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snowdice · 5 years ago

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Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 35]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

I wanna write something so I’m going to do this.

Chapter 13

Logan was able to quickly set up the station for making protection charms. Patton had always liked making them, though he often used his more as fun accessories than for protection. The one he was going to show Virgil how to make was a very simple low level one used for little more than to keep bugs off of yourself and, in the event of a well made one, alert one to imminent danger by changing temperature. It was a nice thing to hold in the middle of the night if one was frightened by real or imagined threats. It would be warm to the touch when your environment was safe; he thought Virgil might appreciate it.

He and Patton decided to wait until Virgil woke up naturally which only took about 30 minutes. Then, Logan brought him to his set up supplies. He explained briefly the process for making a protection charm. “I will be the one performing the enchantment for today,” he told Virgil. “I will show you how to make your own later, but I thought seeing how to make them would help with the learning process.”

“Plus, it’s fun!” Patton said.

Logan flashed a smile at him. “And that as well. I’ve prepared a small number of possible pendants for you to choose from. You can choose the shape and color, then we will put on a custom engraving, as well as decorations.”

“Glitter! Glitter! Glitter! Glitter!”

“Yes, Patton, everyone knows you’re going to choose glitter,” Logan said, amused, “but why don’t we let Virgil decide for his own pendant?”

“Fine,” Patton said, “but mine will be glitter.”

Logan grabbed the box of blank pendants and offered it to Virgil. “Choose whichever one feels right,” he suggested. Virgil moved forward and looked over the box. “You can touch them,” Logan said. “In fact, I would suggest it as it is meant to be held when it’s done and you may as well get a feel for it.”

At his prompting, Virgil did. He reached into the box and shifted a few to the side. Eventually, he started picking a few up. “I like the crescent shape for holding the most he said,” holding a blue one up, but I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Patton asked.

“Oh, um,” he mumbled. “I dunno.”

“Well here,” Patton said, reaching for the box. He dug through it and pulled out every single crescent moon shaped pendant and lined them up. “What do you fancy?”

Virgil considered them all for a long moment and then tentatively pointed the purple one out.

“Great!” Patton said. “Then, we’ll use that one.”

Virgil nodded and Patton picked up the pendant to drop it into his hands. His fingers curled over the shape and he seemed satisfied by the choice, so Logan turned to Patton. “Your turn,” he said.

Patton happily grabbed out a heart shaped blue one, but then paused and exchanged it for a purple one. “We match!” he said.

Virgil smiled slightly at his enthusiasm, and Logan dug out a blue crescent moon shape for himself. “Now that you have your base, you get to choose the engraving.” He opened up the instruction book to the correct page and showed it to him.

Virgil looked over the two pages of designs with carful focus. He wavered between the spiral sun and the flames for a moment, but eventually settled on the flames. Patton chose the interlocking hearts design as anticipated; it was his favorite, and Logan chose the spiral sun design for himself.

“Now, I’m going to engrave this design onto yours,” Logan said getting out the thin pen like instrument and dipping it into the slightly glowing bottle of potion he’d set out. “In the meantime, Patton will show you what we have for decorations.”

He was careful to get the symbol as perfect as he could and then started on Patton’s. Patton apparently managed to corrupt the boy because both of them came back with brushes and glitter to add as decoration.

Logan shook his head and handed them their freshly engraved pendants. “Apply the glitter how you like,” Logan said, moving on to his own engraving. Once he was finished, he selected some glow in the dark paint to decorate his own.

Once he’d finished decorating his own pendant, Logan looked up. “Are you finished?” he asked.

“Yep!” Patton said, shoving his pendant at Logan while Virgil nodded. Virgil had been far less enthusiastic than Patton, having carefully brushed glitter into the flame design only whereas Patton had haphazardly covered his own all over with glitter. Logan took both pendants.

“This,” Logan said, bringing over a different potion, “is used to make sure the decorations never fall off. It basically allows the other substances to become a part of the stone. “It isn’t too dangerous, but I’d suggest you stand back for the moment.”

Virgil stepped back farther back than was strictly necessary and gave the potion bottle a wary look. Logan moved all three pendants to the prepared surface (else they ran the risk of also getting stuck to the table) and put on gloves, having learned that magically gluing rocks to ones hands was not fun years ago. Then, he carefully drizzled a bit of the potion onto each rock. The rocks fizzled loudly, and Virgil gave off a startled yelp before toppling over flat on his face with his wrist glued to his sides.

“Oh no, honey,” Patton said immediately crouching next to him. “I’m sorry. We should have warned you about the noise.”

Logan wasn’t sure what type of action he’d tried to take when the sound started up, but whatever it was, it had caused him to move his arms fast enough that he’d activated the binding potion and it snapped his wrists to his side, overbalancing him.

Patton’s hands hovered over the startled boy, but he didn’t touch. After a few moments, it was clear that the magic keeping Virgil’s hands at his side released because his hands slowly crept forward to push himself up, so his face wasn’t planted against the ground. His eyes still looked incredibly startled.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

Logan took his words as permission to move without risking startling him more. Virgil’s eyes bopped back and forth between him and Patton a few times as he crossed to his wall of potions and grabbed one.

He also selected a clean cloth from a basket on his way over to them. “A light healing potion,” Logan explained as he knelt in front of Virgil. He uncorked it. “May I?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said with a frown. “I’m not even bleeding. It’s barely anything.”

“Which is why it’s a light healing potion,” Logan said. “You are sure to bruise with the way you hit. This will prevent it and make it stop hurting.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed after a moment. Logan dribbled a bit out onto the rag. After a moment of thought, he touched the damp part of the cloth with his own finger, just to quash any fears that it would harm him.

“It will tingle slightly,” Logan warned. Virgil tilted his face to let him dab it onto his nose and the light scrape on his face. His nose scrunched up and he moved to rub the sensation away quickly only to have his arms slam back to his sides.

Patton caught him so the sudden involuntary movement didn’t cause him to fall back, and then giggled when Virgil titled his head to what could only be described as pout back at him.

“Aw, poor thing,” Patton cooed, reaching forward to rub a hand across the top of his nose and then his forehead where the potion had been applied for him.

“Better?” Patton asked.

“You’re really bad at this being captors thing,” Virgil commenting, willingly leaning back into Patton. Patton just smiled happily.

Logan took the bottle and got to his feet, before returning it, and then glanced at the pendants as Patton helped Virgil to his feet. The pendants had stopped fizzing, so Logan felt okay reaching in and grabbing them all.

He handed both Patton and Virgil their pendants when they walked closer to the table.

“And now for the actual enchantment,” Logan said. “For today, I already prepared the potion up to the last step as it has to sit for a few hours, but I will show you the last step and eventually teach you everything if you are still interested.”

Virgil nodded, but said. “No more noises?”

Logan smiled. “No more noises,” he confirmed. Then he pushed forward all of the ingredients he was about to put in the pot for Virgil to study one by one before putting them each in it in the correct order. Then he demonstrated how to stir it correctly and told him how many times, though he doubted he’d be able to retain all of the information from this one demonstration. “There,” he said, setting down his spoon. “Now we just all put our pendants into the pot, and they should be ready in 25 minutes.”

Logan showed Virgil around his potion’s lab while they waited, explaining what certain pieces of equipment did and a bit about his organization system. Virgil followed him around, looking at the things he pointed out curiously. He, however, got very distracted when Logan showed him one of the experiments he’d concocted. It was a thick liquid that was super attracted to itself and would form a small ball that could be disturbed by touching it. He seemed to like the sensation of squishing it down onto a table… over and over and over again.

“We should get him a ball of yarn,” Patton said out of the corner of his mouth. He may have been enjoying watching Virgil play with the substance more than Virgil was enjoying playing with it himself. And that was saying something.

21984

Eventually, however, the pendants were finished, and he dragged Virgil away from his new toy to show him the finished product.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Is it supposed to be warm?” Virgil inquired.

“Yes,” Logan replied. “It’s temperature changes based on if the magic on it senses a threat or not. Warmer temperatures mean you are safe.

“Oh,” Virgil said softly, hand squeezing around it. “I like it.”

Logan found himself smiling. “I’m glad. It’s yours.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“If you would like, I’m sure Patton has some suggestions if you’d desire a way to keep it attached to your person. He in particular likes to make them into necklaces or clip them to his clothing.”

Virgil looked over at Patton and nodded shyly. Patton immediately perked up. “I’ll go get some supplies!” he said.

Chapter 14

“So then,” Patton was saying. “We ran to the stables.”

“We went to gazebo first,” Logan cut in.

“Right, we tried to go to the gazebo first,” Patton corrected, “but Mr. Deknis was over there tending to the tomatoes, and we knew he’d tell Mama the second he saw us. So, then we turned around and went to the stables.”

Virgil tilted his head, listening to the story Patton was telling. Patton was not the best storyteller. He tended to get lost in the middle and embellish, though Logan always corrected him. It was still very entertaining to watch though because he got incredibly animated. He’d even toppled himself over in excitement a couple of times.

