#you know it occurs to me that Sunday is a really bizarre day to meet with a psychiatrist | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

realm-sweet-realm · 5 years ago

Text

Into the Void

So. Chapter 1 of the bodyswap to the death AU is here. I can’t lie, this one has a lot of setup. Sorry about that. The next chapter is going to be much more exciting. It centers around Allison, and my Allison is pretty twisted.

Also, I’ve decided to do this as a sequel to Defining Memories so that the group will have a reason to know the first thing about each other. Don’t worry if you haven’t read it, though, all the information you’d need from it is made clear in chapter 1.

Chapter 2 should be out be Friday at the latest. I know that weeks is a long time to dwell on a comedy AU, but I want to finish this and can only write so fast.

---

It was 7:00 pm on a Sunday evening when Joey Drew found himself pulled straight out of his regular life and into a purple, mystic void. Strangely enough, this wasn’t the first time this had happened: about two months ago, he and twelve of his employees had been gathered into a void just like this, then allowed to leave once they had watched each others’ memories.

This was different, though. Then, well, the mystic void had seemed a little much, but Joey had been expecting some supernatural events. You could even say he’d unleashed them. Now? Joey was clueless, and his heart was like a lead hammer pounding at his chest. What had he done?

“What’s going on, Joey?” a voice asked. He turned to see that it was Henry, and the other eleven people from last time were there, too, looking confused and, in most cases, worried. Joey’s throat was so tight that wasn’t sure he could speak. “We’re just here to watch more memories, right?”

Just then, a maniacal laughter emanated from all around them, loud and high-pitched.

Oh, absolutely not! The void mocked. It was jaunty and garbled and high-pitched. I paid you my favour, and you didn’t pay me back. And you didn’t put me away properly, either. So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do: now that you all know each other a bit, we’re going to play a game. You hear?

“Joey, get us out of here!” Sammy yelled. There was fear evident in his voice. “Do it. You know how, right?”

Joey stared vacantly into the void as it laughed and laughed at them.

No one here is getting away until you entertain me. Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to take your souls, and put em’ in random bodies. And you’ll want to keep up the performance of being whoever you’re supposed to be, because at the end of the week, you’ll all get a chance to guess each others’ identities. Anyone who can guess more identities than their identity was correctly guessed will be put back into their bodies. Anyone else, the voice giggled, DIES! I’ll give you all, hmm... about two minutes to work out the practicalities. Bye-bye!

The thirteen people got a good look at each other, perhaps so they’d recognize who they were five minutes from now. Strangely, the strongest reactions in the room seemed to be nervousness and stunned shock, most likely because the reality of such a bizarre scenario hadn’t sunk in yet.

After a while, Thomas spoke up on the practicalities of the situation. “Alright. Here’s what I propose we do,” Thomas said, trying to sound perfectly calm. He wanted nothing more than to wring Joey’s neck, but now was not the time. “Let’s all write any important information about how to handle each other’s lives on pieces of paper and leave them taped to our own lockers, or offices, or whatever it is we have. That can include any meds we have to take, how to interact with family members, details about work, whatever. Alright?”

Allison’s sobs were the only answer.

Thomas blinked, and the next thing he knew, he was still hearing those same sobs, albeit in a somewhat deeper voice, but he was in an apartment he didn’t recognize and looking at the face of Sammy Lawrence. Looking down at his own hands, he saw very thin arms coated in inky black gloves.

“Oh, Sammy, what’s wrong?” Thomas cooed in the girliest, most sympathetic tone he could muster. The game had begun.

The next day, the thirteen took to their roles. Thomas hated his new body. Susie hadn’t been kidding about not producing body heat because she was made of ink, and he was freezing cold whenever he was outside of her well-heated apartment. On the plus side, the note said that Joey Drew had her scheduled to do some bit parts for an upcoming episode because he hadn’t been able to find a replacement voice actress yet, so at very least he wouldn’t have to do her usual performances and meet-and-greets as Alice Angel. He barely knew a thing about this studio’s characters, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to sing.

Sammy didn’t mind being Allison too much. He could sing. He had a feeling that living with “Thomas” wouldn’t be such an issue, either. While he was experimenting with his new singing voice the night before, Sammy caught “Thomas” bundling up in a heavy sweater and heading out to stargaze in the crisp night air. “He” walked so delicately when he thought no one was watching, and the way he was holding “his” arms to his heart- there was no doubt about it. This was Susie rediscovering life in a human body. He even caught her feeling her pulse, unaware that she was being watched. It crushed Sammy’s heart to see, but at least he’d figured out an identity.

Allison didn’t like Sammy, and not just because of the air of snobbery she got from him, or all the contemptuous looks he gave to Tom. By his memories, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he’d had a part in Susie’s death and rebirth. Now that she had his body, well, she’d figure out a way to make things even. She knew she would. And in the meantime, there were certain ways that she planned on taking advantage of it.

Bertrum had ended up the body of the lyricist, Jack Fain. He supposed there were worse things- writing song lyrics sounded like something he could learn. He, like many of the other players, had to ask where his office was. To his dismay, he learned that he had no office: he usually worked in the sewers. Was there anyone in this company who wasn’t either incompetent, a psychological mess, disrespectful, or massively lacking in self-respect? Worse, he had no idea where to put his note, since, as Bertrum could work out ride designs at home and only ever came in occasionally to check on the Bendyland workers or meet with Joey Drew, he had no office or locker. He had to find whoever was piloting his body so he could tell them about the dinner party with the Georgian investors on Thursday evening and make sure they didn’t ruin it. Thus, Bertrum found himself working as close to Bendyland as he could without setting off anyone’s radar, hoping to catch a glimpse of himself.

On the other hand, Jack didn’t mind being Bertrum. He worried about how things were going with his husband and adoptive kids, of course, and the situation was scary in general, but at least his form put him at an advantage. This way he would have an excuse to interact with “Lacie” for as long as he needed to in order to figure out her identity, and wouldn’t need to interact with too many other participants of the game. He could focus on designing attractions that weren’t rides, since he had no mechanical knowledge, and keep his profile down for the week, and he would be just fine, he hoped.

Norman was relatively unafraid. He was Shawn- more or less a best-case scenario. Shawn’s job didn’t require much skill, and he was gregarious enough that it wouldn’t be out of character to interact with almost any of the players. Plus, from years of watching from the shadows, Norman knew almost everyone’s secrets- this was a bloody game and Norman took no joy in that, but it was his game.

Shawn was Lacie. Okay, someone he knew well and who wouldn’t interact with other players much. A fair deal. He could handle this. Thankfully, she had been outside when the transformation had occurred, so no one who knew her personally heard Shawn’s existential screams.

Lacie barely knew Norman beyond his reputation for watching people and rarely talking, but he seemed pretty easy to pretend to be. She had to ask a coworker what her job was, and almost laughed when she got the answer. Much of it was sitting high and mighty above the recording studio, which periodically contained four of the players of the game. She’d been terrified at first, but all things considered, she’d have to really screw up to lose this game.

Joey also thought he had a good deal, playing Henry. Joey knew Henry so well, and already knew wife and his children (they loved their uncle Joey). Heck, Joey had even envied Henry’s home life. And Joey knew how to draw, and how to put on a persona. It seemed like a best-case scenario! That was, until it was ten a.m. and Joey was sick to death of drawing. Henry had an ability to do repetitive work for hours that Joey quite simply lacked, and Joey found himself without an excuse to visit anyone. Often, during his first day, he would just walk somewhere where he knew other players would be, and just stand there, watching, hoping for a clue to anyone’s identity. It was a very un-Henrylike thing to do, but at least it wasn’t Joeylike, either. He was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be guessed for it.

Henry, in the meantime, was thrilled to be Joey. He’d worried himself to the point of vomiting the night before, thinking about how he’d have to contribute to the deaths of others for a chance to see his family again. But now, he was planning- working out misguided, Joeylike decisions that would test the nature of the players, starting with the music department. He was ready to do anything to secure his life, and being someone this powerful could only help.

Grant was in full-on panic the second he was out of the void, and the noise from that brought over a somewhat familiar-looking golden retriever to lick his shaking hand in concern. Grant had moved to another room and shut the door to keep the retriever out. It had startled him enough that he’d almost struck it, and he had no intention of hurting someone else’s pet. As soon as he came down from panic, he realized where he was: Wally’s home. Alright. This could be worse. All he had to do was clean the studio and pretend to be goofy and energetic. For a whole week. He hoped he could keep it up that long.

Wally wasn’t faring much better. He knew he couldn’t handle the studio’s finances, and he didn’t know anything about Grant. Since it had been so long, Wally couldn’t even seem to remember Grant’s memories. The note he’d been left didn’t help. Most of it was pretty mundane: the first two bullet points were about where he kept his medications and a list of scheduled meetings. The next one read,

Do not get help with my job. I have a reputation to maintain. At least, don’t get help with anything too simple.

Not exactly what Wally wanted to hear, but still a clear message. The next point, however, was a lot more cryptic.

Expect a visit at 10 a.m. on Monday. Have the second folder in my filing cabinet (the blue one) out. Have the door closed.

Well, it was 10 a.m., and Wally did have the folder out and the door closed. He heard someone twist the door handle. “Slide it under the door.” Came a deep, gravely, and very artificial-sounding voice.

Wally tried opening the door, but whoever was on the other side of it was holding it shut. Knowing that he needed to find at least one identity to stay alive, he pulled harder, but whoever was on the other side of it was much stronger than him.

“Don’t even think about it. I know exactly who you are, and if you open this door, I will tell the other eleven. Just slide that folder under the door, and keep the door closed for five minutes afterwards.”

Slowly, carefully, Wally obeyed. On the other side of the door, Grant picked up the folder and backed away slowly. He felt sorry for whoever he’d threatened, but these forms needed to be complete before the end of the week, and he was quite sure that Joey would kill him if they weren’t done properly. The second he was around the corner, he collapsed against the wall in relief. Hopefully this would be the most ridiculous thing he’d have to do this week.

“There you are, Wally,” a voice came.

Grant quickly hid the folder behind his back. “Thomas! Uh, hi!” Was that how Wally greeted Thomas? He hoped so.

“Uh, hi. So, your note probably said something about how I’m supposed to teach you to maintenance the ink machine.” Indeed, it had. “Well, that would be pretty useless, now wouldn’t it? Listen, I’ll promise not to try to figure out your identity if you can answer me this: do you know anything about machinery?”

Grant had worried that being caught ten feet from his office would have been a dead giveaway. Maybe “Thomas” was just that desperate. “Sorry, no,” he said.

“Okay,” “Thomas” said. “Guess I’ll just have to teach him next week. Best of luck not dying.” Susie left, making sure to walk heavily, as Thomas would have. She’d just have to make sense of Thomas’ instructions on her own. Maybe calling GENT or getting some books on machine maintenance from the library would help. One week. She had to keep the ink machine, whose pipes and various machinery extended from one end of the studio to the other, in one piece for one week, plus keep up with the pipe installations Joey had wanted. Plus find at least two identities (she wasn’t sure how long she could hide her true colours from “Allison”), and keep her own hidden so that she could survive.

This was going to be a week.

#body swap to the death au #my fanfiction #joey drew crew

11 notes · View notes

clexa--warrior · 5 years ago

Text

Fear The Walking Dead' continues its losing streak in Sunday night's episode 'Ner Tamid.'

Credit: AMC

Sunday night's episode of Fear The Walking Dead was a little bit better than the rest of this half of the season, and I think I know why: There was no Morgan!s

Morgan and Al are off doing their own thing, and miraculously we didn't hear from either one this week. That's good! Sadly, we also didn't get any Alicia. She remains one of the only characters I still like on this show, though the past few episodes have done their level best to character-assassinate her (she's probably off painting more trees at this point).

The rest of the episode was pretty much about as pointless as the rest of the episodes in Season 5. Charlie "runs away" from the convoy to go find some place for them to stay, so that they're not always on the move. Finding a place to stay is a really good idea. Running off on your own in the zombie apocalypse is stupid beyond all reckoning, and I wish the writers and producers would stop making the characters act like such absolute dunces every week.

It appears the real problem is June, who is apparently in charge of the caravan and its 36 members. She's driving them all hard, not letting them stay in one place long, no rest for the weary and all that jazz. Even John Dorie is like "Hey June, baby, I love you but this is ridiculous," but it falls on deaf ears. I'm not sure why June is acting like this, or why she's suddenly in charge, or why they have a caravan instead of a base to begin with, but that doesn't matter. Fear The Walking Dead just does stuff, and we're just supposed to eat it up without questioning anything.

I think that's the only way people can still enjoy this show--just don't ask any questions, don't think about anything too much, don't expect anything remotely like logic or realism or human nature to figure into it at all.

In any case, Charlie makes yet another new friend while out on her own. This time it's a Jewish Rabbi, Jacob Kessner, who lives all by himself at his old synagogue. All his former flock are now zombies, calling to mind Father Gabriel from The Walking Dead (though Kessner is much less annoying than Gabriel, who I still can't stand). Charlie thinks this would be a good place for the survivors to settle down, but things don't work out. Before the end of the episode, the safe haven is overrun and Kessner is out of a home. Shocking. We've never seen the survivors show up and ruin a good thing before! (That's sarcasm, by the way. Everywhere our heroes go falls apart, from the family on the island to the Mexican villa, to the ranch, to the kids' treehouse this season).

June and Dorie show up and there's some zombie action, but we know nobody is going to actually get killed by a zombie. That hardly ever happens on this show. The last time I can think of it actually happening was when Madison died, but she died offscreen so we didn't even see it. There used to be some great zombie kills in previous seasons, but there's no reason to fear anything in Fear The Walking Dead these days.

That applies to Logan and his group of feckless, toothless bad guys. At one point they chase Sarah and Dwight--who looks ridiculous clean-shaven, though I suppose it's symbolic of his being totally neutered by the do-gooder sickness that's befallen the entire cast--and almost catch them but the tank shows up and saves the day. Of course, why they were so worried and running to begin with is beyond me. Recall last week when Morgan and Al were faced with a dozen of Logan's thugs and nothing happened. They just blocked the road and that's all. Are we supposed to think that this week things are so different that they pose an actual threat now?

Of course, it turns out that the whole thing was just a diversion. Logan wanted to distract the convoy. Apparently he's figured out where the oil fields are and he wanted Morgan's group as far away as possible which, uh, kind of sounds like what he did in the very beginning of this season by having them fly off to the nuclear power plant region. They're running out of ideas so fast it isn't even funny.

Is there even a story here? I mean, there are things that happen I guess, but is there a story? Let's try to parse it all together, shall we?

Season 5 starts with Morgan and most of the crew crash-landing a plane because they thought they were helping someone but it was just Logan tricking them so that he could take over the mill. The first half of the season is spent trying to get a new plane or fix the old plane so they can fly it back. There's also a nuclear power plant that's going to melt down, and we meet a new character, Grace, who is trying to prevent that. Eight episodes are spent on this dual-plot, with Strand and Charlie ultimately saving the day by bringing propellers in a hot air balloon to the heroes who then use their years of airplane mechanic experience to fix the plane and then fly successfully back to their own area of Texas because apparently that region has zero roads leading. It is a mystical island within the state of Texas that can only be reached by air (unless you're Dwight or his wife who apparently both managed just fine on solid ground).

So that's the first half of Season 5. Crash plane, fix plane, fly out. Logan has the mill. Then, bizarrely, at the very end of the first half of the season Logan tries to make a deal with them. This deal is not struck, we discover in the Season 5 midseason premiere, and Logan goes back to working with the thugs. I can't tell if they're working for him or he's working for them, because the show has done such a lousy, inconsistent job at explaining things to us.

Speaking of which, we learn that during the break, during the period of time that occurs off-screen between the two halves of this season, that Morgan has discovered where Polar Bear's oil fields are. And I guess he's also figured out how to refine oil into gasoline. And I guess this is what Logan was after the whole time, but they just neglected to introduce that conflict in any remotely comprehensible way. Now, five episodes into the back half of the season, the entire plot seems to be "Morgan and group go around helping people more while Logan tries to figure out where the oil fields are." Five episodes of filler with virtually nothing of any importance happening. Alicia meets the guy painting on all those trees. Morgan and Grace try and fail to spark a romance. Logan is mad at Morgan but does nothing about it. They film a stupid PSA and put it on VCRs with generators wherever they can so that people know that they're out there trying to help people.

None of this qualifies as a story, at least not really. The story, if it had to be boiled down, would be the conflict between Logan and Morgan's two groups. But that conflict barely exists, as evidenced by the times they've actually encountered one another and done nothing. At least Negan did stuff. At least the Saviors posed a threat, no matter how badly produced Seasons 7 and 8 of The Walking Dead were. At least there was a story.

Here we just have people driving around wasting gas, talking on walkie-talkies, rarely having realistic conversations or actually interesting struggles or conflicts. It's all contrived. You could probably boil down the entire 12 episodes we've seen so far into two and not lose anything.

Just take away the whole entire plane crash plot and have them tricked into leaving the mill. Then have Logan realize what he wanted in the mill wasn't there and go to war with Morgan to get the map to the oil fields. The oil fields themselves would be useless to Morgan since he doesn't know how to refine oil into gasoline, but he knows that Logan is bad news so he keeps that information from him anyways. Have Logan kill some of the good guys, and have that test Morgan's resolve to be a good person. Have Dwight show up as one of Logan's dudes, on the other side of the conflict, and have that make him question whether he's made the right choice.

I mean, I think you could probably get eight episodes out of this conflict, and then you could twist things around for the second half of the season. Morgan could snap again, go full killstreak mode. He and Alicia could break into two different groups and the conflict could continue between them somehow. This is all just spit-balling. The fact is, it would be fairly simple to come up with a better story for Season 5, with better and more natural conflicts. Actually, I'd have introduced Logan as a sympathetic character and had him join the group, had his treachery not manifest until it was too late. Make the betrayal sting.

