena, he could wait for Ada and they’d be just as happy too.

#Magic and Mracles and BEYOND #aaahhhhhhhhh

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r-we-taire-yet · 7 years ago

Text

Dark’s Errands

Since this chapter got pretty long I put most of it under the cut. I have posted it to archive of our own so if you want to follow the story easier you can find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12062205/chapters/27317787

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When Babet awoke, he was feeling somewhat better than he had been expecting. For one thing, he was warm and dry and his wounds had been tended to. His residency was neither warm nor dry, and there was no one there to patch him up or slip him potions to help with pain. He wasn’t exactly expecting the Thief King to care about his latest prize enough to actually take care of him, so the fact that he was cocooned and his pain was lessened was peculiar.

Babet was always cold, a side affect of having part of your soul join the realm of the dead. This was honestly the warmest he had felt in a long time, as he had given up trying to warm himself up. He had heard rumors of special potions and blankets that could help with perpetual coldness, but never bothered looking into it himself. It seemed like a hoax to him, and he prefered not to waste money on quackery. Still, there must be something magical about this, because he almost felt normal again.

He looked around the room for any sign of Montparnasse and found none, though that didn’t mean the Thief wasn’t there. Thief magic was a kind that was unique and mysterious, as the secrets were only passed down between their own. Still, everyone knew they could make themselves invisible. It was simply that no one knew how. The room itself appeared to be more of an office than a bedroom, and he appeared to be sleeping on a deep green couch instead of a bed. It was clear that whoever the office belonged to, likely Montparnasse himself, took great care in status symbols, as the room was decorated to the nines. Beside him was a small table that was very stylish, and matched the other woodwork in the room. His couch matched the color of the walls, though they had a pattern of light green that the couch did not. Directly in front of him against the wall, between two doors, was a beautiful fireplace with a painting above it.

Babet struggled to restrain his panic at the sight of the roaring fire. Ever since that night, any time he saw flames he was clutched with the same fear as he had when he saw his home and his love burning away, another reason he had grown used to the cold and the dark. He couldn’t help but fearful sound as he worried the flames would leap from their place and burn down the place around him.

He was not left alone in his terror though, for soon a dark looking fellow breezed into the room through the left door, and the light seemed to dim the closer he got. It was a great relief to no longer focus on the bright fire in front of him. The man didn’t outright speak, and he wore a mask that made it difficult to make out what kind of person he was, Charmed, obviously, but he assisted Babet in sitting up and drinking a potion before laying him back down. Then, the strange man stared at the door to the right of the fireplace.

“Um… excuse me?” Babet croaked. The potion was already lessening his pain and making his wounds close themselves slightly quicker.

The strange man turned towards him slightly to show he was listening but didn’t say a word otherwise. Babet wondered what kind of secrets such a person could have that would cause them to find it necessary to wear a Charmed mask and scarcely speak. Now, he didn’t know many people like this stranger, who brought Darkness wherever they went, so it could just be a them thing, or the guy could be oddball among his peers.

“Um… where am I? What’s going on?” he asked, hoping the guy would pipe up.

He did not though, not right away. A few minutes passed before the man quietly said, “In the office.”

Babet snickered, and then winced because snickering hurt, and looked around the room again. “And who are you? I’m guessing you know who I am.”

The man took a while to respond again before finally saying, “Claquesous.”

No one gave out their true, full names. Doing so was unheard of. The only reason you would ever give a first name was if your family was wealthy enough to consider giving a middle name. Names had power. That was precisely why Babet was Babet instead of @#%$^ Babet, and why most criminals went by a name that wasn’t even one given at birth. Claquesous and Montparnasse were two obvious examples of that. Babet simply didn’t care enough to hide his name that much.

There was not much more conversation after that, as Babet feared to pry too much. He knew enough about this man through rumors on the street to know he was not someone to trifle with. People who could control Darkness never were. Darkness control was an art you had to be born able to do. You couldn’t practice it without natural born skill. Someone like Claquesous could use their natural skills for all sorts of nefarious things, though right now the man was simply taking care of him and keeping the room dark. How peculiar. It was almost kind.

The door that Claquesous was staring at flew open dramatically as Montparnasse entered the room and inspected the pair. For one so well known for dastardly things, he seemed to keep himself well dressed, though indeed in all black.. He gave a slight nod to the mysterious man, who quickly left, taking the darkness with him. Babet couldn’t help when his eyes slipped over to the once again roaring fire, nor the gulp he couldn’t subdue as he feared for the worst. Meanwhile, the Thief brought a chair over and watched Babet as if waiting for him to speak first. He seemed to notice the glances at the fire, and appeared at least a bit curious. Montparnasse moved his chair so he was sitting in the way, cutting off Babet’s ability to see the fire so clearly, though it was more likely so he would pay attention to him rather than wanting to quell Babet’s fear.

“Where am I?” he finally asked, when he didn’t feel like he was going to die quite as much.

“My office,” Montparnasse replied smoothly, sitting back in his chair. He was tall and thin, like a boogie man in the night, dressed all in black save his undershirt which seemed stark white against the other clothing. His eyes had a dark glint to them too, a color so close to black that it was impossible to imagine they were anything but. Thief magic generally shone black when it had a color at all, better to blend into the shadows that way, and you could always tell a Thief by their dark eyes, just like you could tell Babet had dabbled in Necromancy by his somewhat translucent nature, and that Claquesous was a Darkness wielder by how his edges seemed to blend into the world around him.

He snorted, “No shit, I meant where is the office.” Babet enjoyed that everyone seemed to be snarky there, but it was growing tiring not to get a straight answer.

“My base of operations, and where you will be staying as well, if you choose to accept my job offer,”

Babet knew how dangerous it was to say no to Montparnasse so he didn’t, not immediately. Besides, he could use a solid job. “What kind of job is this?”

“Simple, you heal us when we need it and help ease any pain that we may happen upon. In return, you can live with us hear in our lovely home and keep that blanket helping you stay warm. And, of course, your keep of any thefts you come with us on,” the Thief replied, knitting his fingers together.

It seemed like a fair trade. He wouldn’t have to live in that ratty old apartment anymore, and he could keep the blanket that made him feel less dead inside, while doing what he had gone to school to do. Sure, they were criminals, but Babet was one too. Necromancy was against the law, as was Healing criminals with no intention of turning them in. It wouldn’t do any more harm to him, joining this crew, than he had inflicted upon himself. He was hesitant to go into a deal with a Thief though, as unless you were also a Thief it would be binding. Double crossing a Thief could be your doom.

“I accept,” Babet said, ignoring his worry as he reached out to shake the man’s hand. He didn’t know exactly what he was signing up for, but knew it would be at least a bit better than what he had currently.

Montparnasse instead clutched his forearm and stared into his eyes, which were nearly glowing with his dark magic. Babet hissed as he felt his arm burn under the touch of the other, as Montparnasse’s mark seared itself into his flesh. “The pact is sealed. Welcome to the Patron-Minette.”

#Magie de Paris #Dark's Errand #Babet #montparnasse #claquesous

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