Virgil squeezed the small pillow he had in his lap. He… wasn’t 100% sure what was going on. Logan and Patton had settled him on the blanket covered ground near Logan’s bed and proceeded to feed him snacks and talk about a lot of different things. It had started with them talking about what they’d done that day, and when Patton had made reference to something Virgil hadn’t understood, the two of them ended up talking about things from their childhood.

Virgil found himself entranced by their stories about playing in and running around the castle. It was all so different from what Virgil had experienced.

“…but, right as we were about to get to the ladder to climb up into the hay loft, Logan tripped!” Patton said, arms whipping around him. “He fell into a container of grain for the horses and it spilled all over the place. He tried to get up but grabbed the edge of the water trough and apparently it wasn’t very secure because it fell over and soaked him. So, then he was wet and covered in grain. He looked hilarious.”

“I did not!” Logan protested, but it did not sound like all of the other times he’d corrected Patton’s stories that night.

Patton looked over at him. “You did! You woke up the cute stable hand and he laughed himself silly at you, and by the time we got you even partially cleaned up, your dad had already found us. That’s how we got caught.”

“I have no recollection of these events,” Logan clearly lied, his cheeks a bit flushed.

“Liar,” Patton claimed. “You complained about picking grain out of your sheets for weeks.”

“No,” Logan growled.

“Yes! It’s okay. It was a good laugh.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed on him, and he looked pissed, but a second later, his expression lightened up. “You know what else was a ‘good laugh’?” he asked.

There was a second of silence before…

“Don’t you dare Logan.”

Logan looked him directly in the eye. “Patton was thirteen,” Logan started, but was interrupted the next moment when Patton lobbed a pillow at his head. Logan grabbed the pillow and leaned forward to smack Patton back with it. “He was thirteen and had just ‘discovered boys’ as his mother and my father called it when they attempted to explain his behavior to me. The focus of said ‘discovering’ at the time was the son of an ambassador from Lamir” who was staying for the summer, a seventeen-year-old boy by the name Bernardo.”

Virgil flinched back as Patton suddenly threw himself across the semicircle they’d made with their bodies to tackle Logan to the ground. He watched as they ineffectually wrestled on the ground for a few seconds before Logan, voice strained continued to speak, while battling Patton’s hands away from his mouth.

“Patton’s only knowledge about flirting… ow… at that point was laughing at everything someone said and touching their arms and shoulders.” Logan managed to flip himself onto his stomach which was a horrible move as far as Virgil was concerned. It put him at a disadvantage to get out of the pin. However, Patton just kept reaching for his mouth and didn’t bare down on his neck to try to cut off his oxygen like Virgil expected. So, perhaps it was a rational move. “Our parents were speaking leaving Patton, Bernardo, and I in the garden,” Logan mumbled into the ground. “Bernardo said something ‘funny’ and Patton went to slap his shoulder while laughing, but shoved too hard… Patton did you just lick my face?!”

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t shut up!” Patton threatened. That was a… weird fighting strategy.

Logan paused to consider his options. “He shoved Bernardo into the fountain and when Bernardo asked him why he did that, he ran away and wouldn’t talk to him the rest of the summer!” Logan rushed out.

Patton reached over and grabbed the nearest pillow, proceeding to whack him viciously in the back of the head. Logan was lucky the nearest object was a pillow and not something any sturdier. “It’s not funny!” Patton yelled, smacking him even more, which was when Virgil realized Logan was laughing despite the pinning and pillow pummeling. “It’s not!” Patton said. “I really liked him!!”

“He was seventeen!” Logan said. “It was never going to happen!”

Patton groaned and rolled off of Logan to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. “But he had so many muscles,” Patton said. “He probably could have thrown me 10 yards.”

“And that is… a benefit?” Logan asked, rolling over onto his side to face him.

“You don’t. Get me.” Patton tilted his head to look at Virgil. “Anyway,” he said. “That is the story of how I died at 13.”

Virgil stared at him, and Patton’s forehead crinkled looking at him.

“Is something wrong, honey?” he asked.

“What was that?” Virgil asked.

“What was what?”

Virgil just blinked at him. Patton seemed to think for a moment.

“Oh, did you think we were fighting?” Patton asked. “Like, really fighting?”

“You weren’t fighting?” Virgil asked.

“No, sweetie,” Patton said. “We were just playing.” He popped up into a sitting position. “Well, play fighting, but emphasis on play!”

Virgil looked over at Logan for confirmation. “No one is harmed nor was there any intention to harm each other,” he assured.

Patton grabbed the pillow he’d been smacking Logan with. “Like this!” he said. “Bap.” Unlike how he’d smacked Logan ruthlessly, he basically just touched Virgil’s shoulder with it.

Virgil squinted at him.

“Bap!” Patton said again, smacking him again, this time with a little bit more force and on the cheek. Virgil’s nose scrunched up. “Pillow fight!”

“Pillow fight?”

“You try,” he said, pointing to the pillow in Virgil’s lap.

Virgil glanced down at the bands around his wrist. “Um…” he said. “I don’t think I can?”

“Oh, right,” Patton said with a frown. He bit his lip and glanced over at Logan. “Maybe…”

“Ill-advisable,” Logan said.

“But…” Patton said. “Pillow fight.”

“We would have to be very cautious and make sure there were no weapons in the area.”

“No weapons but pillows!”

“Fine,” Logan relented to whatever was going on. “Let’s clear the area.” Virgil watched them with mounting confusion as they removed everything within a few meters radius of him except for pillows and blankets.

“There!” Patton said after a minute. “All done!”

“What are you doing?” Virgil said.

“We’re going to have a pillow fight,” Patton said.

“But I…”

“We’ll temporarily allow your restraints to be in the third setting like when you’re in the closet.”

Were they serious? Were they stupid? Virgil could have killed them dozens of times with the second setting and now they were giving him even more range of motion?

“You have to promise not to try to hurt anyone though,” Patton said. Virgil stared at him dumbly, as Patton held out his pinky finger. “Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Patton nodded solemnly. “We lock pinky fingers and make a promise. It’s the most binding promise in the universe.”

Virgil looked at his finger, confused. He’d never heard of that type of deal. “What kind of magic is it?”

“No magic,” Patton said. “Just friendship.” Virgil tilted his head but brought his hand up so Patton could twine their fingers together. “Now, promise you won’t hurt anyone.”

“I promise I won’t hurt anyone,” he said.

“It’s a deal!” said Patton, squeezing Virgil’s finger with his own briefly before drawing away. “I trust you.” Virgil felt a rush of something that was no type of magic he’d ever come into contact before but was definitely far more powerful.

Logan came over to them and waved his hand over the restraints on Virgil. They buzzed slightly and Virgil looked between them. “So, I just hit you with pillows?”

“Try not to hit too hard near the face, and Lo and I should probably take off our glasses before we start, but yeah,” Patton said, taking his glasses off as he said it. It was yet another foolish move on his part. “It’s fun, and it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay…” Virgil said.

“I will demonstrate,” Logan said as he took a pillow and smacked Patton in the stomach.

“Hey! No fair!” Patton giggled. “We haven’t started yet!” This did not deter Logan however, as he continued to smack Patton with a pillow.

“On the contrary,” he said. “It has started, and we’re getting you first.”

“No,” Patton whined, but the way he crumpled to the ground under the onslaught seemed far too staged to make Virgil worry. He didn’t even try to curl up into a ball or to protect his head, just taking the hits and giggling.

Logan looked up at Virgil and motioned with his head. Virgil inched over and looked down at Patton. Logan slowed for a few moments. “Go on,” he urged.

Virgil bit his lip and reached forward to smack Patton lightly with his pillow which seemed to do nothing to him but renew his peels of giggles. From there, it was easy to continue. Logan picked up the pace of his strikes and he and Virgil proceeded to ‘fight’ Patton until he couldn’t breath through his laughter and pushed the pillows away, curling up on his side to recover.

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“No what?” Virgil asked when Patton sat up.

“Now I get vengeance!” Patton said, popping to his feet and smacking Logan in the face. “Help me Virgil!” So, Virgil turned on Logan and he and Patton gave the prince the same treatment. Then, because it was only fair, it was Virgil’s turn, though they were a lot more careful with him then they’d been with each other, and really Patton spent more of the time checking in on Virgil then actually hitting him with the pillow. It was nice. Fun. And when Virgil pushed them away, they pulled back. Then, it was Patton’s turn again and they went around teaming up on each other and sometimes just smacking at each other at random.

Eventually, they slowed, and all ended up laying near each other on the floor.

“Well, that made me hungry,” Patton said, sitting up and stretching. “I asked Mama to make us a bunch of mini sandwiches with different flavors. I’ll go get them.”

He hopped to his feet to walk over to where they’d stored the food earlier in those little glowing magical balls Logan had for food preservation.

Logan and Virgil sat up too, and Virgil offered him his wrists.

“Right,” Logan said with a blink. He made a motion and Virgil could feel the magic weighing down his hands once again. He’d almost forgotten, Virgil thought with an internal sigh. They’d given an assassin free range of motion, had a pillow fight with him, and almost forgotten to restrain him again. What was Virgil going to do with these idiots?

Chapter 15

Patton strolled up to the doors to the royal wing, his arms crossed casually around his middle.