But this is all fantasy. I want the same kind of tense conflict that drove Season 3, with sympathetic characters on both sides and no easy resolution. But what we're getting is a bunch of badly written filler episodes with no real purpose and an overarching conflict that makes no sense. Meanwhile, we get things like Al leaving all her tapes in a safe and then not bothering to even shut the lock boxes, and that's how Logan discovers the oil fields. We get John Dorie shooting a bullet at a hatchet blade so that it can split in two and kill a pair of approaching zombies. That's the kind of vapid writing this show has now. It's just sad.

Next week, Logan will use the oil fields to wipe out half of all living things in the universe and the week after that Al and June and Daniel will send Skidmark back in time in a time machine they built out of spare plane parts, and Skidmark's job will be to kill Polar Bear before he ever planted the oil seeds that eventually grew into the oil fields, but little do they know that Polar Bear is waiting for them . . . . it's a trap!

I just . . . I can't. I don't know what else to say. What a sad joke Fear has become.

#fear the walking dead spoilers

2 notes · View notes

thevampsupdate · 6 years ago

Text

What is The Future of Men?

Yesterday at The Festival of New Masculinity, a brilliant panel discussed a current time of flux for men, and what positive things may lie ahead.

“You wouldn’t have got an event like this, with all these people on a Sunday night, two or three years ago, there’s just no way…”

No way at all, but now things are indeed changing. James Scroggs, the Chair of Trustees of CALM, was right to marvel and we can scarcely believe how these events at The Festival of New Masculinity are going. One, just how well attended they are, but also the level of honesty and spirit of emotional sharing that is emanating from the stages and being reciprocated by the audiences. Discussions around masculinity and male mental health are vital topics which are now truly beginning to take hold all around the world, and no matter what side you’re on in some of these discussions, the fact we’re even talking about them means deconstructions of what it means to be a man are occurring and help is becoming more likely for the men who need it.

At the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen last night such ideas were discussed in depth by a panel of James McVey from The Vamps, presenter and musician George Shelley, Deputy CEO of the Diana Award, Alex Holmes, and CALM’s James Scroggs, The event was hosted by author Poorna Bell, who guided the group through conversations on how masculinity is changing, what people can do to help men in crisis, and the new ways in which boys are now being taught at schools. You can read some highlights from the discussion below, and you’ll probably agree with us in hoping that the future of men is exhibited by the fine people up on that stage.

Thanks to the panel, and the audience, and everyone who made it happen, particularly the SuperCulture folk, Freedom Brewery, and our partners, new grooming range SEB MAN, who’s messaging around ‘undefinable’ men are exemplary for the way brands should be working. Thanks all x

On the way masculinity is changing

George Shelley: “I still feel like men today have to follow stereotypes. Provide, protect and procreate – that’s men’s To Do list. I grew up in an all-female household, where I went to bed with a hug and had all this open love. Yet I go to my Dad’s now, and he’s a single parent, bring up four little boys, and I’m seeing my Dad being both the dominant female and the male – it’s interesting seeing how my dad is in their lives, and how he has evolved.

James Scroggs: “I look back at my childhood in a good middle-class family but where there was a divide between my father, who was the stoic provider. He had a pretty horrid childhood from what I can work out, but he wouldn’t talk about it, it was an unmentionable part of his life – he decided he wanted to be the hunter-provider, the classic male stereotype. But on the other hand there was a massive matriarchal presence from my mother. And I look at the world now and think all those things are getting really nicely jumbled up. Matriarchy is shifting, and I think the patriarchy is being broken down bit by bit and the world is beginning to work out that actually both can play a fundamental part in how we live. I have a 13 year-old boy and I cannot wait for him to be at the age where he starts to redefine what power structures look like, what earnings look like, what role he has to play with a male or female partner, because I think it’s all up for grabs. And I think a session like this is a real sign of that.”

James McVey: “When I was 14 or 15 and started making music, I was slightly strange, I had long hair, a pierced nose, and I didn’t really fit into a certain group. I had friends but when I started writing openly emotional songs about girls it wasn’t received particularly well. I grew up in an area of Dorset where it was all about rugby and football, and I liked football, but I liked girls more! But I’d sing about girls and was ostracised for that – people didn’t understand why a 15 year old boy was being openly emotional rather than playing rugby. Now, it’s not so much of an issue. There’s millions of kids on YouTube talking about how they feel – there’s been a shift. As a man I don’t’ feel ashamed as my emotions anymore. In the last 10 or 15 years there’s been a big change.”

Alex: “You spend 11,000 hours of your life at school so it’s a huge amount of time that affects the person you are today. For me, I was mixed race – still am – and gay, and in my classrooms I’d hear the word gay used in a really negative way. ‘My homework’s gay’ or ‘My Xbox was gay last night’. But for the one kid in that class who wasn’t sure of themselves and wasn’t sure if they can talk about their true selves, that’s really damaging.

The old school teachers I used to have, weren’t able to broach these subjects, but we’re going into schools now and kids and teachers are championing it, talking about their feelings, talking about LGBT issues, and I think that’s really powerful because when I was at school I was seen to be different, and I didn’t figure out who I was for a long time. But now I see kids helping each other talk about who they are and accept that that thing that makes them different I actually a strength in disguise.

I think because you’re seeing more of that in the mainstream, and the biggest brands in the world are embracing that, so I think things are really positive, and are changing.

Where there could be more room for improvement is in some of the media that the younger generation consume, because we’re only just at the point where the BBC has appointed an LGBT correspondent and we’re not quite seeing enough diversity, and you have the likes of Piers Morgan who aren’t enabling people to see the other side, and what it means to be young.”

ON MYTHS ABOUT BEING A MAN

James McVey: “I’m 25 but up to the age of 12, the idols I looked up to were soldiers. I wanted to be a soldier, soldiers were cool – why were these role models for our generation? Basically, a lot of boys were taught to suppress how you feel. Actually going into the jungle for me was when I truly let go of everything. It’s strange that show, what you see on screen is very different to how you experience it. When you’re with 10 strangers for 3 weeks there’s a lot of soul searching and I realised after that I let all my walls down. I maybe cried twice in my life before that but I cried every day for 3 weeks there. It was only after I embraced my emotions that I figured out who I was as a person, and to have that revelation at 25 was big for me. It made me realise the difference between the role models I had and the role models future generations are going to have, which will be more rounded.”

George: “Being in a female dominated environment I was always a crier and throughout my career I’ve cried a lot. People have said, ‘Oh man up, stop being a baby, stop being a girl…” I hear my dad sometimes say that to his kids, ‘stop being a girl’ which is really bad because you’re putting them in a box that you have to be in as a boy.

There’s intelligence and then there’s emotional intelligence, where you can figure out what’s going on inside you. We need to be teaching kids that it’s ok to feel, it’s ok to have emotions and communicate it. And I think that’s what’s missing. Kids don’t really understand what they’re feeling and how to communicate their emotions so it just stays in and it gets suppressed. Then it can come out destructively later in life.”

WHAT CAN WE DO TO HELP MEN WITH THEIR MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES?

George: “My dad left home when I was two and a half, and I felt it hard to talk to him – it wasn’t until he had a motorbike accident and losing my sister Harriet, that it changed. My brothers are seeing my dad now speak openly and honestly about this, and it’s really powerful to see that. He’s teaching them not to be embarrassed about who they are. And it’s sweet for my brothers to see a dad isn’t just at work, he does laundry, cooks, cleans the toilet – he has flourished in the last 2 years.”

James Scroggs: “If a woman’s having a tough time in the office she’ll be surrounded by a group of people, who she maybe doesn’t know very well, but there’ll be a kinship, as they try to solve her issues or whatever she’s going through, whereas if a guy in the workplace is found in tears at his desk the chances are HR will be escorting him from the building.

I think that’s changing fundamentally right now. We’re engaged with lots of big and small businesses who are trying to change that culturally in their business.

For men it’s not just about speaking out and opening up because there’s a lot of men who are resistant to that, and being that kind of emotional person. But having a network of people who are going to surround you and help you with the issues that are going to get you to the point of mental distress and crisis, is absolutely fundamental. Since the mental health revolution, which we’re still in, we’re now in a moment where men are realising that if they send each other a text a couple of times a week, it just gives people a chance to offload. And I think that level of male counsel is really powerful. And palpable at the moment. It’s very real and it wasn’t here a few years ago.”

James McVey: “I’m in a band and have been for 8 years and we were very lucky that our first song went to number two and we sold out our first 4 tours – it was up and up. But then that levelled off for me and I realised I got quite lonely. It sounds bizarre, when I was touring the world with 3 of my best mates – and I was in a position where any thought that it wasn’t amazing was seen as, ‘Oh what’s he on about, he’s a celebrity, everything must be great’ and showing any sign of weakness or that I wasn’t enjoying it wasn’t an option.

Since meeting Kirstie things have changed – we’re now engaged and she’s been there for years for me, and I’m able to share my experiences with someone. Before meeting Kirstie I was doing all these things with the guys and it was great but I couldn’t say to them, ‘I’m not really enjoying this,’ That was really really tough.

Nothing against the fans but when every day your life is on a screen, and you’re jetlagged, and under constant pressure, being in that position really affected me.

I grew up quite a shy boy who was catapulted into this world of The Vamps, which I’m eternally grateful for, but we went from a small town in Dorset to selling out The 02. You can’t predict how it feels until you’re there and obviously it’s really amazing, but having someone there when you are struggling like Kirstie really helped.

A lot of us guys suppress how we’re feeling and even a slight bit of unloading is really helpful. I nearly left the band a couple of years ago. I’d been hiding my emotions for ages and it took a step to get through it, which was Kirstie saying, speak to the boys, speak to Brad the singer about it. I was scared to say anything to him, but I think opening the door to other people really helped me as a man. To succeed in that and embrace that it’s fine to feel a bit shit sometimes, and knowing I have that support network around me is really really important. Kirstie has a group chat where she’s talking to her mates every day but most men don’t have that. I’m not saying we should have that, but it’s good to every now and then have a chat with your mate and ask how they’re doing…A lot of us guys are scared to fail, and having someone there to talk you through it so important.”

Poorna: “From my experiences of trying to help the men in my life, especially my late husband, there is a point at which you can’t help them because that is their own relationship with how quickly or easily they can access their own emotions – however it’s just about being there and a lack of judgment and just being the person who they can talk to about their stuff. As a woman I would love to say I could come up with the perfect response that would emancipate a man from the shackles that are holding him back, but that’s not how it works. I’ve been brought up with the same stuff, and I’ve learned to hard way that you have to just go out for dinner or a drink, put the flag up and say I’m here if you want to talk. They may not take you up on that straight away, but they might further down the line.”

James Scroggs: “I’m a massive believer in active listening. Which isn’t saying much but is about providing a space for someone to start unloading. The other thing is the average person in distress doesn’t need sympathy they need empathy. Empathy is a practical thing where you help them or put them with people who can help them. Particularly with men, you need to deconstruct it. We have a motto at CALM, which is that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Because the average man gets to a point where there’s no solution, and actually suicide for a certain type of man feels deeply rational. Yet if you can deconstruct some of the rational problems that have got them to that point, it all goes away quite quickly. And so I think active listening, rationality and showing empathy are really important.”

The Festival of New Masculinity is running throughout February and March.

#the vamps bradley simpson #connor ball #bradley simpson #brad simpson #james mcvey #tristan evans #the vamps band #the vamps brad #the vamps connor #the vamps james #the vamps tristan #the vamps tris #the vamps con #the vamps james mcvey #the vamps bradley

1 note · View note

david-lynch-ate-my-son · 7 years ago

Text

Kastle College Professors AU Part 4

(A/N: So I lied earlier. One more part after this. Sorry if you’re not a fan of the slow burn, but whatcha gonna do? I’m only, like...75% happy with this chapter? So let me know what you think!)

READ ON AO3 HERE

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

Despite the fact that the university operated a dry campus, Frank always kept a bottle of scotch in the bottom right drawer of his desk. The good stuff—Lagavulin—and it was for special occasions only. He had purchased it 7 years ago—on his first day teaching at the university—and it had remained in his desk for years afterward, collecting dust. It turned out that Frank wasn’t all that great at celebrating. Didn’t often see many reasons he considered important enough to break out the good stuff. The day his first article had been published, he’d bought himself a Twix bar at lunch as a special treat; after his promotion to Associate Professor, he’d gone with David and Curtis for a pint and crawled into bed early; when he was awarded the Alfred P. Sloan Research Fellowship, he’d taken the kids to Coney Island and bought them so much junk food that Frankie Jr. threw up on the way home.

But never once did he break out the scotch. Not that those weren’t momentous life occasions for Frank—they were. But he had never really been one for ostentatious celebration; never the guy to throw a party in his own honor. He was, he told himself, waiting for a moment truly worthy of ceremony for the Lagavulin.

Since meeting Karen, however, he’d broken out the bottle on three separate occasions. The first time had occurred about a month and a half into their working relationship, when Karen realized, mid-rant about her latest run-in with Danny Rand, that it was her three year anniversary of earning her PhD. She’d jumped up from her desk so suddenly, stopping mid-sentence, that she nearly gave Frank a heart attack. He’d watched, half-confused and half-charmed, as she’d run out to the coffee shop to buy herself a cupcake. (She was, and always would be, a firm believer in celebrating the little things). She had looked so excited, rummaging around in her desk drawer, searching for a candle to blow out, that Frank had figured “why the hell not,” and offered her a congratulatory drink.

The second time had followed about a month later, when mid-term student evaluations had come out. They’d both sat on the floor, getting slightly tipsy, and read theirs out loud to each other. Karen had laughed until she’d toppled over when one of Frank’s students wrote, “Dr. Castle is kind of like a sexy shark—like he looks really good, but I’m super scared of getting too close to him, because he might bite my head off.” For a solid week, every time Frank approached Karen’s desk, she’d hummed the Jaws theme song under her breath.

The third time had taken place only three days ago, when Frank finally removed the duct tape boundary from across the office. At some point in the nearly 4 months since Karen had moved in, the clearly-delineated separation between “his” side of the office and “her” side of the office had completely broken down. Karen’s little potted succulents—which needed direct sunlight—had ended up on the windowsill behind Frank’s desk (she assured him that they didn’t need to be watered every day, but he kept an eye on them just in case). When one of Frank’s bookshelves collapsed, he’d moved a great deal of his heavy, forbidding Physics books to Karen’s side (her Maggie Nelsons and Searles were beginning to look quite cozy pressed up against his Capassos and Sobels). And the former no-man’s-land between their desks had become what Karen affectionately called “the family room,” which she had filled with floor cushions “thrifted” from Foggy’s apartment, all carefully placed around a low coffee table. It was where they sat to eat their take-out dinners, and where Karen did her grading when her desk became too restricting. After much prodding from Karen, Frank had finally admitted the duct tape line was a farce, and pulled it up with great ceremony. She had clapped, he had bowed, and they’d toasted with a glass of Scotch.

It turned out that Frank found a lot more worth celebrating with Karen around.

So when David Leiberman knocked on Frank’s office door at 7PM on Friday evening, he figured it was cause enough to break out the good stuff one more time. After the obligatory hugs, and the thinly-veiled references to how much they’d missed each other, Frank set about pouring a generous glass for his friend.

“So how long you in town for?” Frank asked over his shoulder to David, who was somewhere behind Karen’s desk, probably snooping. He looked down at the glass in his hand, then tipped in just a little more of the amber liquor. It was a Friday after all—no work in the morning.

“Just until Sunday night. I’m speaking at a conference at the Kimpton,” David looked up from his current task of closely examining every inch of Karen’s bookshelf. He ran a finger along her collection of titles, smiling when he noticed a copy of The Fundamentals of Photonics wedged between Witness and Memory: The Discourse of Trauma and Speech Acts.

“You should have called ahead—I would have planned something. Maria has the kids this weekend,” Frank walked over to David, who had pulled out one of Karen’s books and was thumbing through it. (It was, he noted with interest, filled with the most bizarre and incomprehensible shorthand he’d ever seen). He put it back in its place and accepted the glass from Frank.

“Well, you know,” David shrugged, taking a sip and humming in approval. “I wanted to surprise you. See the look on your face and all that.”

“Didn’t take you as the kind of guy who went in for dramatics,” Frank leaned back against Karen’s desk, observing his friend with a keen eye.

David dragged a hand through unruly curls, looking sheepish.

“Also I just kind of forgot.”

“Ah, there it is,” Frank lifted his glass in a mock-toast. “That sounds more like you.”

“Wouldn’t have made much of a difference at any rate, I’m afraid,” David continued his perusal of Karen’s little library. “They’ve got me booked at the conference all weekend. Wouldn’t have a spare minute anyway.”

“I could’ve at least planned for you to see the kids. Frankie Jr’s starting to talk about building his own computer. I figured that was a conversation for Uncle David,” Frank ran a knuckle against the polished wood of Karen’s desk, wondering idly if she was planning on returning to the office sometime soon.

“Ah, well that just gives me an excuse to come back again,” David gave one last, lingering look at the bookshelf before turning to inspect the rest of the office. “Maybe bring the kids with me next time. Make a trip out of it.”

Frank watched David wander about the space, and noticed the way his eyes caught on all of Karen’s little touches—the lingering imprints of her scattered about. Her succulents on the window sill, her pink Himalayan salt lamp, the gauzy blue curtains she’d hung in the window (she liked to close them in the afternoon to watch the way they played peek-a-boo with the sunlight). He paused to inspect the sticky-notes Karen had stuck to the wall by the door—little memos she left for herself about errands to run or sources to look up. (The one that read, “Yell at Frank about leaving the window open overnight!” in large, bold letters had him biting the inside of his cheek to keep an amused chuckle down).

“The, uh—the place looks different, Frankie,” David tried for casual as he turned to Frank, hands in his pockets. Tried to look as though he hadn’t been impatiently biding his time until he could loop the topic of conversation around to Karen. “More…lively,” he rocked back and forth on his heels slightly, grinning.