Kalani raised an eyebrow as he approached and gave her the most innocent expression he could. “Whatcha got there, Pat?” she asked.

“Hmm?” he asked, as his sweater squirmed. “What do you mean?”

She considered him for a moment. “Well, I see nothing suspicious here,” she said. “Do you Owen?”

“Nothing,” he replied without hesitation.

Patton grinned at them both.

Kalani leaned in like she was going to tell him a secret. “Who is it?”

Patton made a show of glanced around like he was hiding it from anyone passing by. Then he shifted around to pull up just the bottom of his sweater.

A small black paw reached out from the depths of his sweater and swatted at the air.

“Ah, I see,” Kalani said, reaching out to touch the little paw. “Hello, Mittens.”

Patton giggled as Owen poked the cat’s stomach gently through the sweater, making her wiggle a bit and try to bite him.

“Well,” Patton said. “I better be off with my totally normal sweater.”

Kalani nodded and stepped to the side, and Patton was free to head down the hallway to Logan’s room. Patton knocked on the door with their new extra secret knock and Logan all but ripped open the door. “I’m late. I have to go,” he said, darting past Patton.

Patton smiled, happy that his plan to be running a little late to come watch Virgil had worked so well, even though he felt a little bit guilty about it. He hoped Logan wasn’t late to his meeting, but he also knew that if Logan had noticed Mittens, he wouldn’t have let her into the room.

Virgil was already out of the closet, sitting on one of the chairs. Patton came in and smiled at him. Unlike Logan, Virgil’s attention was immediately drawn to the oddly shaped lump in Patton’s sweater.

“You’re not very good at hiding things,” Virgil said.

“It worked on Logan,” Patton defended himself.

“Logan was about to rocket into space if you didn’t show up in 5 seconds,” Virgil pointed out. Patton just shrugged, and Virgil tilted his head. “What do you have?”

Patton grinned wide and carefully pulled Mittens out of his sweater. She did not resist this maneuver at all, simply purring. He held her up for Virgil to see. “Ta da!”

“A cat?” Virgil said.

“This is Mittens,” Patton said. He then turned to Mittens. “Mittens, this is Virgil. I thought I’d introduce the two of you!”

Virgil blinked at the cat. Mittens blinked back. Patton thought maybe he should have let them sniff each other from under a door before doing this.

He didn’t need to worry though, as Mittens started purring after a moment. “You can pet her,” Patton offered. Virgil looked up at him. “Just…” he said.

“She likes chin scratchies!” Patton prompted.

Virgil reached out a hand to scratch under her chin and that was the end of it. Mittens stretched out her chin happy to get the attention and Virgil’s eyes widened at how soft her fur was. It was a work of minutes before Virgil was sitting down on the floor and Mittens was happily kneading his thighs and spinning around in circles to make sure he pet every inch of her.

“I did not understand why people like cats,” Virgil commented. “All I’ve seen of cats is people coming back with bloody scratches from trying to pet them, so I never even tried.”

“Well,” Patton said. “Cats are just like people. If you’re nice to them, they’re more likely to be nice to you.”

Virgil’s hand paused briefly on the cat’s head, but then continued with the petting a moment later. Patton wondered what he was thinking about, but didn’t press.

“She seems to like you,” Patton said.

“Don’t know why.”

“Hey, don’t be mean.” Patton scolded.

Virgil hands jerked away from the cat he’d been petting and then were forced abruptly to his side in reaction. Mittens meowed, seemed very unhappy with the jostling as well as the sudden lack of petting.

“Sorry,” Virgil said, eyes wide. “What did I do wrong. I didn’t mean to be mean to her.”

It took Patton a moment to sus out what he was talking about and felt a pang in his chest when he did. “Oh, no honey. You didn’t do anything wrong. I meant don’t be mean to yourself.”

Virgil gave him a confused look. Mittens bumped her head against his chin and with a blink, he cautiously went back to petting her.

“Of course, she likes you sweetie, you’re a good boy.”

“I came here to kill the king. I’ve killed before.”

Patton smiled sadly. “I don’t think you ever wanted to,” he said. Virgil seemed to grow very interested in mitten’s ears. Patton scooted over so he was sitting beside him and carefully brought a hand up to touch the top of his head. Virgil sort of curled into him, pressing his face against Patton’s shoulder, but continuing to pet the cat.

“It’s fine. You’re going to be okay now,” Patton said softly.

Virgil shook his head against Patton’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Patton insisted. “You’ll be okay. You won’t have to go back.”

Virgil didn’t respond for a long moment. “You can’t keep me in Logan’s closet forever,” he said softly. “When his dad comes back, you’re going to have to turn me in.”

Well, that was true, but… “It’ll be okay. No one will hurt you.”

“The kings would be assassin?” Virgil asked skeptically.

“Thomas is nice. He’ll understand.”

“He’s nice to you. He’s nice to Logan. Maybe he’s even nice to the people he rules over, but what am I? An enemy assassin who would have slit his throat if I hadn’t gotten the wrong room.”

It…it did sound bad when he put it like that, but, but… “Thomas will understand,” he promised, hugging him tight. “He will, and we’ll keep you safe and I’ll introduce you to every single cat in the castle. In fact, we’ll get you a cat to keep as a pet if you want and he or she can snuggle you as much as you want. I’ll show you all around the gardens and introduce you to Mama and help you figure out what your favorite type of cookie is. You’ll never have to hurt anyone again and no one will ever hurt you again.”

Virgil drew away a bit and shot him a half smile. He clearly didn’t believe him, and it made Patton’s stomach twist a bit. Patton knew. He knew Thomas would be nice. There was no way he’d hurt Virgil. Virgil was just a kid and with Logan and Patton on his side, there was no way anything bad would happen to him. He could see it from Virgil’s perspective though.

“I like her feet,” Virgil said, touching Mittens’ little black paw that contrasted her otherwise white coat. Mittens purred and began kneading his legs again with those paws. “I’m guessing that’s why she’s named Mittens?”

“Yeah,” said Patton softly. “‘Cause she looks like she’s wearing mittens.” Virgil leaned forward to kiss her little head and that little action made Patton’s heart ache for him. He deserved so many kitten kisses. So many.

Patton was determined to make sure he got them.

Chapter 16

“Well done,” Logan complimented when Virgil looked up at him for approval. It was the first time Virgil was trying to make the protection charms without Logan’s instructions. Logan was of course still in the room in case he had questions and the boy had a written set of instructions next to him, but for the most part Virgil was doing it on his own.

“Now,” Virgil said squinting down at the paper next to him, “we wait for 35 minutes.”

“Fifty actually,” Logan corrected offhand, focused on his own potion.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Virgil said. He grabbed the timer and set it for the appropriate time.

Then, he stepped away from Logan’s nontoxic potion station. Logan saw him edge a bit closer to peak at what Logan was working on, though he was careful to maintain a distance. Logan wasn’t sure if this was because he’d been warned of the possible harmful substances Logan sometimes used at his experiment table or because he was worried Logan might not want him to approach.

Logan looked up at him. “You can come closer. Nothing here is very dangerous.”

Virgil nodded and walked over to peer at the boiling pot. “What are you making?” he asked.

“I am once again attempting to invent a potion that will reliably remove cat hair from surfaces,” Logan said, glancing over at Patton.

Patton looked up from the bracelet he was making and stuck his tongue out at Logan.

“I can never seem to find an adequate solution,” Logan said.

“The solution is to accept all parts of kitty love!” Patton insisted.

“Or maybe the solution is to exile you from my room for the rest of time,” Logan muttered. Patton chose to ignore him and go back to working on the bracelet.

“Do you want any help?” Virgil offered Logan.

Logan smiled at him. “I’m actually almost finished with this step and there isn’t much left to do but thank you.”

Virgil nodded. “Oh, okay,” he said. He shifted back and forth a few times.

“You’re well on your way to mastering this potion,” Logan said. “I was thinking that next I could teach you how to make a tracking charm. I marked a passage about it in the book on that shelf.” He gestured to one near the station Virgil had been working at. “Why don’t you go ahead and read that while you wait?”

“The…” Virgil said. “The green book?”

“Yes,” Logan said. “I left a bookmark in the correct page.”

“Um… yeah, sure. I’ll go… read that.”

Logan nodded and turned back to put the finishing touches on his own potion as Virgil walked away.

Logan finished up his potion up after a few minutes and covered it to let it simmer. He looked over to see that Patton had flopped onto his back, still working on the bracelet and Virgil had sat near to him with the book on his lap open. Logan walked over to them.

“What do you think?” Logan asked.

Virgil glanced up at him. “Erm,” he said. “Looks good.”

“Which option do you like better?”

“…The second one.”

“Really?” Logan asked, surprised.

“Uh… yes?”

“I’m surprised,” Logan commented. “I figured you would shy away from the ones that required a blood sacrifice.”

Virgil’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he said. “I… didn’t notice that. I would like to not do that one, please.”

“You didn’t notice?” Logan asked. “Half of the entire first page is dedicated to a discussion of it.”

There was a beat of awkward silence.

“Virgil,” Logan said. “Can you read the first paragraph on that page?”

He grimaced.

“You can’t read?!”

“Logan, tone,” Patton snapped when Virgil flinched.

Logan took a breath. “I am not upset that you cannot read, but what have you been doing for the past week when I have given you written instructions for the protection charm potion?”

“Not… read it.”

“How have you been making the potion?” Logan asked.

“I just remember the steps, and if I’m not sure I ask. You’re usually distracted enough that you barely notice.”

“If I had known this, we would have done a completely auditory explanation.”

“Sorry.”

Logan sighed. “You didn’t need to pretend, Virgil.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “Sorry.”

Logan just shook his head. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for. In fact, you are the one who is owed apologies from many people in your life for a multitude of reasons.” He knelt down to take the book from him. “Here,” he said. “For now, I will read this passage to you while we wait for the potions to finish brewing. Later we can talk about changing my lesson plans in reference to the potions as well as adding reading lessons into your schedule.”

“You… want to teach me how to read?” Virgil asked.

“If you are willing,” Logan replied. “It’s a useful skill to have and opens up many doors.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it,” Virgil said with a frown.

“If you can memorize an entire potion recipe from start to finish with inadequate vocal instructions, I’m sure you can learn the alphabet perfectly well.”

“Okay,” he replied sounding a bit doubtful.

“And once we get you to an appropriate level, I’ll let you read a book about stars I enjoyed in my youth.” He seemed pleased with that prospect, and Logan smiled at him. “For now though, let’s read this together.”

“Okay,” Virgil said. Logan opened the book in his lap and started to read. He noticed that Virgil was leaning over to look at the page despite the fact that he couldn’t read it, and so he began to point to the words as he read. His reactions to the words on the page were honestly quite funny when Logan caught them. His nose would scrunch up in confusion every time he thought an instruction nonsensical, and he’d squint his eyes at the words as though willing the sounds and letters to connect in his head. Logan wouldn’t be surprised with his memory if he had parts of it memorized by the end.

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After a few minutes of reading, a light weight descended on Logan’s shoulder. Virgil had settled his chin on Logan’s shoulder to peer at the words. Logan did his best not to draw attention to this fact and shot a glare at Patton when he clearly noticed, sitting up to smile widely at them. Luckily the boy was sensible enough not to squeal as he oh so clearly wanted to. Logan pointed out a picture while explaining what the caption said and then giving a personal antecedent. Virgil touched the page curiously and asked a question about the story before laying his head back down on Logan’s shoulder. They continued in this way until the potion was finished.

Chapter 17

Virgil’s suspicion was growing. Logan and Patton seemed to have something planned. Luckily, whatever it was didn’t seem to be malicious, at least, Virgil hoped it wasn’t. He truly didn’t think that Patton had it in him to be so clearly excited about anything cruel. He also didn’t think Logan had it in him to be cruel, he was just was better at masking his excitement.

“What?” Logan asked innocently when Virgil gave him a pointed look the second Patton left to do ‘something’. Virgil would almost believe he truly wasn’t planning anything if it wasn’t for the way his lips twitched just a bit at the corners. Virgil glared harder.

Logan dared to laugh lightly at the expression on his face. “Come here,” he requested. “Patton wanted me to make you pick out a book for him to read to you tonight since, I quote ‘You’ve gotten to read him all sorts of stories the last few days.’ I attempted to explain that it was not purely for fun, but he insisted.”

Virgil grumbled, but wandered over to look over at the books laid out on Logan’s bed, settling his chin on Logan’s shoulder. “What do they say?” he asked.

Logan pointed to each in turn. “Five Dragons and a Flame. The End of May. A Stone in the Meadow. Or you can continue to read The Never-ending Garden.”

“I want to finish The Never-Ending Garden,” Virgil decided.

“Good choice.”

“Now will you tell me what you’re doing?” Virgil asked.

Logan just chuckled. Honestly, it was like he didn’t know that he had an assassin right next to his carotid artery. “Why do you think something is happened?”

“Patton’s a shit liar.”

“Be careful,” Logan said. “I might just have to tell him you said that.”

“Then I’ll tell him what you said when you accidently dropped the lavender into that potion,” Virgil threatened back.

“Hmm,” Logan said. “Truce?”

“On that,” Virgil agreed, “but you still need to tell me what’s going on.”

“It is a surprise. A nice surprise,” Logan informed him. He looked at Virgil’s face. “Don’t pout at me.”

Virgil had not been aware that what he was doing was pouting, but he did whatever it was harder.

“Patton would murder me,” Logan claimed, “but I suggest you try that on him the next time you have a chance. You will certainly get whatever you want.”

Virgil sighed and gave up, figuring he’d learn whatever the surprise was soon enough. He chose to flop down on top of the pile of pillows on the floor that had been laid out already. It was his fourth ever slumber party and the first had only been a week ago. He did not know much about slumber parties, but that felt like a lot.

Goodness, it had already been two weeks. He looked up at the ceiling. He felt safe here. He felt like he didn’t need to watch Logan’s every move as he organized things in his room, but it wasn’t going to last, was it? The king was set to be back in a week. Virgil needed to actually attempt to escape soon. He hated that fact. He didn’t want to leave, and he certainly didn’t want to go back. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d figure something else out, but no mater what, he did have to escape, and soon. He looked over at Logan who was slotting the books Virgil hadn’t picked back into place on the bookshelf. Not tonight.

There was a knock on the door in a familiar pattern, and Logan walked over to open it for Patton. Virgil sat up to shoot a confused look at the giant thing that Patton rolled in.

“Ta da!” Patton said excitedly.

Virgil blinked at him.

“It’s food,” Logan explained.

Virgil perked up immediately. That must be a lot of food if he needed that to carry it.

“I know you haven’t gotten a chance to try a lot of different foods, so I asked Mama if I could use the kitchen earlier today and made a bunch of different type of food samples for you to try.”

That sounded like literally the best idea in the universe. These people were very good at surprises and Virgil would not question them again ever for the rest of his life (or, well, the next couple of days he was around them before he tried to escape and either managed it or died a bloody and painful death).

Patton seemed to feed off of Virgil’s excitement, practically vibrating himself as he gestured to different parts of the cart. “We have a bunch of types of cheese and crackers, mini sandwiches, different smoked meats, six types of pasta, and every leftover I could find on this shelf. On this shelf, we have things with hot sauce, things with spicy dry rubs, curries, and things with a lot of peppers. I’ve ordered them by spiciness level so we can what you can handle, and we’ll only go as far as you want. Then this shelf is a bunch of types of cookies, mini cakes, pies, and ice cream!”

“We are not starting with the sweets,” Logan said firmly.

“But Lo!” Patton whined.

“We do not want to make him sick, do we?” Logan asked.

Patton pouted. Virgil honestly had no preference. All food was good food in his experience.

“Fine,” Patton said. “We’ll start with the cheese.”

They had him sit back in the center of the blanket pile and handed him little portions of things. Some of the cheese tasted weird at first and Patton would giggle at the faces of surprise he made, but Virgil managed to if not like, then tolerate almost all of them.

Then came the different sandwiches, some hot and some cold and all of the pasta and leftovers. Virgil eyed the plate of fettuccine alfredo long after they had moved on.

“You can have some more at the end if you still have room,” Logan promised with a fond smile. Virgil frowned at him. “You want to try all of the food, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can’t eat an entire plate of fettucine alfredo.”

“Maybe you can’t,” Virgil said darkly.

Logan just rolled his eyes and passed him another plate.

Eventually they moved on to the next shelf full of what was deemed ‘spicy food.’

“Part of this is figuring out what level of spiciness you can handle,” Patton said. “So, tell us when it gets to be a bit too much and we’ll move on two the deserts. Also, milk helps wash the spicy stuff that so drink some if you need to!”

Virgil nodded and accepted the first dish on that rack.

Virgil, it turned out, liked what they called “spicy” food even though some of it made his nose run a little bit. It was kind of fun to eat them, honestly. Some of them hurt a tiny bit, but they also tasted really good. It was strange.

“I am impressed and horrified,” Logan said when he finished that shelf. “Do you… have nerve endings in your mouth?”

Virgil shrugged. “Well,” Patton said, sounding pleased. “Now it’s time for the best part! Assuming you still have room.” Virgil nodded immediately and Patton handed him a plate he’d covered with chunks of cookies he’d torn off. He ate every single one of those and then went through the rest of the deserts. Everything was fantastic and he’d like to investigate a few of the cakes once more, but…

He pointed insistently at the fettuccine alfredo.

Logan shook his head but handed it over. “How many stomachs do you have?”

Virgil did not care to respond, choosing instead to shove his mouth full of pasta.

When he was done with that, he laid back to relax and digest the food, feeling very content. Logan and Patton had also eaten a bit of the different dishes and were finishing up themselves.

“You good there?” Patton asked after a moment of Virgil just laying with his eyes closed.

Virgil nodded.

“Did you like your surprise?”

“Uh huh.”

“It seems he will not be doing any of the other planned activities for a little while at least,” Logan said. “So now might be a good time for you two to read,” he suggested. “I’ll get the rest of the food stored in case we want something more later.”