During the far-too-infrequent Skype conversations they had managed to catch over the past few months, David had begun to notice an increase in the amount of times Frank made mention of his office mate. It had started off-handedly, with Frank dropping in a small detail about her every once in a while—“and then Karen walked in and almost spilled her coffee all over my radiometer, so I had to deal with that shit.” Just carelessly bringing her up in passing, almost like an afterthought. Then, after a while, it became Frank relaying long, complicated stories about his latest adventure involving Karen—“so she fuckin’ signed me up for this interview with a freshman, David. I was ready to strangle her.”

More and more, Karen began to leak into every conversation David and Frank had. It was a progression so natural that it took David a month or so to catch on.

Until finally, he noticed Frank using that oh-so-special word when talking about Karen: we.

“So we decided to order take-out and do some grading”, or “we were tired of the radiator always going on the fritz, so we brought in a mini-heater”, or “we left the window open the other day and a pigeon fuckin’ flew into the office and shit on my desk overnight.” Frank didn’t even have to mention Karen by name—every time he said “we,” David could safely assume he was including Karen. He didn’t think Frank realized he was doing it—but at some point, every story he told was about Dr. Karen Page. Him and Karen. Karen and him. Always together. And David was incredibly eager to figure out what that was all about.

“Now it actually looks like a human spends time in this room, instead of a robot,” David ran a finger across one of Karen’s sticky notes for emphasis.

“Yeah. That’s all Karen,” Frank swirled the Scotch in his glass, grinning to himself. David doubted Frank knew how dopey that grin looked, or he would have worked harder to cover it up.

“Hmm,” David continued his leisurely walk about the office. “Lots of very un-Frank things going on here,” David gestured vaguely to the floor cushions. “Can’t really imaging you sitting on one of those.”

“Eh,” Frank shrugged, “it’s not so bad. More comfortable than my desk chair. And Karen likes ‘em.”

“Seems like Karen’s changed a lot around here, huh?” David wandered over to the loveseat that had been wedged between the two desks. As he sat, he noticed the soft-looking throw draped over the arm—Karen again. “I would have thought you’d have a harder time with someone coming in and invading your space. But it seems like you’ve handled it quite well.”

“Yeah, well. Turns out I don’t mind it so much.”

“If it’s the right person, huh?” David said with a knowing little smile.

And it was that smile that had Frank instantly suspicious of where David was leading their seemingly-innocuous little chat. His friend had a habit of talking in circles, leading you around and around the topic of conversation he really wanted to discuss, until it drove you crazy. Frank hated it—had no patience for the whole thing. He stared at David with narrowed eyes, fingers tapping against Karen’s desk as he took a sip from his drink.

“I mean,” David continued, nonchalantly, “it just seems like anyone else, and you’d be dying to get rid of them. Get your space back. But with Karen, you don’t mind one bit. Just interesting.”

“Interesting, huh?” Frank spoke slowly.

“Yep,” David took a sip of his scotch. “Just interesting.”

There was a beat of silence, during which David sat coolly under Frank’s assessing gaze.

“If you want to say something, just say something, man,” Frank sounded slightly annoyed. “Hate it when you beat around the bush.”

“Not saying anything, Frankie,” David held his hands up defensively, but the quirk of his lips gave him away. “Just making some casual observations.”

“Yeah, I know you too well to believe that any observation you make is casual,” Frank set his glass on the desk and crossed his arms. David had to stop himself from laughing at how stereotypically-Frank the move was. “So why don’t you try that one again, buddy.”

“Well, I guess I’m just wondering,” David paused, crossing one leg over the other and throwing his arm over the back of the loveseat, “you know, very casually,” he emphasized the word with a raised eyebrow, “when you’re going to get around to admitting that you’re in love with Karen Page.”

David had never seen Frank go so still before. It was a little alarming, watching his muscles freeze up rigidly, his eyes unblinking, mouth pressed in a hard line—David was half worried that he wasn’t even breathing. For a full fifteen seconds, Frank stood there, unnaturally still, while David sat patiently, waiting for an answer.

It was the loud sip David took from his glass that seemed to shake Frank out of it.

“I—” Frank coughed, clearing his throat, then tried again. “No idea what you’re talking about.” But his voice lacked certainty—sounded a little edgy.

“Yeah,” David nodded, as though Frank’s response were exactly what he expected, “see, your words say ‘no idea what you’re talking about,’ but that incredibly strained pause you just took, plus,” he gestured to Frank’s face, “that terrified look you’re wearing say otherwise.”

Frank felt that familiar little throbbing begin between his eyebrows—the one that only David seemed able to incite. Suddenly, he forgot why he was so happy to see his friend only moments earlier.

“I’m not in love with Karen,” Frank tried to summon up a little conviction, but missed the mark by miles. Instead, he sounded like a petulant child who refused to admit he’d taken the last cookie while his hand was still in the jar. “We’re just friends.” The words felt wrong in his mouth, heavy and unwieldy. Tasted like vinegar on his tongue—the way lies always do when you’re body decides to reject them.

“Hmm,” David hummed a little disbelieving sound, and brought a hand up to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Now normally I would take you at your word, you being my closest friend and all, but I’m afraid you have a particularly bad case of chronic emotional constipation, Frank. It’s just one of your many quirks.” He shook his head sadly.

Frank sputtered indignantly, before remembering that arguing with David was pointless. Always had been—the man was like a dog with a bone when he was trying to press his point. And suddenly, Frank didn’t have the energy to fight it.

“You’re a smart guy, don’t get me wrong,” David waved a hand in the general direction of Frank’s many framed degrees. “But you’re unbelievably shit at understanding your own emotions.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re here to enlighten me?” Frank’s voice had a sardonic edge. He moved from Karen’s desk, grabbing her swivel chair to drag it in front of David. He sat down with a heavy thud.

“Only if you’ll allow me,” David sounded way too amused—too pleased with himself. The throbbing in Frank’s forehead ticked up. “I only enlighten the willing.”

Frank leaned forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, eyes narrowed and searching David’s face. The other man, for his part, tried to maintain a look of blasé innocence.

“Talk,” was all that Frank said. He hated to admit it, but he was actually curious as to what David had to say. Because, as painful as it was, David did have a point, and Frank knew it—he had never been the best at sorting through his own confused jumble of emotions. And—yeah—he’d been having some complicated feelings about Karen for a while. Some complicated, white-knuckled feelings that sometimes left him a little breathless and gutted when he looked at her. So as much as it hurt him to admit, he’d take David’s insight if he was offering it.

“Well,” David made a big show of stroking his hand across his jaw thoughtfully, “you’re a hard guy to read, I’ll give you that. But over the years I’d like to think I’ve become well-versed at recognizing the various mating rituals of the elusive Frank Castle. I’d say I’m somewhat of an expert. Maybe the only one in the world.” David was clearly enjoying himself, if the shit-eating grin on his face was anything to go by. It wasn’t often that Frank let the conversation veer into emotional territory, and David planned to savor the moment. Frank, for his part, was not amused.

“If you’re gonna be a little shit about it—,” he made as though to get up from his chair, and David lurched forward to stay him with a hand on his arm.

“Now, now, Frank,” David shook his head. “Don’t be so hasty.” Frank’s jaw ticked in that dangerous way—the way that said he was running out of patience. But David noticed, with some measure of satisfaction, that in spite of his annoyance, Frank settled back into his seat with little resistance. “I’m just having some fun.”

“I’d appreciate it if your fun wasn’t at my expense,” Frank grunted. Having to turn to David for guidance was painful enough—but adding unnecessary teasing on top of it was a bridge too far.

“Well, one of us should be having fun. From the look on your face, you’d think you were having a fucking root canal, instead of a conversation with a dear and valued friend,” David tried not to sound bitter about it. He did not succeed.

“Yeah, sometimes talking to you feels like a fuckin’ root canal, buddy.”

“Do you want my help or not?” David held his hands out in a take-it-or-leave-it gesture.

“No,” Frank managed to speak through painfully-gritted teeth.

“But you need it.” It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

A beat of silence, then:

“Yes.”

David had never heard the word so grudgingly muttered. He let the quiet stretch out between them, as though checking to see that Frank was truly done with his complaining. When he was satisfied, David continued.

“So let’s look at this from my perspective, huh?” He leaned back on the loveseat once more, looking vaguely philosophical. “I’ve known you for a long time, Frank. A long time,” he repeated for emphasis. “And you’re not exactly an easy guy to get along with. I mean, let’s be brutally honest: you’re a bit of a misanthrope. You’re inflexible, you’re unapproachable—you’re stubborn as hell. You can’t handle criticism. It’s practically impossible to pull any sort of real, meaningful, emotional conversation out of you. I mean, you’ve got your walls built up a thousand feet high. And I’m saying this as someone who loves you, man.”

Frank would have been offended, but he was far too self-aware to even pretend David’s assessment was inaccurate. Insulting, sure, but not inaccurate. Instead, he settled for grumbling in acknowledgement.

“I mean, it took you years to even learn how to tolerate me,” David pressed a hand to his chest. “Some days I’m still not sure you really do.”

Frank snorted, which David took as confirmation.

“So what am I supposed to think when this Karen comes into your life, and all of the sudden…you’re none of those things? Not with her.” David leaned forward to make sure he had Frank’s attention. His voice, suddenly, sounded much more serious. Almost pleading. “I mean, come on, man. Look around you.” David gestured to the office, which was filled with little pieces of Karen everywhere he turned. “You’ve allowed this woman to come into your life and just—just turn it into something else. And not in a bad way,” David quickly amended, holding up a hand when he saw Frank frown. “Actually, in a really great way. I mean, this room feels like it’s alive, man. Like it’s a home. It’s a fucking office in a university building; that’s as impersonal as it gets. But it feels like a home. Do you get how crazy that is? How weird it is for me to see all this, and know that you had a part in creating it?”

Frank wasn’t looking at David. He was focused instead on that throw blanket of Karen’s just over the other man’s shoulder. It was soft and plush—with a pattern of roses stitched around the edges. It was so not Frank. But dammit if he didn’t love that fucking throw blanket. Because it was Karen’s throw blanket. Because she’d bought it the day after she’d walked in on Frank taking a nap on the couch, and thought “I bet he’d sleep better with something warm.” Because it was more than just a blanket.

“And it’s not just the office, Frank. It’s you.” David swept his hand up and down in Frank’s direction. “You’re different, man. You talk about Karen all the fucking time. I mean, all the time. I wish you could hear yourself. You’re voice gets all…all tender and shit. It weirded me out at first, gotta be honest.”

Frank scoffed.

“It’s true,” David shook his head. “You talk about her like she’s some kind of magical being that you can’t believe wandered into your life. With, like, this reverence I can’t wrap my mind around. It’s like you’re thinking about her all the time or something.”

And Frank jerked back at that. Because David had hit it right on the mark.

It was true. He thought about Karen constantly—what she was doing, who she was with, if she was having a five-cups-of-coffee kind of day or a just-tea-for-me kind of day. Sometimes, when he was alone, he stopped and thought about the fact that Karen was out there, wherever—talking to other people, making them laugh, telling them crazy stories, caring for them in that quiet, graceful way of hers—and he started to feel jealous. Jealous of the fact that she was somewhere else, saying beautiful things, having soft little moments, making weird little jokes, and he wasn’t there to see them.

Shit. Frank’s fingers started doing that fidgety thing they did when he got overwhelmed.

“I just—I don’t know, Frank,” David scratched the back of his neck. “I’ve gotta be honest with you, because from the outside, it looks like you’re head over fucking heels with this woman. I mean, there’s no other explanation.” David smiled, but this time it was sincere—no trace of mocking or mischief. “All I can say is that the Frank I knew about four months ago isn’t the Frank I know now. You just—you seem happy. You seem content. Like you’re, I don’t know, the sunshiney version of yourself. The version of yourself that doesn’t kind of also hate yourself.”

Fuck.

David was right. David was so, scarily right. Karen made him feel like he wasn’t so much of an asshole. Made him feel like a functioning, living, breathing real boy. Frank knew he could be difficult. Gruff, unfriendly, demanding, exacting. But the moment he crossed that threshold and saw Karen at her desk, making faces as she read through her students’ essays, all of that just dissolved. He became someone who was gentle. Who could be content and unburdened and relaxed. Someone with hands made to hold.

“I mean, just answer me this, Frank,” David waited until he had Frank’s eyes on his own to speak, his voice solemn. “Does it ever scare you sometimes, what you’d be willing to do if she asked you?”

Frank’s answer was a strangled kind of noise—something a little animal. David, being particularly knowledgeable in the numerous nuances of Frank’s grunts, could tell that it was an affirmation.

“Good,” David nodded, running a hand through his messy hair. “Good.”

There was a pause, in which David could almost see Frank’s mind at work. The idiot, he thought, he really didn’t know he was in love.

The two men sat for a moment, silent. The office felt saturated in something strong—something that felt like inevitability.

After a minute, David spoke again.

“And, I mean…obviously you’re attracted to her.” Frank recognized the tone of David’s voice—it was the way he spoke when he was trying to lighten the mood after a serious conversation. “I mean,” he shifted in his seat, “I saw pictures of her online. Now, I’m a married man,” David pressed an adamant hand to his chest, “but come on.” He raised an impressed brow at Frank.

Frank chuckled, and the tension in the room broke.

“Yeah, I know. Don’t know how I get any work done.” Frank dragged a hand over his face. “Fuck.” The curse didn’t have any power behind it, only a kind of delighted, terrified resignation.

“Yep, buddy,” David leaned forward and patted Frank’s shoulder. “You’re in love. Scary, huh?”

Frank let out a huff, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”

“You know, I find it kind of weird that you needed me to explain that to you,” David picked up his scotch, which he’d abandoned on the arm of the loveseat sometime during the conversation. “I mean, you’ve been in love before. You were married, you moron.”

“Wasn’t the same,” Frank was staring at his hands—his fidgety, restless hands.

“What do you mean, it wasn’t the same?” David furrowed his brow. “Isn’t love just…love?” He wouldn’t know, he’d only been in love once. It had only ever been Sarah for him.

“No, it—it’s just different,” Frank couldn’t find the words to explain what he meant, and that was an uncomfortable sensation. “Just—just more, this time. More of everything.”

Falling in love with Maria had felt like jumping off of a cliff. It had happened so fast—too fast for Frank to even think. One moment he was just Frank, and then the next, he was in love, and married, and a father. Like he’d tipped over the edge, and fallen into this new life. And maybe that’s why their marriage hadn’t lasted—you can only free fall for so long before you hit the ground.

Falling love with Karen had felt like falling asleep in the bathtub—letting go one muscle at a time and sinking into something warm and safe. Like waking up slowly on a Saturday morning and knowing that nothing in the world could touch you so long as you stayed in bed. Like going home. And that, somehow, was just so much more. He had built something with Karen—he hadn’t just fallen into her—he’d created something with her.

That’s probably why he hadn’t recognized the feeling earlier; he’d never felt it before. Never felt it like this.

“Jesus Christ,” Frank muttered, “I need another fuckin’ drink.”

Karen Page, you are such a fucking coward. As Karen stepped into the cool night, leaving the warm, whiskey air of the bar behind, the thought entered her mind unbidden. A spineless coward.

Hitching her bag further up her shoulder and shoving her hands ruthlessly into her pockets, Karen shook her head at the thought, as though she could make it go away. She’d just spent the past two hours sitting at the bar with Trish, trying to go over some changes to the other woman’s dissertation proposal. Trying being the operative word. Because the entire time, all Trish wanted to talk about was why Karen hadn’t admitted her feelings to Frank yet. Every time Karen had asked a question about a source for the lit review, or about how the dissertation panel selection was coming along, Trish had countered with a question about Karen’s cowardly refusal to just make a confession already. An embarrassing amount of time had passed, uneventfully, since the afternoon of the pit bull video, and Karen was still carrying around her feelings for Frank like her own private burden.

Avoiding a puddle of what looked disturbingly like vomit, Karen continued her trek back to campus, and wondered (not for the first time), why she’d bothered to tell Trish about her situation. The woman was so nosy—as all natural-born reporters were. It was just that—god—it was so nice to have female friends to confide in, and Karen had never been any good at keeping her feelings bottled up inside. They always needed to find an outlet—and Trish had been Karen’s outlet. Karen’s nosey, over-involved outlet.

It’s not that she didn’t want to tell Frank about her feelings. She did—or at least she thought she did. Of course she had some apprehensions about the whole thing: What if he didn’t feel the same way about her? What if it made things awkward between them? What if their entire friendship fell apart because of it?

But she also had a lot of hope—hope that he would be understanding. Hope that he would maybe—just maybe—return her feelings. Hope that, even if he didn’t, their friendship would be strong enough to overcome the awkwardness that would inevitably ensue.

And Karen was brave, damnit. It was part of her identity—something she felt defined her. Unafraid of new experiences, unafraid of failure, unafraid of getting hurt. Which was why it was so annoying that she had such a mental block about telling Frank how she felt. But it just seemed so…so fucking important. Massive. Life-altering.

Karen smiled and waved at one of her students, who was frantically running to the bus stop, as she reached the outer edge of campus. She wondered if Frank would be in the office when she arrived—he didn’t have the kids this weekend, and he liked to use the Fridays they were with Maria to spend some guy-time with Curtis. If he was there, Karen resolved, tonight would be the night she would tell him. She was sure of it.

But then again, she’d made the same resolution a million times over the past few weeks. She was going to tell him over Chinese food last week, but had ended up distracted by his explanation of how quarks had been discovered. Then she had planned on telling him a few days later, as they sat in the car on the way to a party at Foggy’s (at which she had avoided Matt like the plague)…but she’d lost her nerve when Frank started singing along to Earth, Wind, and Fire’s “Shining Star” under his breath, and she’d fallen in love with him all over again. And, more recently, when Frank had come over to her house to watch the premier of that ridiculous fantasy show she liked to watch on HBO, but she’d decided she didn’t want to tell Frank she loved him with an incestuous sex scene playing in the background.