“Okay,” Patton agreed. Virgil didn’t open his eyes, but felt Patton settle next to him. Virgil rolled slightly, so his head rested against the side of Patton’s leg. A hand touched softly down on the top of Virgil’s head and Virgil heard a page flip. “So, let’s see. I’m not sure when exactly you fell asleep last time, but how about we start at the Troll Bridge?”

Virgil hummed his ascent.

“Okay,” Patton agreed as he started to read. “‘Melly stepped onto the bridge backwards while sticking her tongue out at Al, but Lydia’s eyes widened as a large looming figure stepped up behind her….’” Virgil listened happily to him read about the four children. He liked this book. He hoped they managed to finish reading it before Virgil had to go.

Chapter 18

They made it all the way to the big blowout between Al and Melly where Melly got mad and left the group to their fate in the magical garden by the time Virgil awakened completely from his food coma (he’d never actually fallen asleep, or at least he always responded when Patton asked) and squirmed around for a bit before sitting up.

Logan hadn’t been particularly interested in the story he’d heard many times before and was reading a book of his own on Patton’s other side, but he put a bookmark in his book when Virgil sat.

“Want to take a break from reading?” Patton asked. “We can do a bit more later, but we have more than just food and books planned for tonight.

“Okay,” Virgil agreed easily.

“Great!” Patton said clapping his hands. “We’re going to introduce you to the most fun sleepover party event ever!”

Virgil tilted his head.

“Dress up!” Patton said. “Also make-overs. We’ll do you first and then we’ll help you learn how to help pick out other people’s outfits and make-up. If you want to, of course.”

“Sure,” Virgil said with a shrug.

“Yay!” Patton hopped to his feet. “You stay here. Lo and I will get everything ready.”

He pulled Logan to his feet and over to the chair that was the perfect height for doing make-up.

They set up what they’d need for make-up and then Patton instructed Logan to grab the clothes of his they usually used for this sort of thing out the closet that Virgil wasn’t set up in while he grabbed the pieces he himself had brought upstairs and strew them over the bed so they could see anything.

Smiling happily, Patton looked over at Virgil who had stood up in the giant pile of pillows and blankets to watch him with intense eyes. He looked like he was memorizing every action Patton took as though expecting a test at the end. He was so adorable. A rush of affection and a touch of mischief hit him suddenly.

“Hey Virgil,” Patton said. Virgil looked over at him. “Can I tackle hug you into that pile of pillows?”

“Tackle hug?” he asked.

“I run over and hug you so hard that we fall into the blankets. I do it to Logan all the time without warning, but I didn’t want to confuse you.”

Virgil considered the offer for a couple of seconds. “Okay,” he finally decided.

“Great!” Patton did a little hop before launching himself across the room. He slammed into Virgil, who apparently had very good balanced because they didn’t immediately fall backwards, but then he seemed to remember that he was supposed to let Patton slam him into the pillows, and so he fell back on his own power.

Patton giggled when they hit the ground and drew back to look at his face. “I got you!” He leant forward to kiss him on the nose. “Oh wait! I should let you fight back.” He propped himself up on one arm and held out the other hand. “Pinkie promise not to hurt anyone if I let you use the 3rd setting again?”

“Pinkie promise,” he agreed with a grin, linking their pinkies.

“Great!” Without hesitation, Patton did the hand motion to allow the restraints to be in the third setting.

Patton was on his back almost instantly, but he didn’t even have a chance to think about worrying before Virgil pressed a kiss to his nose in a mirror of what Patton had done a moment before. “I got you,” he said proudly.

“So, you do,” Patton agreed with a laugh. He reached up on of his hands to card it through Virgil’s hair. Virgil leaned into the touch and then practically melted on top of him. “Virgil,” Patton laughed. “It isn’t nap time.”

He grumbled something unintelligible into Patton’s neck making Patton giggle more.

“Sweetie, please.”

Thankfully Logan saved him from the unrelenting cuddling by poking Virgil in the side. “I have finished preparing the stations for the makeover and dress up. You need to get up now.”

Virgil made a noise that sounded like a growl, but he did roll off of Patton.

Patton hopped to his feet and helped Virgil up before pulling him over to the piles of clothes. “We pick the outfit first, but you don’t put it on. Then, we do your make-up and hair based on it. Then, we get you dressed and do touch ups. Okay? Pick anything you want.”

Virgil looked over the options, eyes going a bit wide. “It…” he said. “It all looks really fancy and expensive. Are you sure you want me to touch any of it?”

“We wouldn’t be offering anything we didn’t want you to touch,” Logan said gently. “In fact, I insist you touch all of it. Beyond just appearance, making sure the texture of the fabric is agreeable is a large part of this activity.”

Patton picked up one of the pieces of fabric he knew was very soft and offered it to him. He touched it with careful fingers, his eyes lighting up at the feel of it. They had to continue nudging him into feeling the different fabrics, and he hesitated when they asked him to pick his favorite at the end, but eventually he shyly pointed at a dark purple dress.

Patton clapped. “Great! Ooo, I already have some ideas for make-up that will go with that.”

Virgil let Patton pull him over to the chair they’d set up and settled down on it.

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Patton hummed. “I think silver and purple make-up mostly?” he said.

Logan nodded and they grabbed a few things from the make-up kit. Logan let Patton do most of the make-up as he tended to be better at the more creative parts, but Logan was the one who gave him the fancy winged eye liner with purple sparkles because he was really good at them.

“You look fantastic!” Patton squealed when they were done. He held up a hand mirror for Virgil who studied himself in it for a long few moments. “Do you like it?”

“It’s really nice,” Virgil confirmed. Patton smiled and hugged him.

“Next hair. We have a lot of accessories. I’ll let you pick from the purple ones.”

He and Logan sorted through the jewelry box full of different hair accessories for the royal family and ended up finding three purple ones. Patton hesitated a bit over one of them, but Logan picked it up and set it in front of Virgil for him.

“Your choice from these three,” he said.

One was a purple feather with little hooks to braid into hair, one was a smattering of purple and silver stars that would weave through the back of someone’s hair, and the last was a string of silver leaves with purple tips that would wrap up the back of a person’s head from a bun.

Virgil thought for a moment and then pointed to the one made of leaves.

Patton glanced at Logan who took the hairpiece. “I’ll do your hair right for that one,” he said. “I know how it fits.”

He grabbed the brush and carefully ran it through Virgil’s hair. Virgil seemed to like the attention, leaning into the touch, and a smile flickered over Logan’s face. Logan started gathering the hair together to make the low bun that would be the base of hair arrangement. Patton honestly did not expect him to speak, but then he did as he started to secure the piece with pins.

“This was my Pa’s favorite hairpiece,” Logan said. “Not the father you came here for, but my other one. He died when I was six.”

Virgil went shock still. “I don’t have to...”

“I wouldn’t have let it be offered if I wasn’t okay with you using it,” Logan said.

Virgil didn’t move as he finished securing the hairpiece. “There,” Logan said when he was done. He picked up the hand mirror and positioned it so Virgil could see. “It suits you.”

“I…” Virgil said. His eyes were wide, and he clearly didn’t know what to say.

“Now,” Logan said. “I believe there are some other pieces of jewelry that would match this very well in the other room. I…” he turned away. “If you will excuse me.”

He turned away and exited through his bedroom door into the hallway. Patton watched him go and then turned to Virgil. “I’m going to go make sure he’s okay, okay?” Patton asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong, there’s just a lot of emotions.”

“I can take it out…” Virgil said.

“No,” Patton said. “I think he likes that you’re wearing it.” Virgil bit his lip. “He never really moved on,” Patton felt inclined to say. “This is… a lot for him, but I think it’s good too.” He leaned forward to kiss the top of his head, being careful not to mess up his artfully done hair. “I’ll be right back.”

He turned to follow Logan out of the room.

Chapter 19

Thomas sighed in relief as the door to the royal wing finally came into sight. He was exhausted from his journey to Lamir for many reasons. Beyond just the physically taxing journey, he’d also had to deal with the emotions of loosing someone he had thought of as a friend while also trying to help her young daughter who had just had the crown thrust upon her.

Now he just wanted to see his own child and curl up into bed. He smiled at Owen and Kalani as he approached. “Is Logan here?” he asked.

Owen nodded. “The prince and his royal advisor are having a slumber party.”

Thomas smiled. “Of course, they are,” he said.

He said goodnight to the two guard as they’d be getting off duty soon even if he did manage to drag himself out of his room again tonight and walked past them into the hall.

He walked past the room where they kept the jewels, though was unsurprised to see that the room was unlatched as Patton loved playing around with the different jewelry and had probably left it open when he grabbed them. He was however surprised when his son’s room’s door was thrown open, as Logan usually couldn’t stand for the thing to be open with or without him in it.

Thomas didn’t think much of it however, and simply walked over to look inside. He was surprised when he didn’t see his son or Patton and instead saw that the only person in the room was a young boy that Thomas did not recognize. He was seated in one of Logan’s chairs and had his head tilted looking at himself in the mirror. He seemed to be trying to get a look at the ornament on the back of his head, and Thomas felt his heart seize a little bit when he recognized the hairpin.