So maybe Karen wasn’t that great at keeping this particular resolution. She huffed out a sigh, watching her breath become mist in the chilly air, and tilted her head back to look up at the stars. She supposed, in the grand scheme of things, that this wasn’t so terrible a dilemma. She was lucky, she told herself, if the most pressing issue in her life was how to tell a man she loved him. What a beautiful problem to have. To be capable of love—to be filled with the stuff—to the point of overflowing. As she walked forward, breathing deeply of the winter-sweet air, Karen felt a brief and startling rush of euphoria—felt, for a mere moment, how unbelievably magnificent it was to be alive. To be breathing and heaving along; to be on the brink of something huge. And as quickly as the feeling had rushed upon her, it faded away, leaving Karen with a mystified feeling.

As she neared the Physics building, she looked up toward the window of the office. Noticing the light was still on, her breath caught in her throat. He was there—she would tell him tonight. Surrounded by the little home they’d made together, out of books and ungraded papers and takeout cartons, she would tell him that she loved him.

She paused a moment, to watch the play of shadows as they danced before the window. She saw what was clearly Frank’s shadow move across the back wall of the office—then her heart sank as she saw another shadow follow close behind.

Shit. Frank had company.

Karen scuffed the toe of her boot along the sidewalk, and contemplated turning around and just going home. She didn’t want to interrupt whatever he had going on—probably Curtis stopping by before they left for “boy’s night.” But then she remembered that she’d left her laptop on her desk, charging. And she couldn’t go the entire weekend without her laptop. With a sigh, because her big confession would have to wait, she made her way into the building.

“No, no, no, that’s not what happened.” David’s voice, he knew, was beginning to slide ever-closer into “drunk slurring” territory, but he wasn’t too bothered. That’s the thing about being tipsy—you’re never bothered by anything when you’re tipsy. “Listen, listen,” David reached out in an attempt to grab Frank by the shoulder, but leaned forward a little too far and almost slid right off of the floor cushion he was sitting on. Catching himself quickly, he continued adamantly. “You were the one who gave Lisa the baseball bat, Frank, not me. So technically it was your fault.”

“But you were the one that gave her the ball, David.” Frank, while beginning to show his own signs of inebriation (glassy, unfocused eyes; diminished coordination), was slightly less tipsy than David. He, at least, was able to maintain an upright position on top of his own floor cushion. “If I’m gonna take the blame for giving her the bat, then you gotta take the blame for the ball.”

“But—”

“Nuh uh,” Frank pointed sharply at David, cutting him off. His arm barely avoided knocking over the almost-empty bottle of scotch that sat between them on the coffee table. “You were also the one that bet her she couldn’t hit a ball over the roof. Like an idiot.”

“I—hey—,” David held his hands up defensively. “How was I supposed to know she’d actually try to do it? I’m not a—a—,” David searched for the right word; couldn’t find it. “A person who knows the future.” Close enough.

“You—but,” Frank sputtered, disbelieving. “Have you met my kid, Lieberman? How could you not know she’d try?”

“Yeah but, I mean, how was I supposed to know she’d break three windows?” David was grasping at straws. “I thought she’d, y’know, have better aim!”

“She was eight,” Frank exclaimed, exasperated.

“Yeah, but—I mean,” David made some vague gesture with his hands—Frank wasn’t sure what it was supposed to signify, “she was a very mature eight.”

“Sarah agreed with me that it was your fault,” Frank shook his head.

“Yeah, but Sarah—,” David stopped suddenly, his eyes unfocusing on Frank and refocusing on something else (with great effort). Frank watched, puzzled, as David’s facial expression changed almost instantly into something he could only describe as manic glee. “Well hello there!”

Frank turned around, following the direction of David’s gaze, and saw Karen standing in the doorway of the office, a dumbfounded look on her face. She looked like all of his fantasies come to life.

“Karen.”

David may have been slightly-sloshed, but even in his altered state, he noticed the way that Frank said her name—in that soft, thoughtful little way. Like even just speaking it out loud was a privilege he couldn’t believe he had. It was still a little disconcerting for David to hear.

“Well now I know how it feels to be the only one who wasn’t invited to the party,” Karen leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, and a smile fighting its way to her face.

“That was my entire life story in high school,” David muttered. Karen snorted, tilting her head in David’s direction with curiosity. Suddenly, he seemed to remember that it was generally considered polite to introduce yourself to people you hadn’t yet met. “Oh, I—,” he attempted to jump up from his cross-legged position on the cushion, but snagged his foot on the leg of the coffee table in the process, tumbling to the ground instead.

Karen jerked forward, arms out, as though in attempt to catch him. Frank, whose reactions were slowed by the scotch, reached out to help a solid three seconds too late, and let his arms drop limply to his sides.

“Well shit,” David didn’t even make an attempt to get up. He just laid on the floor, sprawled out, staring up at Karen. “I’m David. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I, uh—I actually know who you are,” Karen managed to stifle her laughter long enough to approach David and offer him a hand. “I’ve seen your picture before. I’m Karen.”

David took her hand, and she leaned back, using her weight to hoist him into a sitting position. Instead of releasing her hand once he was upright, David shook it (with a little too much zeal).

“Back atcha, Karen,” David’s grin was downright ridiculous. “About seeing your picture, I mean.”

Frank, who had been watching the exchange with trepidation, decided to cut in. He wasn’t entirely sure David could be trusted to talk to Karen while drunk—the man had never been particularly fantastic about keeping secrets while sober, and he tended to get extra chatty when he was buzzed.

“Uh, sorry about taking over the office, Kare. We can be out of your hair if you need the space,” Frank watched Karen release David’s hand and turn toward him with a smile. For a moment, Frank felt his heart squeeze roughly in his chest at that look. He’d had a similar reaction to her smile before, but now he had a name for it. Now he knew why it hit him with such inescapable force.

“Don’t be ridiculous Frank,” Karen dismissed him with a wave of her hand, “I wouldn’t ruin your fun. Just came to grab my laptop.” She pointed over her shoulder to her desk.

“Oh, you should stay!” David clapped his hands together. “We were just reminiscing about the time Frank let his daughter hit a baseball through my front window!”

“That is not what happened,” Frank glared pointedly at David, “and I’m sure Karen has more important things to do.”

“Uh,” Karen looked back at her laptop, which was waiting for her with a half-finished syllabus, “I actually don’t really have anything else going on.”

“See!” David threw his hands up. “It’s cosmic, uh,” he cast about to find the right word, “It’s—kismet! The lady has no place to go on a Friday night, and we’re having a party. Meant to be.”

Frank gritted his teeth. If Karen stayed the evening, the chances of David saying something terrible and embarrassing shot way up. But he also didn’t like the idea of Karen going home alone to an empty apartment when she could be here, with him.

“You sure you don’t have something you need to do?” Frank looked at Karen, who was grinning at David, obviously entertained by his befuddled state. “You don’t have to humor us or anything.”

“Nope,” Karen shook her head, sending her curls flying back and forth. In his tipsy state, Frank thought they looked even more like spun gold than normal.

“Oh, ignore him,” David scoffed at Frank. “He’s just worried I’ll say something embarrassing to you. Like tell you about the time he gave blood without eating beforehand, and when I went to pick him up and take him to lunch, he passed out in the Chipotle.”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank put his head in his hands. He was going to regret this entire night, he could already tell.

David laughed, patting the floor cushion next to his own in an invitation for Karen to sit. She cast a quick glance in Frank’s direction, silently asking his permission—she really didn’t want to intrude on their time, as she knew that Frank didn’t get to see David all that often. When he shrugged resignedly, she took her seat next to David (who noticed, with utter delight, that Karen reached out to subtly squeeze Frank’s forearm in ‘hello’ as she sat).

“That story sounds amazing.” Karen unbuttoned her coat, tossing it in the general direction of the coat rack. “Do go on.”

“Actually, uh,” David looked confused for a moment. “I think that was the whole story.”

Karen almost choked on an unexpected laugh.

“But,” David was quick to add, “I have a lot more where that one came from.”

“Careful, buddy,” Frank raised a warning brow at his friend, “you’re not the only one with ammo here.”

“Yes, but all the stories you have about me are charming,” David planted an elbow on the coffee table and cupped his chin in his hand, grinning widely. “I’m a charming man.”

“Not nearly so much as you think you are,” Frank rolled his eyes with a smile.

Karen watched the interaction with great interest. It was so fascinating to see Frank converse with David—to see him so at ease with someone who wasn’t her. There was an affection behind Frank’s eyes that warmed Karen right down to her toes.

“Alright, alright,” David sighed, “I’ll only tell the stories that make you look good. Though I don’t have as many of those.”

Frank grabbed a pen from on top of the coffee table and flung it at David’s head. David’s reactions were too slow to be of much help, but luckily Frank’s aim was equally as impaired, so the pen missed by inches.

Karen shook her head, lips quirking. “I feel bad that I don’t have someone here threatening to tell all of my embarrassing stories.”

“Well, you’ll just have to tell them yourself,” David reached behind himself to find the discarded pen. He flung it back at Frank, who didn’t even attempt to dodge it, it was so off-course.

“I’m afraid Frank already knows most of my embarrassing stories,” Karen sent Frank a look that David could only call ‘lovesick.’ Jesus, these two, he thought with an internal sigh.

“Well I don’t,” David pinned Karen with an eager look. “And that hardly seems fair.”

And that was how Frank ended up sitting on the floor of the office listening to Karen recount the story about how she had been absent on the day they taught sex-ed in 6th grade, and had been so scared there’d be a quiz over it when she got back, that she locked herself in the hallway closet with the encyclopedia and read the entry on “sex.”

(Just as it had the first time, the story had him laughing and groaning in equal parts).

This had been followed up by an anecdote from David—about the time he’d tried to scare his kids on Halloween by turning the house into a haunted mansion while they were at school, only to succeed so tremendously that Zach literally shit his pants. That, somehow, turned into David talking about how much his kids loved their Uncle Frank. Frank had a sneaking suspicion that David had willfully steered the conversation in that direction in order to talk him up to Karen. Play wingman.

It worked, because as Karen sat there, engrossed in David’s story about the time Frank taught Leo to play “Smoke on the Water” on the guitar, she felt those soft parts of her heart devoted solely to Frank thump wildly.

Frank was content to watch his best friend and the woman he recently realized he was in love with bond. Occasionally, he did interject a correction when he felt that David was telling a story inaccurately (which was often, because David was prone to exaggeration). But for the most part, he sat and listened as Karen charmed the pants off of a slowly-sobering David (as he knew she would), while David did a little charming of his own. There was an entire stretch of conversation that left Frank baffled, as David and Karen realized they were both super fans of the Discworld series. This led to a long and winding conversation about how amazing Terry Pratchett was (Karen went off on her little rant, one Frank had heard many times before, about how Pratchett was the world’s most severely-underrated fantasy author). It was nice, seeing everything just click. Karen made sense here—with him. In his life.

It wasn’t until two in the morning that David finally decided to call it quits. Frank was surprised that his friend had lasted that long, as he wasn’t exactly a night owl these days.

“Alright kids,” David had managed to speak around a yawn, “I’d love to do the whole all-nighter thing with you, but I’m shit out of energy.” He stretched with his arms above his head, and his back made a rather disturbing popping noise. God, he was getting old.

“You need a ride to the hotel?” Frank began patting at his pockets, looking for his keys.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” David pulled out his phone. “Uber’s easier. I’m trying to get my 4.8 passenger rating up to a 5 anyway. Don’t know why the fuck I got docked .2 points.”

“I’m surprised your rating is that high, honestly,” Frank muttered, shaking his head.

“Hey—I’m a great passenger. Very polite. And extremely not-murdery. Which, y’know, is important.” David began gathering up his coat and his scarf, bundling up to protect against the chilly, early morning air.

Karen stood up to say her goodbyes.

“It was great meeting you, David,” her voice was muffled by the big bear hug he pulled her into, with her face smashed against his scratchy scarf.

“You have no idea how great it was,” David gave her a squeeze before releasing her. Frank shrugged when Karen shot him a quick, amused look.

“Am I gonna see you again before you leave?” Frank asked.

“Well Sarah wants me to stop by Maria’s on Sunday to pick up a casserole dish we left at her place forever ago. Apparently, it’s a very important casserole dish. So if you stop by, then yeah,” David was looking at his phone, so he didn’t see the way Frank froze up at the mention of Maria.

But Karen did. It was so strange—every time the conversation veered toward mention of his ex-wife, Frank got a little cagey. Like he wasn’t exactly comfortable talking about the other woman with Karen. And she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why; everything else seemed to be fair game with Frank, but only Maria was a topic non grata.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll definitely stop by,” Frank sounded a little guarded—a little uncomfortable. He grabbed his own coat from the rack. “Let me see you off man.”

Karen stayed behind in the office as Frank walked David to the curb to wait for his ride. She wanted to give them some alone time to say goodbye.

Whenever Frank left the office, he seemed to take a majority of the air with him. It felt colder when it was just Karen—lonely.

With a sigh, she sat on one of the floor cushions, then decided that she needed to lay down, grabbing another one to pad her head. Staring up at the ceiling, with its cracked crown molding, she thought about the Maria problem.

Not that Maria herself was a problem. Just that Frank’s unwillingness to even broach the subject of Maria felt a little…off. Usually, when a man didn’t want to talk about his ex, it was for one of two reasons: he was either still bitter about the break-up, or he was still in love. Karen knew that it wasn’t the former with Frank—there was no anger there, not toward his ex-wife. He never seemed tense or irritable after picking up his kids at her place, or spending the afternoon with her at Lisa’s baseball games.

But she also didn’t think it was the latter—or, at least, she hoped it wasn’t. As far as she could tell, Frank actually kind of liked Maria’s new boyfriend. She didn’t think a man still in love with his ex-wife would be so forgiving of a romantic rival.

Which left Karen confused. She couldn’t think of any other reason he would get so damn tense every time Maria was mentioned. (She, of course, did not even consider the most obvious reason of all—that Frank wasn’t sure how to bring up the woman he used to be in love with to the woman he was currently in love with).

After a few minutes, Karen began to drift off, her eyes growing heavy. She was awoken what felt like mere moments later by a gentle hand on her head. She cracked her eyes open to see Frank crouching over her, his thumb rubbing across her temple.

“Time to go home?” His voice was quiet, and he smelled like crisp, outside air. Karen breathed deep.

“No. Not tired,” Karen shook her head. She wanted to talk.

Frank raised a skeptical brow, but the adamant look on Karen’s face brokered no argument. She had that “we need to talk” look. With Karen, that look never terrified him the way it did when other people wore it. Karen’s “we need to talk” was always gentle. With a sigh, he tapped her head lightly. “Up.”

Karen lifted her head, and Frank took its place on the cushion.

They sat, facing each other, nothing between them, close enough that the toe of Karen’s right foot brushed Frank’s knee. The position should have felt strange; a little too intimate. But it didn’t. It felt natural. There was something about the atmosphere at that moment—the way a room always feels after it’s been cleared of good company—like the lingering effects of comradery still hang about. It felt like the kind of space where a man like Frank and a woman like Karen could rest against each other.

There was a moment of silence—relaxing, comfortable silence—then Karen spoke.

“You never talk about Maria.” It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Said in that way Karen had when she was trying to set the topic of conversation; letting you know that this is what you were going to talk about, regardless of your feelings on the subject.

Frank made a kind of grunting noise. Karen, like David, knew him well enough to recognize it as a confirmation that he was listening.

“I just…” Karen trailed off a little bit, biting her lip. “I just think it’s strange, y’know? You talk about your kids all the time. About David. And even Curtis. But not Maria.”

“Does that bother you?” Frank began to absent-mindedly pick at a loose thread on the seam of his jeans.

“No,” Karen shook her head. “You don’t have to talk about things you don’t want to. That never bothers me. I was just curious.”

“Hmmm,” Frank made a considering noise. After a moment, he nodded to himself. “Do you—” he thought about how to phrase the question. “Are you curious about her?”

Karen brought her hand up, chewing the end of her thumbnail thoughtfully. “Yeah, I kind of am.”

“Why?” His voice was quiet—curious.

“I guess because,” Karen lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Because I feel like I know everything else about your life. Except for the parts that have to do with her.”

“Okay,” Frank nodded again, rolling his shoulders. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Anything.” Karen pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She looked so small that way, Frank felt something delicate twinge in his chest.

“Uhm,” Frank scratched the back of his neck. “She lives in Westchester. She works in the HR department of a pharmaceutical company. She’s on the PTA, but she hates it. She plays tennis with her friends on the weekends. She has one brother, who—”

Karen interrupted him with a chuckle. “I feel like you’re giving me a fast facts sheet about her, Frank. I don’t need to know her social security number.”

“Well you’re the reporter, Page.” Frank cocked his head to the side and smirked. “Ask better questions.”

“Okay, uhm,” Karen scrunched her nose in thought. “How’d you meet?”

“I was getting my Master’s in Material’s Science at MIT. She was working in a little bakery across the street from the library. I had my eye on her for a while before I got up the nerve to ask her out. And the rest is history,” Frank shrugged.

“’The rest is history’?” Karen scoffed. “You can’t just end a story with ‘the rest is history.’ It’s bad storytelling.”

“Oh, well excuse me,” Frank grinned. “Didn’t know I was being graded on my handling of narrative, Dr. Page.”

“Sorry,” Karen didn’t look at all apologetic. “Continue.”

“Uh. We dated for three months before she got pregnant. Asked her to marry me the day she broke the news. We were together for five years.” Frank pinned Karen with a pointed look. “That better?”

“Not much, but it’s something. You are definitely not a natural-born storyteller,” Karen shook her head sadly.

“I’m a scientist, Kare. Not Dr. Seuss,” Frank nudged Karen with his foot.

“Thank God for that,” Karen frowned, “His books always creeped me out as a kid.”

Frank chuckled, shaking his head. Karen was always dropping strange little tidbits about her life into conversation, and then never explaining them. He supposed it was just part of her appeal—she was mystifying.

Karen played with the hem of her shirt as she thought.

“What’s she like? Y’know, as a person?”

Frank didn’t quite know how to answer that. Some days he thought he knew Maria like he knew himself, and other days she felt like a stranger. People were like that, he supposed—full of secrets and contradictions and private little corners. And maybe that was part of the problem with the two of them, he’d never learned how to uncover all the parts of Maria that she kept hidden away.

After a moment of thought, Frank spoke.

“She’s…a great mother. Just a natural at it—compassionate, understanding, but tough. Doesn’t let those kids get away with anything. If they turn out alright, it’ll be because of her,” Frank glanced up at the ceiling.

Karen poked his thigh in a “go on” kind of gesture. “Uh, she’s traditional, I guess. When we were married, she did the whole wife staying home with the kids thing. She grew up Catholic, so--y’know--very concerned with doing things the ‘right way.’ A lot of times we didn’t really agree what the ‘right way’ was. Or if it even existed.” Frank sighed. He looked down at Karen, whose eyes were somewhere far off. When she noticed his pause, she glanced at him.

“More,” she said quietly. “I like hearing you talk like this.”

“She’s—uh, a very passionate person. She loves really hard, and she hates maybe harder. Everything’s black and white to her—no shades of gray. Makes her hell to argue with. Just unable to compromise; unable to see anyone else’s side.”

Frank began to fidget a little bit, picking at a loose thread on the floor cushion. Karen watched the movements of his fingers.

“She’s stubborn as hell, too. Doesn’t know how to walk away from a fight. Doesn’t believe in it.” He paused. “But she’s loyal to a fault, and fearless. And generous—gives a lot of herself to other people.” Frank was a little bit surprised how effortlessly all of this was coming out. It might have been Karen—how easy it was to be honest when she was watching him with those understanding eyes—and it may have been the fact that he’d been holding all of this inside of him for far too long.

“She sounds like an amazing person,” Karen’s smile was far away, as she tried to hold an image of Maria in her mind. Tried to piece her together with Frank’s words.

“Yeah, she is. I think you two would get along.” Frank tapped a knuckled against Karen’s knee gently.

Karen thought for a moment, about how to best ask her next question.

“So why, uh—” Karen squirmed a little, nervously. “Why didn’t it work out with you two?”

Frank had been expecting it, so he wasn’t surprised. Of course she’d want to know about the break-up—wasn’t that always the most dramatic part? Frank might not have been a great storyteller, but people, he knew, liked endings. They liked to have a tidy little bow wrapped around their stories.

“Well,” Frank let out a puff of air, “we only dated for three months before we got married. You know, those three months are exciting; the honeymoon period,” Frank ran a hand over his jaw. “Lots to talk about—your past, your family, your future. It’s like, just getting to know someone else—it takes up all your time.” He dropped his hand to pick at the cushion again. “Then she was pregnant, and we were talking about the kid nonstop. Planning, panicking. And then the wedding—all the arrangements and preparations. Then we actually had the kid, and your life just becomes being a parent. Talking about school and sports and punishments and how to not fuck them up for life.”

Karen was captivated—she always was whenever Frank spoke like this, candidly. He didn’t often talk about himself for more than a moment at a time, but when he did, Karen was mesmerized.

“Being a parent—I mean, that shit consumes your life. You just forget how to be the person you were before. And you forget how to be a couple. Strong couples—they survive. Because they remember what it was like to just be the two of them, as a team,” Frank paused, staring off. “Maria and I…we weren’t together long enough to get to that place before being Mom and Dad. We skipped passed that whole stage.”

“So what happened? You just…woke up one day and realized you…” Karen trailed off, unsure, “you just weren’t in love anymore?”

“Actually, something like that,” Frank tilted his head in a half-nod. “We went out on a date this one night, and we made this rule, right? That we wouldn’t talk about the kids? Not even once—no kid talk. And it was…it was rough. We sat there, for two hours, with nothing to say to each other.”

Karen tried to imagine it—sitting across from Frank without anything to say. Tried to imagine feeling awkward or unsure around him. She found that she couldn’t.

“We just…I guess we didn’t really have anything in common, y’know? Didn’t remember how to talk to each other. We’d never learned.” Frank ran a hand across his jaw. “We’d gone from getting to know each other, to being married with kids so quickly. Never took the time to figure out if we worked together.”

“Hmmm.” Karen chewed her bottom lip, brow furrowed. She’d only been in love once before Frank, and it had ended badly. Like ‘I will call the cops if you show up at my apartment again’ badly. So she couldn’t imagine love ending any other way—ending peacefully, on its own time. “Do you still love her?”

Frank jerked back, surprised. He had not been expecting that question.

“I mean,” Karen was quick to clarify, “like, in the way that one human being loves another human being. Generally.”

“Generally?” Frank frowned, confused.

“You know, in a—” Karen gesticulated vaguely, searching for a way to explain herself. “In a kind of ‘you’re terrific at being a human and I’m glad you exist’ kind of way.”

“You’re asking me if I’m glad my ex-wife exists?” Frank chuckled.

“No—I mean, obviously you’re glad she exists, I mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Frank gave a lopsided grin. “Yeah. Think I always will love her. I’m just not in love with her.”

Karen knew as much, but it was still a relief to hear him say it.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and Frank’s grin slid into something a little softer.

Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to grow thicker; become heavy with something that felt an awful lot like anticipation. Karen became newly aware of just how close she and Frank were sitting. She could even see the tiny laugh lines beginning to form at the outer corners of his eyes; could probably count his lashes if she tried.

She’d forgotten, over the years, that love could be such a physical sensation. That it was more than just the head and heart that got involved, but the body as well. That it could make your spine tingle so deliciously—that it could make your skin feel like it was buzzing. The pull deep in her gut ached pleasantly when she looked at Frank, and Karen smiled. It felt so good to be alive. It felt so good to want this strongly.

Frank noticed his heart begin to thud uncontrollably in his chest, as his eyes flitted over Karen’s face. She was just so fucking beautiful, staring at him like that. With those wide, gentle eyes, and that sleepy little smile. Looking at him like she had all the time in the world—like everything she had was there, in the room, between the two of them.

“I—” Frank spoke, and his voice came out husky. Karen’s fingers twitched with the sudden desire to reach out and drag down his throat, feel the vibrations of that deep, low voice pulse through them. She curled them into her palms instead.

He cleared his voice—tried again. “I learned a lot from Maria. About myself.”

“Oh yeah?” Karen’s voice was equally as wrecked—breathy.

“About what I want.” Frank’s eyes darted down to Karen’s lips, so quickly that she didn’t register the glance. “About what I need.”

“And what would that be?” Karen felt herself swaying slightly, almost imperceptibly, closer to Frank. He noticed, with singular interest, the way her bottom lip was glistening. Fuck.

He was going to do it. He was going to tell her.

He could taste the words on his tongue—sweet and right.

“Karen, I—”

The chorus of Styx’s “Mr. Roboto” cut through the thick undercurrent of breathless tension that permeated the room. Karen jerked back at the sound, startled.

“Motherfucker,” Frank muttered under his breath. David. He wouldn’t answer the phone for anyone else, but if David was calling, it was probably important. He jammed his hand into his back pocket—a little more violently than strictly necessary—and ripped out his phone.

“David?” The man’s name came out like a bad word. And, at that moment, it felt like a bad word

Karen watched while Frank listened to whatever David had to say, observing the play of emotions flit across his face, mostly exasperation and disbelief.

“Are you sure you don’t—.” A pause; a sigh. “Well, did you check—?” Another pause. A heavier sigh. Then resigned acceptance.

“Yeah. I’ll find it. Give me a minute and I’ll be there.” Frank hung up, his lips pressed in a tight line.

“Everything okay?” Karen’s voice vacillated somewhere between concerned and strained.

“David left his wallet here. It’s got his key card in it. And the concierge won’t give him the spare without his ID, which,” Frank groaned as he stood up, “is in his wallet.”

“Oh, well,” Karen bit her lip uncertainly. “I guess I should probably be getting home anyway. It’s late—uh, early.” She corrected, massaging the back of her neck. A small part of her was hoping that Frank would say something else—anything else—to address the moment from earlier. To at least recognize that something had been happening there.

Instead, he just looked at her over his shoulder as he rummaged around for David’s phone, something tight and pulsing in his eyes. Something she couldn’t even begin to name.

“Want me to drive you home?” He found the phone under the loveseat, sliding it into his pocket as he watched Karen shrug into her coat.

“No, that’s okay,” Karen smiled mildly. “I want to walk. The cold air will keep me awake.”

“Okay.” Frank stood a little awkwardly with his hands in his pockets.

“Okay.” Karen nodded to herself. She paused a moment, mulling something over in her head. Then she took three steps across the office toward Frank.

“Thank you,” she spoke quietly, leaning forward with her hand on his arm, brushing a kiss against his cheek. In a moment, all of Frank’s awareness centered in on the feeling of her lips against his skin.

“For what?” He barely breathed it out.

“For everything, Frank,” Karen shrugged lightly, releasing his arm. “For being exactly who you are, I guess.”

By the time Frank was able to respond, Karen had already waved goodbye and walked out the door. He waited until he heard the elevator ding open before letting out a long string of expletives.

He was going to kill David.

#kastle #kastle au #karen page #frank castle #the punisher

80 notes · View notes

d3ndroica · 7 years ago

Text

Big Apple 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Friday morning, Madge headed to work with an extra spring in her step. Maybe because it was Friday and there was an afternoon holiday party at work. Or maybe because she had weekend plans with Gale. There was a constant fluttering in the pit of her stomach, half anticipation and half anxiety. In the morning she threw herself into the minutiae of lab work. She had a quick meeting over lunch confirming the expected schedule for the holidays - Madge had a few days off including Christmas. The lab’s holiday party was a casual thing starting at 2pm. Madge had finished most of her lab work in the morning, and as she checked email her mind wandered. Saturday dinner with Gale loomed in her mind. A Date! Okay, maybe a date. They hadn’t really specified, but Madge was feeling optimistic.

To help distract herself from the inevitable overthinking, Madge texted with Thom. He had been super grumpy since his show ended and she figured she could kill two birds with one stone, cheering him up and distracting herself. She convinced him she would come to his place for dinner and a movie or something. He only agreed because it was “totally gross” out and he had practically no disposable income, but at least he agreed.

The holiday party was, well, a bit awkward. Even though she’d done a few happy hours, having the bosses and other people she didn’t know put a damper on the party spirit. But there was wine and free food and a group gift exchange in which Madge scored a new travel mug and coffee shop gift card, so it wasn’t all bad.

She showed up at Thom’s after work with frozen pizza and ice cream. As usual, Thom proved to be an excellent distraction from whatever was on her mind. They watched a stupid comedy and made snarky comments through the whole thing. When the movie was over Thom switched over to Real Housewives and before Madge realized how late it was, she was half asleep on the couch, so she just stayed the night. Saturday was cold but clear. Madge was bundled up on the subway, reading a book on her way home when she got Gale’s message. She had to fish for the phone from her coat pocket and take off her gloves to unlock it. Gale 10:51am can’t make it tonight something came up sorry :(

Madge 10:54am OK. Everything OK?

Gale 10:55am Yeah OK. rain check?

Madge 10:57am Yeah np

Except, of course, it was a problem. Why, she wondered. He hadn’t explained, and she hadn’t asked, but it felt like rejection. Something came up, which could mean anything at all, or nothing. The idea of a rain check was little consolation.

Madge tried to make new plans. Well, she texted Rue about doing something, but Rue had a performance. She’d be free on Monday, so Madge agreed to meet up then. Madge also emailed Delly a sad diatribe about men being stupid, but mostly she felt like the stupid one. Ugh. So she wound up spending Saturday night doing laundry, watching Sex and the City streaming online, and getting drunk on cheap wine. She glared at her phone but did not text him. She’d decided that since he had canceled the plans she’d initiated, it was up to him to re-engage. Sunday she finished her holiday shopping. Delly called to commiserate about their lack of dating lives. That evening, Madge called her dad, catching him up on work and the city - everything except Gale. She didn’t talk about her dating life with family if she could avoid it. Her dad spent about 20 minutes describing the latest episode of Midsomer Murders he’d seen, practically scene by scene, except he kept mixing up which characters were which, so Madge was left with a bizarre muddle of people who may have been blackmailing and/or sleeping with each other.

Monday rolled around all too quickly. Madge felt forlorn, a cold dreary Monday and still nothing from Gale. She had a busy day scheduled in the lab, prepping her new cell cultures. She was determined to be sure everything was pristine this time around. As she was breaking for lunch, she ran into another lab tech, Vinayak, whom she’d chatted with at the holiday party. He was watching some viral video a student had made for their biology class about cell reproduction processes - Madge had to appreciate it, it mentioned apoptosis! She got sucked into a short conversation with him and some other coworkers about it and other biomed social media. When she finally got back to her desk she checked her phone and found a series of messages waiting. Rue had messaged with a suggestion for a dive bar to meet at before the movie. And Gale had texted. Finally. Gale 11:23am hey

Gale 11:29am you free tonight?

Madge 12:41pm Sorry :( have plans Been stuck in the lab Maybe tomorrow?

Madge sighed. The more she thought about it, she realized she was angry at him. Did he think Monday night plans were just as good as Saturday? And why was it always the same day, couldn’t he make plans a few days out, give her some warning? She hadn’t really thought about it before but now it occurred to her that he had only ever made plans on the same day with her - never in advance. She wasn’t sure if that was supposed to tell her something about him - or about her. And he was mostly MIA on weekends which seemed, if anything, not promising. The whole things left her feeling grumpy. She was happy that she had enough of a life to not be at his beck and call (not a fair accounting but whatever, she still considered herself new to the city and for once she had plans so she could at least feel good about that). She was also annoyed that she wouldn’t see him.

Still, she was determined to have fun tonight, meeting up with Rue to see the latest Wonder Woman movie. Returning to the lab after lunch, Madge struggled to get through all the steps of the day’s protocol. After a hectic afternoon, Madge managed to be only a little late meeting Rue at a dive bar, just in time to take advantage of the cheap (and weak) happy hour specials before the movie. Madge barely even had time to look at her phone. They talked about the holidays - Rue’s shows were scheduled throughout so she would be in town working through all the holidays. She asked about Madge’s work. Madge started explaining her day, but gave up when she saw Rue’s blank look. They moved onto other topics before walking to the theater. The movie was entertaining, and they made vague promises of getting together again soon before each heading home.

Gale 1:03pm tomorrow should be ok I have a meeting til 5 then free

Madge 6:20pm Sounds good. I should be able to get off early tomorrow

Gale 6:41pm U up for morningside? Could eat nearby?

Madge 10:34pm ok Any ideas? Or just meet at subway stn?

Gale 10:39pm sure just meet 116th st subway @ 6?

Madge 10:50pm Soudns good ….so I just did the thing where I turned on the computer and started scanning the exact same feeds I’ve been looking at on my phone 😩😫

Gale 10:52pm 😆 home now?

Madge 10:54pm 👣🍿🎵

Gale 10:59pm long day?

Madge 11:04pm soo long It was hard But good, you know?

Gale 11:06pm you know i said day not date right? you didn’t send a going home with someone emoji

Madge smirked at her phone.

Madge 11:07pm You think if I were with long hard & good I would be on my phone?

Gale 11:08pm well good isn’t mindblowing so it depends if you want 🍆 or 💏

Madge 11:09pm It can’t be both? (Unless you’re accusing me of ethnic cleansing bc those people are weirdly yellow)

Gale 11:09pm ok you’re alone so want to explain what was long, hard, and good for you today? inquiring minds want to know 😉

Madge 11:10pm Just another busy day curing cancer ;-)

Gale 11:11pm I heard it’s more complicated than that

Madge 11:12pm Well that’s what makes it so hard

Gale 11:14pm lol, guess i have to give you that one sounds stimulating 😎

Madge 11:16pm So - how was your day?

Gale 11:17pm well not as long or hard as yours 😉

Madge 11:18pm Well It’s not about the length of your day but what you do with it ;-)

Gale 11:20pm 🙊 I’ll try to remember that looking forward to 2moro

Madge 11:21pm Me 2 :)

Gale 11:22pm 👍

Madge hesitated, typed, it’s a date, and told herself to press send. She wavered. She wanted him to say it was a date. Why couldn’t he say that? She knew he could see that she’d been typing. She deleted the words she’d written.

Madge 11:25pm my long day is catching up with me See you tomorrow

Gale 11:26pm goodnight Madge set down her phone and thought about what she would wear the next day. She took a shower, washed and dried her hair. She pulled on comfy flannel pajamas and laid down for bed. And laid there. Awake.

Madge 12:13am Hi

Thom 12:15am Yo

Madge 12:16am Seeing GH tomorrow

Thom 12:17am 👍🔥 r u 2 DTF

Madge 12:18am NO We’re not even dating

Thom 12:19am nedn fuck him then u’ll know

Madge 12:21am Can you be serious for one minute? We’re supposed to go to morningside park Is that a terrible idea?

Thom 12:22am u rly worried?

Madge 12:23am I barely know him and we’re going for a nighttime stroll in a strange park. If this were a horror movie I’d be saying how dumb I was

Thom 12:24am STOP UR NOT IN A MOVIE anw he’s mr consent 100% ggg

Madge laughed out loud at that - mostly at herself. She didn’t even know where that had come from but Thom as usual managed to calm her while bordering on TMI.

Madge 12:25am lol Sorry

Thom 12:26am npgf now go 2 bed b ;)

Tuesday morning she opted for a shorter workout than usual, allowing some extra time to prepare for that night. She could not even pretend she thought this was going to be casual. She was still a little annoyed at him, but having a little advance warning was better than none. She could at least pick out her outfit knowing she’d see him.

She wondered what would happen. She knew she could be in for a big disappointment, but she couldn’t help hope. As distracted as she was, work was helpful for keeping her occupied. She was still determined to get the labwork right. She managed to push most of the thoughts of Gale to the side as she peered into her microscope to observe her lab cultures.

They sent a few texts midday, not much more than confirming the night’s plans. Before she knew where the time had gone, it was 6pm and she was packed with a thousand other strangers on the train, protecting her small allotment of breathing room from the other jostling passengers, speeding towards … something. She came through the turnstiles and he was there. Leaning on the wall, head bent down toward his phone, his eyes were skimming the turnstiles. For her. Her heart beat a little faster. How long had it been? He looked good. He was clean shaven; he wore a beanie with a Knicks logo pulled down low over his head.