He hadn’t recovered from that gut punch when the boy’s eyes drifted and met his in the mirror. There were a couple of long seconds where the two of them stared at each other in silence.

“Hello?” Thomas finally managed to get out.

Panic. There was suddenly horribly intense panic in the child’s eyes, the likes of which Thomas had never seen before. Thomas could only blink dumbly as he hopped to his feet like his seat was suddenly made of hot coals and then threw himself across the room to the opposite side from Thomas.

He looked around himself, back to the wall and considered Thomas with wildly spooked eyes. Clearly, he realized that he was pinned in Logan’s room by Thomas being in the door.

The boy dropped suddenly and disappeared under Logan’s bed.

“Uh,” Thomas said, confused and shocked and still a bit in pain from seeing that piece of jewelry in use. He crossed slowly over to the bed and bent down to look under it, moving the bed skirt slightly to the side. He saw a small shaking blob curled up into itself under the bed. “Um, hi,” he said softly.

The blob did not respond except to continue shaking.

Thomas frowned and settled himself onto the floor. “It’s okay,” he said softly. Had he been here stealing things? Thomas had to wonder as he wasn’t sure why someone here for legitimate reasons would be acting so terrified of being caught. Though, that posed the question of how he’d gotten past the guards, and why Logan hadn’t noticed him. “I’m not mad,” Thomas said. “You’re fine.”

The boy looked up briefly from his knees looking terrified. Thomas tried to smile at him gently, but that just made him hunch into himself more, his breathes coming faster. That wasn’t good.

“No, shh,” Thomas said softly. “It’s okay. I promise it’s okay.” He did not seem to believe him, and Thomas winced. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t just leave him here but trying to talk him down himself didn’t seem to be working.

Luckily, a familiar voice spoke from behind him then. “Dad?” Logan asked.

Thomas looked back at him. Both Logan and Patton were standing at the door, a couple of pieces of jewelry in their hands. They seemed very surprised to see him.

“You… seem to have a guest,” Thomas informed them.

“I…” Logan said, beginning to edge into the room like he was expecting something to blow up at any moment. “Yes.” He got to Thomas and squeezed himself between him and the bed, putting a physical barrier between Thomas and the boy. Confused, Thomas took a couple of steps away without challenge. “That,” Logan glanced behind him. Patton had moved to the opposite side of the bed from Logan and Thomas and had gotten to his knees to look under it. “That is Virgil.”

Thomas blinked at him. “Virgil?” he asked.

“He’s… new to the castle,” Logan explained. Patton started speaking softly the boy, but Thomas could not make anything he said out. “Patton and I… invited him to a sleepover.”

“The guards didn’t mention anything,” Thomas said, sure that they would have warned him if there was a stranger in the royal wing.

“Uh, well, Virgil is… shy and we didn’t think you’d be back for another week. So, we snuck him past them.”

“Shy?” Thomas asked doubtfully. That was a lot more than shy.

“Particularly of adults,” Logan said.

Thomas took a moment to let that sink in. “Oh.” He was… scared of adults. Thomas could imagine many reasons why that might be the case and none of them set well. “I see.”

“Hey, no, sweetie, stop that,” Patton said, sounding distressed. Patton had managed to draw Virgil out from underneath the bed, though they were both still mostly hidden behind it and Thomas had no question in his mind that if he went to step towards them, Virgil would be back underneath it in a moment. Currently the boy seemed to be clawing at his own head. “No, baby shh,” Patton said, trying to stop him from tearing the pinned in hairpiece out, Thomas realized. “I’ll get it out,” Patton promised him. “Just calm down and let me do it.” He sounded close to tears, and Thomas couldn’t particularly blame him with the way the boy was acting. “You’re hurting yourself, baby.”

He must know, Thomas realized. If Logan had known he was here, then he must have allowed him to use that hairpiece. He’d probably even told Virgil that it belonged to his dead father. Now he was probably terrified that Thomas would be mad at him for touching it, especially when he’d come in to find Virgil alone without Logan to explain.

Patton managed to get all the pins undone and placed the piece delicately on the bed before wrapping himself protectively around the boy and hushing him.

Logan was looking back at them as well. He looked between the puddle of upset on the floor and Thomas. “Could…” he said. “Could I maybe come and see you in a few minutes, Dad?”

“Of course,” Thomas said. “Of course, I’ll go wait in my room. Take as much time as you need.”

He was careful to move slowly as he stepped towards the door, so the poor thing didn’t notice him move and mistake it for him approaching. He closed Logan’s bedroom door softly behind him feeling even more drained than he’d been before as well as anxious and a bit sickened. He went to his own bedroom to wait for Logan.

Chapter 20

Logan let out a slow breath as his father closed the door behind him. That could have been very, very bad. He turned his attention to Virgil and Patton. Patton had curled himself around Virgil as much as physically possible and had tucked the boy’s head under his chin.

Logan slowly rounded the bed and knelt in front of them. “It’s alright,” Logan said, cautiously moving to put a hand on his shoulder. Virgil didn’t pull away. “I asked him to leave. It’s alright.”

Virgil tilted his head slightly too look at him. Logan rubbed a circle into his back as he slowly got control of his breath.

Logan smiled softly at him and reached out to touch his cheek with a gentle hand. “You… didn’t hurt him. You didn’t even try to hurt him.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Why not?” Logan asked curiously. “It was a perfect opportunity.”

“Promised Patton,” Virgil mumbled, and the idea that perhaps the thing that had saved his father’s life was a pinky promise just about gave Logan a migraine, but then Virgil ducked his head. “And it would make you sad.”

“I see,” Logan said, heart in his throat.

Virgil kept looking towards the floor, his eyes starting to fill with tears again. “Are you going to turn me in now?”

He was shaking and barely holding back a fresh wave of tears. Logan knew of course that no one would hurt him here if he turned him in to his father and the guards, but he also knew that Virgil would be terrified if he did so. He was already terrified. Logan didn’t want to know what he thought the fate Logan would be condemning him to.

“No,” Logan said before he could even truly think it through. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re not?” Virgil asked.

“Well, there wouldn’t really be a point, would there?” Logan asked. “The reason we planned to turn you when father got back in is because you posed a danger to him, but you have just demonstrated that is no longer an issue.”

“Really?” Virgil asked, sniffling a bit and Logan saw Patton’s arms tighten even more around him.

“We will have to figure out a better cover for you than just that you’re new to the castle, but I believe it will work fine. No one besides the two of us would ever guess your origin anyway.”

“S-so I can stay?” Virgil asked, “and you won’t throw me into prison or execute me?”

“I promise you were never going to be executed Virgil,” Logan said. “Even if we turned you in, but yes you can stay with us. We’ll figure out a backstory for you that doesn’t involve assassinations and you’ll have to keep up the lie, but I doubt anyone will question it.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Virgil said, chocked up. “Thank you. I really didn’t want to go.”

“Well, you’re our friend now so there will be no going anywhere,” Patton said kissing him on the cheek. Virgil relaxed back into his hold, pleased with the affection.

Logan smiled at them both. “Can I see your wrists, Virgil?”

Virgil blinked but offered them and Logan tapped the restraints doing a quick incantation. They popped off after a moment.

“You’re letting me go?” Virgil asked, eyes wide.

“Of course,” Logan said. “We’re not just going to keep you prisoner for no reason.”

“That’s…” Virgil said, eyes watering as he clearly was trying not to cry. “You’re the best people I’ve ever met.”

“I wish that was not so clearly the case,” Logan replied. He slowly reach up and set a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to go speak with my father. Patton will stay with you.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed, seeming a bit hesitant.

Logan smiled softly and leaned forward to gently touch their foreheads together. “I will be right back,” he assured. “We will finish our slumber party, though perhaps we will table the rest of the dress up activity for another night.”

He stood then, leaving Virgil in Patton’s capable hands to exit his own bedroom and cross the hallway to his father’s. He took a brief moment to compose himself before knocking on the door.

“Come in,” his father called.

Logan opened the door to see his father sitting on one of the armchairs in his room. Despite the almost disaster that had taken place a few minutes ago, Logan found himself smiling at the man. It was nice to have him home.

“Sorry about that,” Father said.

“It was more my fault than yours. If I knew there was a risk of you coming home today, I wouldn’t have left him alone.”

“Is he alright?”

“I believe so,” Logan answered. “Patton is with him and will certainly smooth out any lingering distress.”

“Good,” his dad said. “That’s good.” There was a pause and then he gestured at the seat beside his.

Logan settled himself down on it. “How was your trip?” he asked. “You’re back a week early.”

“Yes,” Father said. “The trip went better and worse than anticipated.

“How so?” asked Logan curiously.

“Well,” Dad said. “The purpose of the trip was to convince the new queen of Lamir, Cecil not to ally with Mocnejsi, but by the time I’d arrived there wasn’t really a risk of that.”

“Why not?”

“After investigation, it turned out that Cecil’s mother had been poisoned by an assassin from Mocnejsi.”

“Oh,” Logan said, mind already racing.