Was this happening? She ran her fingers through her hair and walked over. Gale smiled when he saw her and tucked his phone into a pocket. His “hi” was warm. Madge’s mind chased the question whether it was a friendly warm or something more. If she had been hoping for time to stop, it didn’t - their eyes met for a moment and then suddenly he was adjusting his scarf and leading her toward the subway exit far too quickly.

She had done a cursory web search to see what food was nearby. Maybe Gale had too, or maybe he just knew the neighborhood. As they left the station he said, “Well, there’s seafood, a beer garden, or middle eastern right on the corner. There’s other stuff nearby. What are you in the mood for?”

“How about middle eastern?” she suggested. “I haven’t had a good falafel in ages.” Madge had already checked out their website.

“Falafel?” From his dubious tone, she guessed it wasn’t what he’d expected her to choose.

“Is that okay?” She quirked up an eyebrow and looked at him. She had assumed he would be okay with his own list.

“Sure,” he agreed, seeming amused.

They quickly spotted the middle eastern cafe across the street, with a cute storefront. Gale took that extra stride as they approached the door and held it open for her. As he stepped through after her, Madge rubbed her hands in the warmth of the cafe.

They were led to a small table along the wall, and quickly shed their coats and scarves. They sat, Madge facing the inner restaurant and Gale facing the window, coats draped over chairs. Sitting across from each other, Gale asked Madge about her day. Whether real or imagined, the gleam in his eye led her thoughts directly to the long and hard convo … Shit, was he trying to be dirty or was it just her? It was going to be harder to keep her head clear with him right here in front of her. Madge saw the waiter coming to fill their water glasses and opened her menu as if to remind herself where they were. She was sure her cheeks flushed as she rambled something about her workday. When she asked about his day, Gale talked briefly about work, about working through bugs in their code, and a customer who kept changing their priorities.

The menu choices looked pretty standard by Madge’s experience. They decided to share the appetizer sampler which included hummus, baba ghanoush, grape leaves and the like. Madge added falafel; Gale picked chicken shawarma. It wasn’t long before they’d put in their order with the young waiter.

Soon after the drinks arrived Gale asked, “So when are you going home for Christmas?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” she said. “Not til next week, my flight is Tuesday. I hope the weather doesn’t mess up my flights or anything. I’m just going for a few days - visit my dad and see a few friends. You?”

Gale shook his head. “Still need to get tickets. I’m going, I just don’t know the details yet.”

“Really? Isn’t it kind of late for that?”

“Well, I’m just catching a train. I’ll figure it out this week.”

Madge shook her head, amazed at how cavalier he was about leaving Christmas travel details to the last minute. “What about work?” she asked. As odd as it seemed, he had to know what he was doing; unlike her, he had done this before. He had lived here a lot longer than her.

“I took some time off,” he shrugged. “And i can work remotely if i need to.”

“Must be nice,” she answered.

Talking about Christmas plans led to talking about family. Gale talked about his more than she expected - two college aged brothers she had trouble keeping straight, and a twelve year old sister. He seemed extremely protective and fond of them. The waiter came and went, bringing appetizers and main courses. Gale asked about her family and hometown, things she usually didn’t talk much about.

She told him about her dad’s obsession with British crime dramas. ”We always watch a few when I’m home, except half the time he falls asleep in the middle, so I don’t know what the point is,” she laughed.

One side of Gale’s mouth twisted up in a half smile and their gazes held. “What do you do if he falls asleep?” He popped the last stuffed grape leaf into his mouth.

Madge shrugged. “I still watch it. I mean, by then I’m usually hooked anyway.”

“Are you sure he’s the one who’s obsessed?” he asked with a smirk.

They dawdled over the last crumbs on their plates until Madge asked the passing waiter for the bill. Turning back to Gale she asked, “So how far is Morningside from here?”

“A couple blocks. But we don’t have to go tonight,” Gale hedged.

“No I want to,” Madge countered. “I mean, that was the plan right? And a walk would be nice.”

“Okay, then,” Gale agreed, but he didn’t seem as enthusiastic as Madge had expected. A little doubt worried her thoughts.

After Madge paid the bill, they pulled their coats on and headed for the street. “Thanks for dinner,” Gale said.

“Well I did owe you,” she answered. “But you’re welcome.”

Outside the sky was that strange shade of purple caused by orange city lights reflecting off the dark clouds overhead. The streetlights lit their way down 116th street to the park. Madge shivered against the cold and pulled her gloves on as they walked.

“We could do the park another time,” Gale offered. “If it’s too cold.”

“Shut up,” Madge said, eyeing the darkness ahead of them. “I’ll be fine once we’re walking.”

Other than her toes, because her boots that could both look good and can handle walking were not well insulated, and her nose, she did warm quickly. She kept her hands in her pockets,mostly because Gale’s hands were in his pockets. Now that they were on their way, Gale seemed relaxed.

As they approached the park, Madge’s uncertainty grew. She felt her awareness of the dark shadows ramping up and her heartbeat picking up the pace.

“Do you do this a lot?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted with a grin. A jogger with a dog passed by.

“I’m all for trying new things but are you sure this is safe? Because it seems kinda crazy. And I would really like to not wake up dead in a ditch somewhere tomorrow.”

“Trust me, we’ll be fine,” he shrugged off her concern. “Give it a chance and if you want to leave, just say so and we’ll leave. Buddy system, remember?” On her own, Madge thought the buddy system sounded awfully platonic, but somehow he made it sound flirtatious.

“Right,” she said.

There weren’t many people around, just a few figures here and there who all appeared to be on their way somewhere. Gale headed to the left when they entered the park. There were street lamps here and there providing pools of light enough to follow the path easily. You could see the buildings on either side of the park, the ones to the west towering over them from the top of a steep and tree-covered hillside. They walked together past the dog run where a few stragglers were still chasing each other. Their owners stood off to one side, chatting to pass the time while watching the dogs. Gale raised an arm in a friendly gesture; one of the dog walkers reciprocated. When they reached a fork in the path, they turned further into the park and north again.

Other than being dark off the path, the park seemed fairly innocuous. Madge’s nerves began to calm down. “So is this your favorite park?” she asked.

Gale shook his head. “Nah. It’s too small. But I like it. It feels homey.”

“Homey?” Madge was dubious.

“Well, yeah. You’ve got playgrounds and b-ball hoops, baseball fields, the dog walk. You’ll have to see it in the daylight sometime,” Gale said.

Madge pursed her lips, annoyed.

Gale must have realized it. “Sorry I bailed on Saturday,” he said quietly.

“Uh-huh,” Madge replied, noncommittal. The silence stretched between them as she debated whether to ask more. Her mouth was dry. “So … what happened?”

With a rueful sigh Gale answered, “um, well. It’s not a good story. My roommate Jimmy had stomach flu last week. As in, literally immediately after we talked about getting together, he starts puking his guts out. And doesn’t stop. I was kind of hoping it was just food poisoning or something. But then it hit Carlo on Saturday morning. I figured I was next.”

“Oh,” Madge said, wrinkling her nose and, to be honest, trying not to laugh.

“It wasn’t pretty,” he added. “I basically spent the weekend watching sports in my room and cleaning everything in the apartment. I figured if we came Saturday I’d ruin it by getting sick. Or something. It didn’t matter - I never got sick, but still - guess I got lucky. They’re both fine now, anyway.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she agreed. “So ... um. Why didn’t you say so?”

“Sorry,” he sighed. “It’s not exactly, you know, a pleasant image. I was going to email you … but I don’t have your email. So that plan kinda fell apart.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well I’m glad you’re okay. And at least we’re here now.” She was mostly relieved that it was a decent reason. Still, if she had only known, the last few days would have been easier, at least. But, complaining now seemed silly -she felt immature, and didn’t want him to know she’d felt so insecure and jealous over it. She had no right to feel those things.

“Yeah, we are,” Gale agreed, his mouth curving into a smile as he looked back at her - she hadn’t even realized she’d slowed down. He reached out a hand to her. “C’mon, then.” She took it, feeling his heat through the fingers of her gloves.

Up ahead there was water on their left, between the hillside - no, the cliff - and the path. Madge eyed the water as they walked. She joked, “My roommate knows where I am and who I’m with. So, you know, you can forget about any plans you had to slash my throat and toss my body in the water.” The cliff face across the water looked imposing in the dark, a hulking shadow.

“What?” Gale shook his head. “Wow that would make me the worst buddy ever.”

“I’m just saying, logically, it’s a bad idea,” she argued, trying to sound matter of fact.

“Oh, thanks,” Gale answered. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? I think you’ve been watching too many crime dramas with your dad. And come on, Slash your throat? Seems unnecessarily messy.”

She laughed.

“Besides this is no place to dump a body. It’s not THAT remote,” he scoffed.

“Oh, thanks, that’s comforting,” she answered, still laughing.

“Well when you said you were afraid to go in city parks alone in the dark I had no idea you would accuse me of being a knife-wielding maniac.”

“I never said maniac,” she protested.

“It was implied. If you can’t trust your buddy who can you trust?”

“I trust you,” She grumbled. “But -”

“But what?”

“You want to talk about implications, how about this? What are the implications of me being alone with you in a strange park at night. I want to see the park and I’m sure it’s great but it’s really not why I’m here. If you want to be buddies that’s fine, but -”

He cut her off, saying, “I thought it would be romantic.”

“What?”

“The park. I thought it would be romantic. A walk through the park, moonlight, holding hands.“

Madge stepped in close. She tilted her face to his and kissed him. Her lips moved against his, soft and slow. He responded, and she felt his arms wrap around her.

She smiled against his lips.

“Romantic, huh?”

#gadge #nyc-verse #my-fanfic #my fanfic #gadge fanfic

9 notes · View notes

swanderful1 · 8 years ago

Text

A Cold Awakening: Ch 14/?

Summary: Modern crime AU. Twenty years have gone by since Storybrooke was shaken to the core by a gruesome crime that went unsolved. Sheriff David Nolan and his partner, daughter Emma are forced to revisit the crime. At the same time, Killian Jones and his older brother Liam have been drawn back to the town they had longed to never see again, struggling to find their own answers. As taunting notes and clues show up they are taken on a journey to finally bring justice for the Jones family. And Emma Nolan finds herself caught in a situation more dangerous than she could have ever imagined.

Notes: Since today is my birthday I decided to update before the festivities later. I realize I didn't post last week so I made this one a bit longer than usual. I hope you all enjoy and thank you so much once again for the continued support and encouragement. It means everything. Feel free to like, comment, message, etc. I love hearing from people.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights to OUAT.

Rated: M

Word Count: ~10,000

Whole story can be read on AO3 or ffnet

Saturday morning Emma awoke slowly. She hadn’t realized how tired she had been until her head hit the pillow after Killian left and she immediately fell into a deep sleep. Killian. Emma felt her body begin to tingle at the thought of her night with him. The whole evening had been rather PG, the food, the game, the talking, had all just been tame. Then why was she still infatuated with it? The mere thought causing her blood to flow faster. The delicate way with which he touched her was no less jarring than a few nights ago when he had fucked her up against a wall.

When she sat up in her bed she looked to the foot of the mattress and saw Killian’s dog Princess resting peacefully. A warm feeling spread through Emma. It was a nice gesture, a kind one. She reached forward to the dog and began to pet her. The dog picked her head up, gave a sleepy look to Emma, and then rested on the mattress again.

“Thank you for keeping me company,” she whispered to the dog before she got up to dress for the day.

By the time Emma had showered, blow dried her hair, and gotten dressed, the dog was waiting patiently by the closed bedroom door.

Ultimately the dog was a nice companion for Emma. She followed at her heels most anywhere she went. After breakfast Emma took the dog for a walk and let her roam around a bit. She was active and liked to play. So after Princess was done running around she decided to walk over to Neal’s to let the dog meet Henry.

Neal’s two bedroom apartment was on the second story of a building on Main Street. He had lived there ever since they had broken up years ago. It was smaller, it was simple, but that was Neal. He didn’t keep much around. Just enough for Henry to have his own space and some room for when Emma came over.

Neal had looked a little confused when Emma had shown up at the door with a dog. But he warmed up quickly when Princess was friendly with both he and Henry. Especially Henry, who was now sprawled out on the knit rug in the living room, playing tug with her.

“Where did she come from? Are we keeping her?” Henry was a little more enthusiastic than Emma had anticipated. She would have gotten the kid a dog years ago had she known he would be so excited.

“I’m watching her for a friend,” Emma said neutrally. Henry didn’t seem to notice but as she looked up at the brown leather couch on the other side of the room, she read Neal’s face… and it didn’t seem like he was buying that excuse.

“How long is she staying at the house?” Henry tugged against the rope Princess had her grip on. She was far stronger than the kid but she was still letting him win.

“A few days at most. I thought she might be good to have around after everything that’s been going on…” Emma pondered her next words carefully but inevitably said, “if it works out, maybe we can adopt a dog of our own.”

“Really?” Her son’s face lit up. Okay now she had to get a dog there was no way she could resist how happy that thought made the kid.

“Yes really, and if you want to come back to my house to help me take care of her now I think that would be okay.” Emma had been skeptical about letting Henry come back. The other night had been bizarre and unsettling, but after last night and knowing the dog would be there she felt a bit better. Plus she had no plans to leave Henry’s side so as long as she was with him it would be okay. Emma would like to try to see someone come at her son, whoever did would be gutted on the floor before they knew what hit them.

“I’ll grab my things.” Henry raced out of the room and down the hall to his bedroom. Leaving only Emma, Neal, and Princess.

“So,” Neal was the one to break the silence, “you’re watching her for a friend?”

A knowing look on his face told Emma he had a feeling the dog had not come from such an innocent source. But it broke into a smile a few seconds later that reached his eyes.

“It’s complicated,” she replied. Trying not to give anything away with her face, but after all this time Neal still knew her pretty well.

“It always is with you, Em,” he joked and stood. She shook her head at him, aware that he wasn’t trying to be nasty or nosy. He was just pushing her buttons, as you are allowed to do with someone when you’ve known them most of your life.

Henry returned to the room with his duffel bag over his shoulder. Princess stood up and went to his side immediately. At least they were getting along. That was a good sign.

“Are you coming to my mom’s tomorrow for brunch?” Emma asked as she, Henry and the dog were halfway down the hall. Sunday was Mother’s Day. A tough one for Neal, for many reasons. And for as long as Emma could remember he spent it with she and her parents and Henry. It wasn’t traditional, or normal, she understood that. But it was what they had always done.

“Yeah, do you need me to bring anything?” Neal asked.

“No. You know my dad, he’s got it all covered.”

“Alright, see you then, Em. Bye, Henry.” He waved and was closing the door to his apartment when someone enter the hall. Robert Gold. Followed quickly by his wife Belle.

“Hi grandpa, Belle,” Henry greeted the two but was immediately pulled by Princess’s leash as she lunged for Mr. Gold, releasing a wildly unfriendly growl.

“Hey!” Emma grabbed the leash and tugged the dog to her side. Having never seen the dog act that way she was shocked. “Sorry about that.”

“Never was much of a dog person, myself,” Mr. Gold said calmly as he looked down at the dog who was now under control but still baring her teeth. Belle looked entirely uncomfortable and her back was pressed firmly up against the wall.

The dog stilled at Emma’s side but she noticed that the fur on the back of Princess’s neck was standing straight up. She tightened her grip on the leash as Mr. Gold walked past them to get to Neal’s front door.

“I take it my son’s around?” the man asked before pulling a ring of keys from his pocket to unlock the door.

“Yeah, he’s there.” Emma turned and began to walk away. “Sorry about the dog, she’s a friend’s.”

“I’m sure.” Was the last thing Robert Gold said to her before entering his son’s apartment with his wife. Princess wasn’t the only one who felt unsettled by the whole thing.

The rest of the day was nice. Emma had her son back in their house and everything felt, for the most part, right. She was able to get some work done, mostly administrative tasks she had been too busy to look at. She opened all of the windows to let fresh air in, the light lull of birds chirping mixed with rustling leaves.

Henry and Princess played in the yard for a while, wearing one another out until they came in to relax. Her son on the couch by the window and the dog panting on the cool hardwood floor. They had hit it off pretty easily despite the minor hiccup at had occurred outside of Neal’s apartment. How Princess had been so quick to react to Neal’s father, when she had seen the dog be nothing but lovely to anyone else. It didn’t sit well with Emma. And it certainly didn’t help when the dog went back to being pleasantly loyal as soon as they left the building.

Mother’s Day had arrived. She didn’t love the holiday altogether but she did enjoy spending time with her family. Her father had organized a large spread at the Nolan farmhouse. The kitchen island was filled with pastries and eggs and bacon and pancakes. Flutes of champagne and orange juice were handed out to everyone but Henry. Neal showed up a few minutes after Emma did with a case of donuts. Princess stood at Emma’s feet trying to catch dropped bits of food. Her mother and father had looked questioningly at Emma when she had rolled up with a dog that didn’t belong to her. But she fed them the ‘dogsitting for a friend’ line and they took the explanation… at least on the outside. On the inside Emma read her mother’s face like a book and she could tell Mary Margaret was about to burst at the seams holding in what she wanted to say.

It was quite the scene. The five of them (well six if you include the dog) gathered around the table, laughing and smiling over a brunch they had every year together. But coincidentally it was also Sunday. The day Killian was supposed to return from New York. She thought about whether or not he would want to see her like he had said. Her mind wandered to that place, the place she had last been with him. Her porch the night she had come back to her home, after the craziest, most bizarre week he had eased the burden of it. That’s not to say she wasn’t also thinking about certain other activities with him.

It wasn’t fair. He was like a male lead from some sappy romance novel. All height and dark hair, thick and gorgeous accent, just open enough that you see he’s complicated, just closed off enough that he’s still a mystery. Everything about the man intrigued her, but if she let herself she could feel more for him and that was terrifying. The thought of placing her vulnerable heart in the hands of someone she had only encountered a short time ago. Sure she had known who he was growing up but that wasn’t like knowing him. Not the way she felt herself gravitate toward him now. Each time she was with him a deep pull from inside her made her want to be near him. With him. Ravaged by him.

“Emma, honey, pass the salt.” Her father’s voice, the one he used when he had to repeat things brought her back to where she was. Mother’s Day brunch in her parents’ dining room. With her ex-boyfriend and son. Now was not the time to be focusing on her most recent affair with Killian Jones, whose dog sat at Emma’s feet eyeing her like she knew what Emma was thinking about.

“Yeah sure.” Emma hurriedly reached out and grabbed the salt to hand to her father. Her skin warming as she did. Maybe no one noticed.

Later they exchanged gifts. Henry had gotten Mary Margaret a lovely necklace with a blue bird trinket on the chain. It was cute, it was quirky and ultimately something his grandmother would be proud to wear. She put it on immediately, asking for David the ever doting husband to help her secure the clasp.

“It’s lovely, Henry, thank you.” Mary Margaret beamed.

“And this one’s for you, mom,” Henry smiled as he handed Emma a small black velvet box and a card.

“Thanks, kid. You really didn’t have to get me anything.” She ruffled his hair and took the box, opening the card to find a heartfelt message from her son that made her tear up. And then she opened the black box. Inside was a beautiful but simple ring. Of faded metal and central pearl. The same one she had seen Henry holding in his grandfather’s shop. The one that had caught her eye. She smiled, she wore sparse amounts of jewelry but it was beautiful in it’s simplicity.

“It’s so pretty, Henry. Thank you.” As she slipped it on her finger she wrapped her arm around Henry and kissed his head, though now that he was older he didn’t find this to be as cute as she did.

“I know you don’t wear jewelry, but I thought it was small enough that it wouldn’t get in your way.”

He knew her so well.

Later that day she, Neal and Henry left with boxes of leftovers as they always did when coming from her parents’ house. Henry walked ahead of them with the dog by his side, not even using the leash, she just stayed with him. Emma’s heart warmed. The kid needed a dog.

“This kind of stuff could get weird if either of us ever decides to date anyone else…” Neal joked as they walked a few feet behind Henry and the dog.

“God forbid either of us ever get married. Then what do we do?”

“You guys are like family to me… I would probably still come.” He looked at Emma, his brown eyes kind with sincerity. If nothing else Neal was a wonderful father to Henry and a pretty decent friend to her as well. It was just a shame they were a toxic couple.

“You know you’re always welcome here. You’re like the son my dad never had.”

“And your mom’s been more of a mother to me than my own ever was.”

“Has she ever reached out to you?” They slowed a bit further, hanging back to not burden Henry with the topic of his absent grandmother. It wasn’t something usually brought up, but it was hard not to on Mother’s Day. A holiday solely dedicated to the woman who had abandoned him.

“Once or twice.” He kicked a rock with his foot as they made their way down the gravel driveway. “But it never amounts to much in my mind. She never did come back.”

“Maybe now that you’re older….” Emma didn’t know exactly what she was suggesting until she did. “You could be the one to try.”

“I have little to no interest in it.”

He was lying. She could tell. But she wouldn’t push him on the subject. It was entirely his decision as to whether or not he wanted to reconnect with Milah.

“Well if you ever want help finding her… I’m here.”

“Thanks Em.” He put his arm around her, they walked side by side, friend by friend behind their son… and Killian Jones’ dog. “Luckily, my own son has a far better mom.”

“Yeah, well. We have a good kid. He makes it easy.”

Later that night, Emma waited. She hadn’t waited on a man literally ever but she felt really unsure about what she should do. Killian had said he would see her when he came back, but in all fairness she didn’t know what time that was. Or if it was still happening. She hadn’t heard from him since he left her house on Friday (technically Saturday morning) and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t a bit… on edge.

Henry went up to his room around 10:30 for bed, taking the dog with him. The two had taken to each other quickly. Emma wondered if Killian would want his dog back today now that he was back in town.

To calm her nerves she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She had settled into shorts and a white tank top as the weather had been warm today. Her hair, which was a bit wild from the heat, was knotted into a braid that fell down her back. Emma leaned back against the farmhouse sink, sipping her wine when there was a knock on the door. She stilled, knowing that it was most likely him. He hadn’t warned her he was coming but she had a gut feeling.

Walking toward the front door she realized she had been right. On her porch stood Killian Jones, still dressed in a full suit, this time with a tie, looking like a GQ model in his effortless handsomeness.

“Hi,” she said quietly when she opened the door. Emma wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet in any scenario but for whatever reason, there was a flutter in her stomach when she saw that he was smiling. At her.

“Hi, love. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

“No, not at all.” The flush on her neck and cheeks was free for him to look at, being that her tank top did very little to hide her skin. “Did you come straight from the airport?”

The fact that he hadn’t even changed from his suit made her wonder, was he just as interested as she was?

“Aye, is that alright?” The way he asked her was measured, clearly he was still trying to decipher whether or not he was stepping over any boundaries she had set by being here.

“Yeah.” She smiled, and he did the same. His angular face giving way to a genuine grin.

“Might I come in then?” He wasn’t mocking her when he said it, she could tell, the inquiry was real.

She didn’t say anything back, simply stepping out of the way and opening the door further to allow him inside. Quietly she closed the door behind him, hoping he got the hint that she didn’t want him to leave just yet. He looked good in the entryway. His suit tailored to his thin but muscular frame. His hair tamed for once, slicked back into a mature style. His beard was trimmed but still evident and Emma wondered what the hairs on his chin would feel like between her thighs.

Killian turned to look at her. It was an odd situation they had put themselves in. They weren’t dating, it wasn’t like she could just leap into his arms cooing ‘welcome back, baby’ because he wasn’t hers. Yet they had been so intimate… so heated. The next move was not clear to either of them.

“Did you manage to keep my dog alive this weekend, Emma?” he joked, looking around and a bit concerned when Princess hadn’t run down to greet him.

“She’s fine… she’s upstairs sleeping with Henry in his room.”

“Your boy is here?” His eyebrow shot up, he obviously hadn’t expected her son to be around. Probably because she had kept that part of her life so private from him. And most people who weren’t her close friends. “Shall I go then?”

“What?” Emma was surprised, the idea of him leaving already, when she had… desires that needed taken care of, was not something she was willing to give in to.

“Emma, I’m not here to intrude… if you want to postpone this until a time when the lad isn’t upstairs I-”

She stepped closer to him. The hint of cologne on his clothes an intoxicatingly appealing smell. But there was something else, a scent entirely his own, that she had come to enjoy during their times together. Her hands drew up the lapels of his suit jacket. She didn’t miss the twitch in his demeanor as she did. The quirk of his lip.

“Do you want to leave, Killian?” She asked, moving her hands across him, doing her best to elicit the kind of reaction she knew she could. For once it wouldn’t be him who used smooth dialogue to effect her. No, this time it was her turn.

“No, I don’t want to leave.” His breath was caught as she touched him, though it was through his clothes he felt the natural pull toward her. The desperation he felt to be skin to skin.

“Then don’t.” She leaned in, taking the reigns, kissing him slowly but passionately. Melting their mouths together until she felt her core so built up she needed him immediately. “So why don’t you take me upstairs, and I’ll try my best not to scream your name.”

“Mmmm..” he groaned into her mouth, their lips not touching but close enough. “Lead the way, darling.”

Her hands fell from his jacket to his tie, pulling him toward the stairs up to where her bedroom was. Luckily her bedroom didn’t share a wall with Henry’s. She knew as much as she would probably try to keep quiet, there was only so much she could do.

Still leading him by his tie, she took him into her bedroom. Coincidentally she had changed her sheets that day and made sure her room was clean (coincidentally my ass, she thought to herself). The room was bathed in moonlight, the curtains of the windows entirely open on the warm spring night. She made it to the edge of her bed before she felt Killian behind her. Her back pressed to his front, his fully erect front.

“Lovely place you have here, darling.” His lips fell to her neck, a trail of kisses running over her exposed shoulder. The hair on his chin tickling her in the most erotic way. Her skin alight with desire, her center aching for him. This was not like the last time, there was no brick wall, no sense of urgency, no public. It was just he and her, in her room. The most intimate place to have him. And all she could think about was how badly she wanted him.

His lips went from her shoulder to her neck, kneading into her skin, his tongue painting her with arousal. She spun and wrapped her arms around his neck, meeting his lips with hers. Their mouths moving together in a hungry motion for each other. His hands went from her waist to her ass, giving a playful squeeze that made her gasp. Almost a little too loud. His touch traveled lower, with a look of victory on his face, grasping her thighs aggressively and pulling her up around him. Her legs wrapping around his waist so he was the only thing keeping her off the ground.

They continued to kiss fervidly, Emma’s insides feeling like they may explode if she kept all of these clothes on. His strong arms had her, so she released his neck grasping as the tie around his throat. In two quick moves it was off, giving her full access to the buttons of his white dress shirt. She began undoing them, hoping to reach his glorious chest, but ended up ripping the entire shirt off and half of the buttons flew in every direction. Hitting the hardwood floor one by one.

“Eager, are we?” he mumbled between kisses. In that confident voice she found so appealing.

“I just got tired of waiting,” she responded. Wrapping her legs even tighter around him, grinding her center against his to ease the ache she was feeling. The desire she felt for the friction between them. “I like… rough,” she said the word as if she were almost ashamed of it.

He ceased contact between his lips and hers to look directly into her eyes. He wondered if she had ever had a lover who had made her feel embarrassed for enjoying the rougher side of things. But her face fell a bit, she wondered if maybe she had taken things too far by saying that.

“Do you trust me, Emma?” His deep blue eyes, hooded and sincere met hers. Her legs still holding her up, his hands still under her thighs.

“Yes,” she whispered. And the truth of it was she did. She knew he could bring her to the fathomless depths of her pleasures. He already had before. And she knew he would do it again.

He didn’t say anything but his eyes didn’t leave hers as he set her down. Feet planted on the floor, his hands went to the hem of her tank top, tugging it slowly over her head. She was bare beneath it, not bothering to wear a bra… or underwear but he would find that soon enough as he moved to pull her shorts off of her. His fingers lightly brushed her skin and she felt she would combust.

“So beautiful,” he groaned, dragging a finger up her bare now bare body, slow enough that she felt every bit of it, fast enough that her blood raced along with it. “Rough, you say?”

“Yes.” She could barely get the word out. Every inch of her wishing it was up against him. Her folds dripping with desire for the man before her. He looked like a God. His white shirt open and flowing, revealing his chest, fully to her, for the first time. The dark hair on his chest trailed all the way down to the waistband of his dress pants. She was certain he caught her staring but instead he only said one thing.

“As you wish.” His tongue roved over his teeth beneath his lips. A dangerous look in his eye that both frightened and excited her. He slid the shirt off of his shoulders and it fell in a heap onto the floor. Emma’s eyes followed his hands as they began to undo his pants. Every motion deliberate as he removed his belt, the pants and underwear on the ground on top of his shirt. He was now bare in front of her. His toned body. His broad shoulders. His completely hardened cock that was… massive. She gulped looking at it. Wondering how in the world that had once been inside of her.

“Something wrong, love?”

“You’re huge.” She didn’t want to say it, his ego did not need any more inflation. But it was a fact. He was packin.

“It’s been in you before, Emma. No need to be nervous.” He stepped closer to her. Electricity between them. His face was mischievous like at any moment he would pounce. The anticipation was killing her. His fingers swiped across her aching center. Still wet with want for him, as it always was. He really did not have to do much to work her up. And he knew it. “Always so wet for me, Emma. It’s flattering really.”

She stood still as a sculpture, knowing he was going to do something, but not knowing what it was irked her. He was calculating. The tingle in her chest moving down to the place his fingers now were. Working her in and out, building the desire she felt for him.

“You’re so ready for me, love, I could fuck you right now,” he whispered in her ear. She felt her knees begin to weaken at the thought. She just needed release.

“So do it.” She ground against his fingers hoping to relieve the heat pent up in her body. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

He let out a laugh. A dark gaze on her. It was overwhelming. The way his eyes traced her body before slowly backing her against the post of the bed. She only realized she had hit the thick mahogany of the four post bed when the rolls of the wood dug into her back.

“Ooomf,” she let out a sound as soon as she hit the post. He stood inches from her. All dark hair and passion. She reached her arms up to place her hands on his bare chest. The thick black hair feeling electric on her fingers.

“Ah ah ah.” He grabbed her wrists and removed them from his chest. Emma bit back a moan at the loss of contact. “Allow me.” He took her wrists, delicately kissing each one, before wrapping them behind her back around the bedpost and securing them with a silk tie.

“What the hell?” Her hands were literally tied behind her back. She struggled to free herself but she couldn’t. “Killian… what are you doing?”

“A taste of your own medicine, my darling.” His voice lingered in her ear as he kissed just beneath it. Following the line of her neck, working his mouth downward. Slowly, excruciatingly. She was completely at his mercy, entirely vulnerable. Naked. Tied. Wanton.

“Tease.” She groaned as his kisses made their way down her body. Slowing at her breasts, his mouth latching onto one while his hand worked the other. The pink buds fully erect in seconds, her chest heaving with want as his filthy mouth nipped, sucked, licked her skin as it buzzed.

“Trust me.” Was all he murmured as his mouth left her nipples, now fully hard and wishing he would go back. But as his mouth got closer and closer to her core, she moaned. “Your body seems to.”

He wasn’t wrong. Every limb of hers curled in toward him for some form of contact. She couldn’t deny the effect he had on her. His mouth finally reached the top of her thighs. The apex now dripping in anticipation. His lips met her folds, plundering without much warning, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

Emma’s leg rested on top of his shoulder. His mouth invading her most intimate place with such confidence and such force she could barely hold herself up. His beard scratched at her skin. Her other leg found its way to his shoulder so he was the only thing holding her up.

“You taste delicious, love.”

“Killian… please…” she begged as he continued to work her, but not letting her fall. Teetering her on the edge as his tongue explored her. Sucking on the juices pouring from within. “Killian…. My god…”

It was enough to fuel him. Her begging. His hunger. Killian rose from his knees to stand in front of her, fully hard. His pink lips puffy from his kisses, his hair disheveled. She thought he would untie her, take her to the bed to fuck her. But instead he readied himself and grabbed her legs. They wrapped around his waist instinctively. Her lack of release still built inside of her. She thought she may come just from their centers meeting. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to grab onto his hair, to touch every part of him she could but her arms were still tied.

He aligned himself with her dripping folds, the tip teasing the entrance. He groaned though it was the barest of touches. His eyes fluttered closed, he seemed to be composing himself. His handsome face twisted into a devilish smirk as his baby blues revealed themselves again. Without warning he plunged deep within her. Emma cried out not thinking. The sensation at first shocking but then immense. He bottomed out immediately.

“Though it would have been a pleasure to make you come with only my mouth, I couldn’t spend another second without being inside of you… so bloody tight.” As he spoke he took a second to let her adjust to his size. Emma eyed him. He had the oddest ways of displaying how he was a gentleman.

“Just fuck me, Killian. I can’t…” all of her strength was currently dedicated to holding her legs around him. Her back pressed against the post. Her body ravaged with passion. Her breath heavy, chest heaving, hair falling from its braid. She must have looked a mess. His hands found her ass, caressing the skin there.

“You’re being awfully loud, darling. Perhaps a punishment is in order.”

Before she could respond, her wit not as quick when she was on the cusp of climaxing, he removed one hand from her ass and brought it back down with a smack. Her head fell back against the post. The pain and the pleasure so overstimulating. His lips found her neck, licking over her. His hand smacked her again causing waves of sensation through her.

He pulled out and slammed back in again, her body shuddering as he found his rhythm. Fucking. Grinding at her center. No holds barred. Rough. Sex. The friction on her clit causing her eyes to roll back into her head. It was so much. It was too much. But she wanted more.

“You have a fantastic ass,” he whispered as he continued the aggressive roll of his hips. He bit her earlobe, and her neck. Most certainly not being gentle. Her ass would be red for days, the bruises on her hips from his hands would appear.

His hand slipped from her ass to her core, teasing her. Emma’s hands pulled at the ties, those would bruise too. But she didn’t care. He ripped her hair entirely from its braid, setting it free around them. Running his fingers through it. Only to pull it into his hand and wrap it around his own wrist.

“I like something to hold onto,” he thrusted, so close, “My beautiful, Emma.”

His stubble brushed her chin as his lips met hers in one final surge of passion, a bruising kiss, as she reached her peak. The pleasure so intense and so overwhelming she could hardly breathe as she ground into him while he released himself into her. They fucked each other through, not stopping until the throbbing ceased.

Emma felt like she might faint. Never having experienced passion like that, her body so overcome by it. Her legs fell from his waist too weak to hold the position any longer. Blood coursed through her veins, heart racing, his release dripping down her leg.

“Emma, love, are you alright?” His face had gone from devilish to concerned in a matter of seconds as he realized she couldn’t stand on her own. He untied her, her wrists stiff and sore from being wrapped for so long. And he caught her as she stumbled.

“Sorry, I’m just not…” She couldn’t even remember if she had ever had sex that good. “It’s never been that…”

“I’ll take your speechlessness as a compliment.” He was still holding her. Such a chaste gesture after such raucous behavior. She looked up at him and smiled a bit, a little embarrassed at just how good he had been. “Here, lay down.”

He scooped her up in his strong arms and laid her down on the sheets. Leaving the room only to return with a wet washcloth to clean her off.

“Well aren’t you a gentleman,” she joked as he carefully wiped away the evidence of their encounter.

“I’m always a gentleman.” He smirked.

“Do all gentleman tie women up in their own homes?”

He leaned down close to her face. His features dark and stormy. God was he attractive. “Only when the woman begs for it.” He winked before rising back up and picking up his previously shed clothes. Killian began to redress himself and as Emma watched him she considered asking him to stay. After all, if she could get another round like that out of him he could stay for a whole week.