“They figured out that one of the young women who had been hired on in the kitchen for the winter had done it, and had learned her origin when they questioned her,” Dad informed him. “Considering Cecil was immediately approached for an alliance with Mocnejsi, their aim was likely to manipulate her going forward because of how young she is. Luckily, Cecil is a smart girl and has the help of her mother’s advisor as well as her own. By the time I got there, my only real role was to extend my condolences and reaffirm out alliance. I would have stayed longer, but the possibility that Mocnejsi may think to attack us in a similar way hastened me home.”

“That…” Logan said. “That is wise. I assume you are going to institute more security.”

“I am, yes,” Dad replied. “I would like your input on plans in the coming day.”

“Of course,” Logan agreed.

Dad smiled at him, “But for now,” he said, “I think it’s time you get back to your slumber party and I get to finally go to sleep.”

Logan nodded and got to his feet. He leaned over to hug his father perhaps a bit longer and harder than was strictly necessary, but Dad did not seem to mind at all. “Goodnight,” Logan said.

“Goodnight, son.”

Chapter 21

Virgil woke with something soft but kind of stringy in his face. That was weird. He didn’t know what in the closet would feel like that. In fact, as he woke more he noticed more things that he couldn’t sus out the origin of, particularly the warmth curled up against his side. Curious, he blinked open his eyes. Oh, right. Patton.

The soft stuff in his face was Patton’s hair and the warmth next to Virgil was the rest of the boy’s body. Patton had all but refused to let Virgil go last night after Logan had taken off the restraints and Virgil hadn’t minded the attention. They must have fallen asleep together in the piles of pillows and blankets on the floor.

Virgil brushed his hair gently away, internally (for fear of disturbing him) shaking his head at him. He’d fallen asleep hallway on top of an assassin. He had no self-preservation instincts. He looked at his wrists. It seemed no one had any self-preservation instincts. This of course, included himself as instead of running off when free in case they decided to turn him in after all, he had fallen asleep on the floor with Patton too.

He looked to the side and saw Logan was already awake, reading on one of his chairs. He seemed to sense Virgil’s eyes on him because he looked up after a moment.

“You can get up if you like,” Logan said. “He is a heavy sleeper and won’t wake up if you squirm out of his grip.”

Virgil frowned, unsure if he wanted to risk it.

“I have breakfast ready for you.”

Okay, Virgil was going to risk it.

He carefully squirmed out of Patton’s grip, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead in apology for leaving him before getting to his feet.

Logan handed him a plate of eggs and toast when he walked over and gestured to the chair next to him. Virgil sat there to eat while Logan continued to read.

#not writing #proofread stories

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hazel-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: Strike three.

Word Count: 2,600

Warnings: canon-typical violence

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

I begged of a star to throw me a beam or two

Wished on a star and asked for a dream or two

I looked for ev'ry loveliness, it all came true

I wished on the moon for you

• I Wished on the Moon - Frank Sinatra •

The five of you had split up the new assignment, each person responsible for a different part of the poster-making process. The poster itself consisted of the words: “Maintain Order - Join Us Today” written in dramatic red lettering, accompanied by a rendering of a caped stormtrooper. Akilah and Soren started by creating the outline. Takoda and Rilea focused on distribution strategies. You, as the only “experienced” artist, were put in charge of the colors and details.

“This looks good,” said Takoda, checking over the finished poster.

Rilea rolled her eyes. “Especially having finished this under the given time constraints.”

Soren piped up. “I still think the colors could’ve been a bit more accurate.”

You winced at the pointed jab towards your work.

“Sor…” Akilah gave him a pleading look.

He held up his hands defensively. “What, Kila? I’m just stating facts!”

She sighed and shook her head before you finally spoke up.

“I think we did the best we could with the time we had.” Taking a deep breath, you continued. “Now, I’m not sure about you all, but I could really use some sleep.”

Soren stood and began walking to the door. “Fine, go sleep… while you can, at least. We meet with Hux at 9. Don’t be late,” he said with a final glare.

You tried not to take his words to heart, after all, it was his angst-filled duty to speak in such a way. However, you also knew the importance of tomorrow’s meeting with Hux, and the consequences you were sure to face if anything went wrong.

The door shut, bringing you back to the present.

“Don’t mind him,” said Akilah, comfortingly. “He’s all bark and no bite.”

“Yeah, I know,” you replied. “I’m just a bit on edge. I’ll be fine.”

After saying goodnight to the rest of the crew, you headed back to your room. You realized you had forgotten to eat dinner, but your tired limbs didn’t have enough strength to walk to the cafeteria.

Lying in bed, you thought of Lothal, like you so often did. You remembered how your mom would always make you eat three balanced meals a day, even if you were feeling sick, tired, or sad. Though you may not have appreciated it at the time, you now missed her constant pestering and worried compulsions.

Here, no one knew you, not really. Even your new coworkers would probably only mourn for a day or two before moving on if anything ever happened to you.

You curled in on yourself, thinking that maybe physical comfort would eventually lead to mental comfort. It was one of those nights where you didn’t want to sleep because you knew that when you did, you would wake up and be forced to face the day. Despite your best efforts, your exhaustion from the day’s activities overpowered you, and your eyes began to feel heavy. Giving into sleep, you internally recited a lullaby your mother used to sing to you and your brother:

When the moon’s beneath, the sun you will meet

Who warms the ground beneath your feet

But starry skies will meet your eyes

Only in darkness before you rise.

Always with one, you need the other

Just as a sister is to a brother.

So lay your head in peaceful sleep

With the moon above and sun beneath…

As you lulled yourself into a dreamless sleep as your mother’s echo continued to meander through your troubled mind.

——————————————

You opened your eyes slowly, taking in the ceiling above your head. You flailed one arm around, attempting to shut off your alarm, only to realize you hadn’t been woken by one.

Kriff. Kriff, kriffity, kriffing, kriff.

You overslept. Of course you had. As if the universe felt it hadn’t screwed you over enough this week.

After another moment of staring at your ceiling with a sense of complete and utter dread, you brought yourself to look at the clock to see how much damage had been done. 8:57. It could be worse, you thought, but it also could be a whole lot better.

You raced to get dressed, brushed your teeth, and collected the materials you needed for your meeting with Hux. You grabbed your datapad to discover 15 unread messages. You opened the first few:

Sor: Where are you?!!

Koda: The meeting is about to start!

Kila: Are you okay??

Rilea: Please hurry...

You didn’t stop to read the rest and ran out the door, sprinting to Hux’s office.

———————————————

When you finally arrived, you didn’t know what time it was, but you knew you were late. Hux’s door was closed, but you could almost sense the anxiety emitting from the room. You stood there, unable to bring yourself to open the door, before feeling a dark presence behind you.

“Late, are we?” spoke a distorted voice.

You didn’t need to turn around to figure out who it was.

“No, Commander Ren. I mean- yes! Yes, I am. Sorry,” you rambled, terrified.

Despite this admittance, you still didn’t move.

Strange, you thought. But you didn’t. That wasn’t your own mind speaking — at least you didn’t think it was… Maybe you were going crazy. And as if you hadn’t embarrassed yourself enough, you found yourself speaking:

“Do you- do you know if we have to knock?” you squeaked.

The Commander merely stared at you through his mask, head tilted slightly to the side, before he waved his hand. The door slammed open, an invisible force pushing you through unceremoniously. The Commander followed behind, cape billowing, invisibly shutting the door as he did.

You looked up to see your four coworkers huddled in one corner of the room, and Hux’s flushed face seething in the other.

“I’m- I’m sorry I’m late, General. I thought I set my alarm, but because of all the work we did yesterday I was just so, so tired and- I guess I completely forgot.” You stared at your feet.

Silence ensued.

Akilah spoke up from the back of the room, attempting to distract Hux from your tardiness. “General, we completed the assignment as instructed.” She pulled out the finalized posters and hesitantly set them on the desk in front of her.

“Do you expect me to walk all the way across the room to retrieve those?!” he forced through clenched teeth. “Bring them to me, now!”

Akilah stood, frozen in terror, much like you had been just moments ago. To your surprise, Soren stepped forward, glancing at Akilah briefly, before grabbing the papers and handing them to Hux. Hux snatched the papers out of his hand and Soren silently turned to walk back towards the rest of the group. Akilah caught his glance, giving him a grateful smile, which he returned with a small nod before turning back to you, Hux, and the Commander.

Hux flipped through the papers violently. You didn’t know whether to move towards your friends or stay where you were. You had almost forgotten about the Commander’s presence behind you; he seemed calm compared to Hux's violent demeanor.

You decided to try and take a few subtle steps towards your coworkers while Hux was distracted, but he immediately saw your movement and stood, knocking over his chair in the process. You stopped in your tracks. He slowly walked towards you, knowing his pace was only escalating the terror you felt. You stood your ground, wanting more than anything to disappear.

Hux eyed you like he did in the hallway the other day. You saw Akilah tense up, as if preparing to come to your defence, but Rilea put an arm in front of her, holding her back. You were grateful — you didn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of your repeated trivial mistakes.

Hux reached his hand towards your face, making you flinch. He cupped your cheek roughly before grabbing your hair. You hadn’t remembered to put it up into a bun before you left your room, defying direct orders, again.