He caught her staring at him… again. “I’m just following the rules,” he said straightening the collar of his shirt. Though he couldn’t button it, and he shot her a sardonic look when he remembered all of the buttons were dispersed on her bedroom floor. Once sufficiently clothed he leaned back down to her, without hesitation, and kissing her. The hunger beneath his lips evident as he begged entrance to her mouth. She moaned, grabbing his hair, as she had wanted to do the whole time.

When he pulled away they were both out of breath. The sexual tension still there though they had just thoroughly fucked one another.

“Remember, darling. No sleepovers.”

Her mind cursed her own rule she had given him, wishing he would stay for another round. But her stubbornness and sheer exhaustion took over. She remained silent as she watched him leave her bedroom, not even staying awake long enough to hear him start his car to drive off.

It was like that for two weeks. He never asked to stay over, though they were together almost every night. The floodgates had opened. Each night with him was different, unique in and of itself. Her sexual experiences with him unlike any she had ever had. It had been so long since she had had good sex, it wasn’t something she was willing to back down on. And he didn’t seem to want to back down either. Spending hours lazily kissing one another in bed, alternating between positions, taking turns pleasuring one another until they could no longer breathe.

During the day she would work. Fully focused on the task at hand. Doing her best not to reveal to anyone else she worked with what was going on between she and Killian. Emma researched as much as possible. The clues at a standstill since the one at her door. Sometimes after they finished having sex, the two would lay together for a while just to talk. He often spoke of his early years, his childhood far different from hers. Killian always expressed wanting to help find the murderer of his parents but some things were far too personal for him to dive into. It provided a closeness between the two. A foundation for conversation that would allow them to get to know each other better.

But this was not always the case. There was one night in particular where she went over to his hotel for their nightly encounter, and not one single word was spoken between the two before fucking.

It was late, as it usually was with them, they hadn’t seen each other the night before because Emma had fallen asleep. The combination of long nights with Killian and long days spent on the investigation taxing her body relentlessly. But she wanted to see him again, the thought of missing another night in his bed upsetting her more than she would ever admit. So nonchalantly she had told him she would come over that night.

The man at the front desk of Killian’s hotel had come to recognize her by now, giving her a subtle wave as she made her way to the elevator that would take her to his penthouse. Anticipation bubbling within her as the pleasure that was to come.

The elevator dinged and let her out in the foyer of his hotel suite. A large empty space, dimly lit by the overhead chandelier. She wasn’t two steps inside before seeing Killian descend the spiral staircase, looking more like a royal than a man. His gaze pointed, piercing. Heat boiled within her veins, her stomach, her aching core. With purpose he crossed the floor to where she was, not wasting another second before mounting her on the circular wooden table central to the room. The vase of flowers atop crashing to the floor as he pushed her over the surface. Thrusting into her with all of the force her body could take. His lips all over her, trailing her skin, fucking her wordlessly. His hands rough on her hips, his cock pumping into her. She could barely catch her breath.

“Already so wet for me, Emma. You’re just as filthy as I am.” He breathed into her ear, continuing to fuck her through to her peak. “Say my name, love.”

“Killian…” she moaned. Weak to any command he gave her at this point.

“There’s a good girl.” The more she cried out for him the harder he thrust, until finally the table beneath them gave way. Collapsing from the passionate tryst it had been subjected to. Killian caught her, not missing a beat, before continuing his motions on the marble floor.

Emma boldly flipped over so he was on his back and she was on top. Still fully sheathed inside of her, Emma began to grind her hips, taking control.

“That’s it, darling. Ride me.” His eyes shut, allowing her to fuck him, his hands on her hips steadying her, keeping pace with her. Emma could barely contain herself anymore.

“Killian… I’m gonna…” was all she was able to croak out as she reached her peak. The wave of passion crashing through her body. She shook as she climaxed, and felt him do the same. Her pussy milking his cock of its seed as he too fell. Kissing her breasts, neck, arms, mouth, anything he could reach.

She stared at him breathlessly in the wake of their passions, wondering if she would ever in her life find another man who could even compete.

“Emma, love, what have you done to me?” he asked in the afterglow. Expressing once again how all consuming their encounters had been.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

And now, two weeks from that night in her bed when he had tied her up, they lay together amongst ruffled sheets. It was a Friday night. Henry was with Neal for the weekend fishing. She had the house to herself. Well that was, until Killian came over. Tonight had been different. Emma wasn’t sure if it was because they had the house to themselves or because it was a Friday and neither of them had to be at work in the morning, but the entire encounter had been so… slow. And not in a bad way. Their usual biting had become kissing, scratching had turned to caressing.

From the time he walked in the door there wasn’t a striking urgency to fuck each other into oblivion. They took their time. Eventually making their way to the bedroom, where they fucked long, slow, excruciating. If she didn’t know any better she would call it something else entirely. Because it felt less like fucking and more like… well like something else.

“You know, I haven’t had anyone in this bed… ever.” Emma didn’t meet his eyes as she said it. She was curled up against his chest. His arm hanging loosely on her hip. His other bent to hold his head up. Post sex. His seed dried between her thighs, sweat coating both of their bodies. She played with the hair on his chest, probably one of her favorite features on him. Or at the very least it was in the top 5. “I don’t know why I said that… it probably doesn’t reflect too kindly on the kind fuck I am.”

His hand went from her hip, reaching up to cup her cheek. The motion so gentle, as if she were made of porcelain. “Darling, you are a phenomenal lover.”

Lover. Was that was this was now? The title not the worst thing in the world. But the use of the word ‘love’ so foreign to her.

“And it’s an honor to be in your bed.” His gaze finally connected with hers. She tried to find the slightest bit of deception. Of mockery. But came up with nothing. He was being honest. He always was with her. Killian bent his head down and kissed her forehead. So lightly. But she felt it all over.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked, walking outside of her comfort zone to learn a bit more about him.

“Excuse me?” He was confused, such a light and simple question not usually in their vocabulary, the circumstances of their time together heavier than usual small talk.

“Your favorite color, I want to know what it is.”

He smiled a bit, almost like no one ever took the time to know such a small thing. Meeting her eyes directly he whispered, “Green… and yours?”

“Blue,” she said without hesitation.

“People don’t really ask me questions like that,” he offered honestly. Just as she had suspected. “I think I may come off as a bit… intimidating.”

“You? Never!” she joked. Remembering the first day she had seen him in the office. His suit. His smoldering frown. He came off hard. But she assumed that was from years of closing himself off to survive the aftermath of losing his parents. “It’s okay. No one ever asks me that kind of stuff either.”

“Aren’t we quite the pair?” the air of his voice when he referred to them as a pair was so light but quickly his face darkened. “Emma I didn’t mean to insinuate that…”

“Why don’t you stay tonight?” she blurted out.

“Emma...” He seemed a bit hesitant. Maybe she had read him wrong. Maybe he didn’t want to sleep in the same bed with her. But then his face softened and a smile that reached his eyes overtook his features. “I would love to.”

He grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her into a kiss that turned heated in mere seconds. Tangled together in the sweat stained sheets, they lazily kissed for what felt like hours before he took her again. Bringing her to completion before they fell into a deep and comfortable sleep. Wrapped in his arms, her back to his front, she felt safe.

Saturday morning Emma awoke expecting panic. She expected the usual anxiety she felt when she slept with a man. But this wasn’t just any man, this was Killian. He was still fast asleep in the early morning light. Handsome as ever. His face looked young, relaxed. His dark brows, hair and beard unruly with sleep. Her hand absentmindedly went to his cheek.

“See something you like, love?” his voice was scratchy with morning, accent thick. Her breath caught at the sound. How was it possible his voice was even more gorgeous in the morning?

“Good morning, Killian.” She smiled. His eyes slowly opening to look up at her. They were both still naked from the night before. But she didn’t feel exposed.

“Good morning, darling.” He sat up. His hair stuck out in all directions and Emma had to fight back a laugh at how disheveled he was.

“Last night was…” she didn’t know what to say. Because it was everything. But she didn’t want to say that, at the risk of sounding like a maniac. “Amazing.”

“Aye, it was. My life has been far more…. Pleasurable with you in it.” He was holding back too she could tell. Two incredibly stubborn humans. She didn’t have time to say anything more because her phone was ringing. Looking at the screen it was Henry. She had been adamant about him checking in during his weekend away. She hadn’t spent much time apart from Henry since the day he returned after the mysterious note distributor had paid a visit to their home.

“I have to take this, it’s Henry,” she said to Killian.

“Of course, love, mind if I put on a pot of coffee?”

“Sure, filters are above the fridge, coffee’s in the cupboard next to it,” she finished explaining to Killian just as she swiped to answer the phone.

“Hey kid, how’s fishing?” Killian left the room, slipping on a pair of briefs before heading downstairs to make the coffee. Henry launched into a detailed explanation of the entire 18 hours since he and Neal had arrived at the camp. Everything from the weather to the cabin to the morning they had spent at the lake. On and on. It was amusing to Emma, but eventually after 3 minutes of straight talking Henry told his mother he had to go. That they were going back out on the boat.

“Alright, kid call me later okay?” She managed to get out before they hung up. As she set her phone back on her nightstand she reached for Killian’s button up that was strewn on the floor. It smelled like him. Slipping it on it felt nice. Her calmness was short lived when she heard a voice calling to her from downstairs. Her whole body went still. The hair on her arms standing up.

“Emma. Marie. Nolan.” Her father.

Emma moved quickly. Once the shock to her system had settled in she needed to get downstairs as quickly as possible. Because if what she thought was happening in her kitchen was actually happening, then Killian Jones was standing next to her coffee maker on a Saturday morning in nothing but his briefs. And her father was there too.

Which was exactly what she walked into when she came down the stairs and rounded the corner to the kitchen. Except it was worse. Much worse. Because not only was David Nolan standing there, grocery bag in hand. To his right was her mother, whose face was visibly red. And last but not least Killian who was, in fact, right next to the coffee pot. Shirtless. Pantsless. Looking like a deer in the headlights.

“What are you guys doing here?” Was the first thing out of Emma’s mouth when she had her bearings.

“We thought it would be nice to come over and cook you breakfast…” her mother spoke. David on the other hand was staring at the half naked man in Emma’s kitchen. He looked so mad she was certain fumes were coming from the top of his head.

“You didn’t think to call first?” Emma responded. She glanced at her parents, then to Killian, who had never looked so shy in the entire time she had known him.

“We, uh, we didn’t think we had to.” Mary Margaret, clearly not knowing what to do with herself, began fiddling with the bag in her hands.

“Dad…?” David finally looked at her. His face a wash of anger, disappointment, protectiveness. In all fairness, her father had only ever seen her with one guy. He was in no way used to the notion of her having a man in her life. If that’s what Killian could be called. “Why don’t you guys start breakfast, and give us a minute?”

It probably didn’t help that Emma was obviously wearing a shirt that did not belong to her and had a hickey the size of a chicken nugget on her neck but her father didn’t say another word. He just set the bags on the counter, getting ready to cook breakfast. Mary Margaret looked over at Emma, her mother not nearly as angry as her father. She watched her mom grab her dad’s wrist, and whisper something that apparently eased his temper a bit. Because the redness faded from his face and he came off a bit lighter than when she had first entered the room.

Emma motioned for Killian to walk over to her. Mr. Suave had completely lost any bravado in this compromising position. He walked over to her, a sense of urgency in his step as they tucked themselves in the hallway to have a private moment.

“Emma, I tried to.. They came in without knocking I couldn’t hide fast enough,” his speech was frantic. It was endearing. How nervous he had gotten at the sight of her parents. Killian had met David plenty of times before, but not in this kind of scenario.

“Shh, it’s okay. It isn’t your fault. I’m sorry, I really didn’t know they were coming here. You can leave if you want.”

But just as she gave him the way out she heard her mother call from the other room. “Killian, honey would you like to stay for breakfast?”

Emma’s head fell back and hit the wall. The torture being inflicted on her right now was most certainly karmic repayment for letting him sleepover.

“Perhaps, we should go get dressed, love.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt that she was wearing. When she put it on she assumed it would be like a fun, sexy, normal thing to do the morning after sex. But again. The universe had slapped her in the face for it. “Though I must say it looks better on you.” He winked at her. The embarrassment leaving him the more time they were out of view.

“You can’t do this right now…” she put her hands on his bare chest. Trying to push him away but found herself drawn to how warm he was. Fuck.

“Do what?” He inched closer. Eyebrow up, tongue exposed.

“Flirt with me… they’re right there.”

“I hate to break it to you, love, but I think our cover is blown,” he whispered. How he had gone from shy, blushing, Killian in the kitchen to this insatiable flirt she would never understand.

“Just… let’s go get dressed. We don’t need to make this any worse than it is.”

She pulled away from him, wishing she didn’t have to. While against the wall she wondered whether or not he would have fucked her right there if her parents hadn’t crashed their morning. Something she would never know, she thought, as she walked up the creaky wooden stairs to her bedroom. She and Killian did their best to appear presentable for breakfast but it was truly a lost effort. Mary Margaret and David knew what was going on. Even as they tried to ignore the elephant in the room, sitting around the kitchen table eating breakfast.

Emma’s mother, at the very least, spoke to Killian. Clearly trying to make him feel more comfortable. Mary Margaret far more open to this situation. While David just frowned, eating his pancakes bit by bit. Emma’s spine felt like it had a rod through it, she was so stiff from the tension between she and her father. For the first time in a very long time he was not pleased with her.

After breakfast, Killian dismissed himself. Telling everyone he needed to get back to his hotel and to his dog. Mary Margaret and David both looked at each other, knowingly. Probably putting the pieces together about the dog that had been at their house on Mother’s Day two weeks ago. If Emma melted into a puddle right then and there she truly would not have minded. It would save her the task of having to talk to her parents after Killian left.

She walked him to the door. Feeling far too embarrassed about the way their first overnight visit had gone to even hug him. Luckily he took his own liberties with her.

“I’ll call you later, darling.” His hands went around her waist. Pulling her to him. She couldn’t help but feel the charge that surged through her.

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“Ah but I want to. That’s the thing.” His smirk challenged her. As much as she tried to fence herself off she knew Killian Jones didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.

“This morning was kind of… weird.”

“Interestingly enough I don’t blame you for that.” He reached up, twirling a piece of blonde hair between his fingers. “Besides, I think your mother is starting to like me.”

Him making light of the situation made her feel the slightest bit better. But she still wasn’t thrilled. As much as she wanted to use this morning as an excuse to never have him stay over again, she knew 99% of their night had been… incredible.

“Emma, I don’t want to upset you… or make you uncomfortable. If last night was too much we can just go back to-”

She cut him off with her lips. Kissing him as she had wanted to since she woke up. His soft mouth moving with hers. Emma hoped this gave him enough of an answer without having to say any more.

“Alright then.” When he pulled away his hand found his lips, certain he felt the buzz she did when their skin met. “I’ll call you later.”

“Thank you for staying, Killian!” Emma’s mother’s voice came from the kitchen. There was no way the woman hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Thank you for having me!” He yelled back. An amused look on his face as he slipped out the door.

When Emma walked back into the bright kitchen her father was at the sink washing dishes and her mother was sitting at the table setting down her mug of coffee. A massive grin on Mary Margaret’s face.

“There’s an envelope on the table for you. It arrived this morning,” David said, finishing up the last of the dishes. The air seemed to lighten between the two of them. Whatever was inside the envelope a peace offering from her dad.

Emma’s eyes scanned the package, relief washing over her when she realized it was a real piece of mail. From a real person. Not some manipulative coward who dropped clues on her porch instead of just coming forward. No, this was exactly what she had been waiting for. The drawings Archibald Hopper had promised her. The ones Moira Jones did during her sessions with him.

“It’s the sketches,” Emma said aloud to no one in particular. Tearing through the seal to reveal a stack of art.

“I’ve looked through them but nothing stuck out to me. I figured you have a better eye than me.” Her dad looked apologetic as he said it. Neither one of them could stay mad at the other for long. They were too similar. “Take some time, look through them, see what you think.” David put his arm around her, kissing her forehead before leaving the house with his wife in toe.

To say Emma was relieved was an understatement. The morning had been… trying. And now she had some time alone to focus. She could get some work done, look at Moira’s sketches. Take in all there was to analyze. Enjoy the quiet. She almost wished Killian was still here so he could see the talent his mother had. Chances are he had never seen any of her work.

Emma posted up at her table, flipping through the stack of drawings. The morning and afternoon went by slowly as she picked through the art. Amongst them were sketches of their home. The flowers that lined the driveway in full bloom, an antique car parked in front. A picturesque scene. Two little boys running through the landscaping, an image of innocence Emma could only assume was a depiction of Liam and Killian.

Another showed a tea kettle, atop an antique stove, spouting steam. A simple mug shadowed in the corner. The attention to detail in each picture astounding for someone who managed to do these during weekly therapy sessions.

The last drawing in the stack showed hands. Four to be exact. Two dainty, soft hands resting over a belly. A simple wedding band on the left hand. Slightly covered by the rough hands of a more masculine entity. It looked like a close up of a maternity photo shoot, the shading of the belly appearing rotund. But there was something on the other hand. The right hand of the woman had a ring in the mirror position of the wedding band. She had to look once, twice, three times to ensure what she saw was correct. Holding her own hand in comparison, the ring in the drawing was the exact same ring she wore on her own finger.

The simple, unique pearl ring Henry had given her as a gift for Mother’s Day. The ring that had come from Neal’s father’s shop…

Emma gulped. It added up. The odd behavior, the constant arrogance associated with the investigation, the reclusivity from society. Emma did the math in her head, the ages were certainly plausible. Moira Jones would have been almost identical in age to Mr. Gold had she still been alive. She thought back to the way in which Killian’s dog had reacted so negatively to the sight of only one man. The same exact ring that had been in his shop, was the one in a drawing from over twenty years ago. And she had her suspect. Robert Gold.

#captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #cs ff au #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #cs fanfics #cs modern au #cs crime au

33 notes · View notes