“I thought I told you to take care of this, ” he said, referencing your hair.

“Yes sir- General. I was going to, but then the alarm- and the running…” You could barely explain yourself through your chattering teeth. “I usually wear it like this on Lothal - I just wasn’t thinking…”

“You are not on Lothal anymore,” he spat, releasing his hold on your hair. “You may, however, come in handy when it comes to communicating with the scum there.”

You tensed at the reference of your friends and family as scum. Hux didn’t know anything about you or your planet. You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, and you hated yourself for letting him succeed.

“They’re not scum,” you replied, as calmly as you could. “They’re people with hard-earned jobs and families. They fought admirably to protect their planet; all they desire is peace.”

“Those sound like Resistance sentiments,” said Hux, threateningly.

More like basic human empathy, you thought.

The Commander, still hovering by the door, shifted slightly on his feet.

“No, no…” You attempted to tread more carefully. “I just think that maybe there is a way to unite the galaxy without using so much… violence,” you nervously suggested.

Hux eyed you intently. The room was silent except for the sound of your labored breathing.

“On Lothal,” he started, seemingly happy with what he was about to ask. “Who did you stay with?”

You were taken aback by the question. You didn’t want to give him too much information about your parents — you knew he had the power to eliminate them right then and there.

“Just my parents,” you replied, staring at the floor.

Hux smirked devilishly. “What are their names?”

“You wouldn’t know them. We were just common farmers. And my father is an artist — though he mostly focuses on abstract painting.”

“What. Are. Their. Names,” Hux asked again, impatiently, pausing after each word.

“Why do you need to know?” You began to panic. “I’m telling the truth. They didn’t do anything wrong!”

“That is for me to decide,” he continued. “Are they Resistance sympathizers?”

“No!” You were frantic at this point. “No, they’re good people, innocent! I swear to the stars!”

He crossed his arms. “I don’t believe you.”

“Please!” you begged. “I’m telling the truth!”

“We’ll see about that,” Hux said, pulling out a datapad.

“No, wait, please! What are you doing?” you pleaded. “They aren’t Resistance!”

“Why should I believe you?!” he growled, stepping towards you until your noses almost touched.

“Because the resistance killed my little brother!” you cried, losing your temper. Emotion flooded from you and you ran your hands through your hair, frustrated. “He was ten. He was only ten.”

Your voice faltered as angry tears began to fall from your face.

Hux was not sympathetic to your pain. “Stop your sob story, I’ve heard too many of those lately. Your brother should’ve known better than to have involved himself in matters that he couldn’t handle.”

And that was all you needed to explode.

“How dare you talk about him like that! You know don't know anything about me, or my family!” You brought your fist down on the table next to you, pain shooting up your arm.

Next thing you know, Hux was flying across the room, hitting the wall next to your coworkers with a thud, before crumpling to the ground. A few glasses of water and a nearby vase shattered into pieces. You searched the room, looking for an explanation, but somewhere, deep inside, you knew that you were the culprit.

You looked down at your hand, flexing and unflexing the muscles, confused. Nothing like this had ever happened to you before. You locked eyes with your coworkers, who stared back at you with open mouths. You were visibly shocked, shaking violently. How did I do that? you thought. Am I dreaming? Please, stars, let me be dreaming.

But your questions were crushed as Hux regained his composure, rubbing the back of his head, before turning his attention back on you. Fury burned in his eyes as you thought to yourself:

This is it.

He reached towards the back of his belt, withdrawing a blaster. You closed your eyes, knowing what was coming…

But nothing came.

You hesitantly opened one of your eyes, then the other, only to see a wall of black in front of you.

Am I dead?

No, a voice replied.

You looked up, confused, only to see none other than Commander Ren standing between you and Hux. His back was to you, leaving his cape and silver helmet to occupy your vision.

“Stop,” he ordered Hux, who still had his blaster pointed at you.

“Excuse me?!” Hux scowled. “And why exactly would I do that?”

The Commander waved a hand in front of Hux’s face.

“You will leave this room with the posters and forget this ever happened,” he spoke.

“I will leave this room with the posters and forget this ever happened,” Hux repeated.

The Commander turned towards your coworkers before telling them, “And you will do the same.”

“And we will do the same,” they mimicked, before leaving the room behind Hux. For a moment, you swore you saw Akilah glance at you with concerned eyes as she walked past. You shivered before turning around to face Commander Ren.

“You are strong with the Force,” he spoke, his low voice vibrating through his helmet.

“No, no, I’m normal!” You cringed at your choice of words. You basically insinuated that the Commander was not normal, which, he wasn’t, but-

“Being ‘normal’ has nothing to do with being one with the Force,” he stated, stalking towards you. “Who else knows of your abilities?”

“No one. I didn’t even know about my abilities until a few moments ago…” You stared at your hands, still in a state of disbelief.

“Don’t attempt to lie to me. It will not work,” he replied.

“I’m not lying,” you stated as firmly as your could.

“Let’s test that, shall we?”

You didn’t like where this was headed. He moved one of his hands towards your head and you flinched, backing into the wall behind you. His hand paused for a moment. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he said. You weren’t sure, but you swore you heard the smallest hint of regret in his voice.

And with that, you squeezed your eyes shut as you felt a foreign presence in your mind. It poked and prodded, winding its way through your thoughts and memories. You did your best to block the paths, seal the gateways, and close the doors he attempted to infiltrate, and luckily, you could tell that you were somewhat successful. The Commander was straining, his gloved hand shaking in concentration. Gaining confidence in your mental capabilities, you pushed harder, forcing out every invisible tendril of his mind until nothing remained.

You opened your eyes as the Commander stumbled backwards slightly, a distorted panting emanating from his visor. You took a few steps back, unsure of what his reaction would be to your blatant disobedience.

In two large strides he made his way back to you. You tripped over your own feet, landing on the shards of broken glass from the vase you broke moments earlier. You winced, continuing to stare directly into the abyss of black and silver that hid the face of Kylo Ren.

Without a word, he waved his hand in front of your face. You briefly heard the word sleep enter your mind, before closing your eyes and succumbing to the Force-induced darkness.

———————————

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calenheniel · 5 years ago

Text

Helsa Week 2020, Day 7: Free

Seeing

Frozen | Oneshot | Hans, Elsa | Drama | K+

She often found herself drawn to her father’s coronation portrait in the library, waiting for the day he might look back at her, and see her, for the woman she had become.

FF.Net | AO3 | Wattpad | deviantArt

Author’s Note: Based on a prompt from long ago: “Why did you do it?” Takes place shortly after the end of Frozen, but hints at some of Elsa’s internal conflict leading up to Frozen 2 (though I will never consider that film to be canon, and you can’t make me!). I can never get enough of their (imagined) conversations. It ended up being happier (?) than I expected.

@helsa-week

»»————-　❈　————-««

“Your Majesty.”

She didn’t look up from her mountain of papers, scanning the page in her hand with intense concentration.

A cough echoed in the room. “Your Majesty.”

She glanced up for a moment, her pen never ceasing in its scrawl along the signature line. “Yes, Kai? I heard you the first time.”

The older man frowned, pulling back his shoulders. “I was asked to inform you that Prince Hans of the Southern Isles will be sent back home today.”

She paused. “Hans.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Kai confirmed. “If you may recall, the trip was delayed a week due to—”

“Repairs on the ship that needed to be done after I…” she finished, and then trailed off. She grimaced. “Yes, I remember.”

She greeted his gaze, and noticed behind him the ever-present coronation portrait of her father.

“Remind me, Kai: when was that portrait painted?” she asked suddenly.

The older man blinked, then turned around to face the object in question. “Ah, well, let’s see… it was probably about a week after he was crowned.”

She tapped her pen against the paper below. “He must have been nervous, becoming king at such a young age.”

“Younger even than you are now,” Kai noted, looking back at her with a small smile. “He would’ve been proud, seeing how far you’ve come.”

She returned a half-hearted smile, and touched the crown atop her head with some self-consciousness. “Sometimes, I forget what he looked like,” she admitted, looking sheepish at Kai’s confusion. “I mean, I know his portrait is right there, but…”

“It’s not him,” Kai finished for her. “I know, Your Majesty. But I believe he is still here, in spirit, watching over you as always.”

Her teeth grit at the words of reassurance. “I want to believe that, but…” she managed, unable to stifle a frown. She stared at the painting again – at the hands grasping the orb and scepter with such seeming steadiness, at the posture upright and proper, at the eyes frozen in place for eternity, looking past her into an unknowable void – and suppressed a shudder, dropping the pen to the page. “I don’t think he can do that anymore.”

The silence that followed her remark lay like a heavy snowfall in the room until she cleared her throat.

“When is Hans’s ship due to sail?” she asked.

“In a few hours, around 3 o’clock,” Kai answered after a moment, taken off-guard by the question. “Is something the matter, Your Majesty?”

She took a deep breath, tracing the outline of her pen. “I’d like to see him before he leaves. Can you bring him here?”

Kai’s brow lifted. “Your Majesty, that’s—I really don’t think that’s advisable, given how dangerous he is—”

“I’m well aware of that, but you know I’m more than capable of defending myself.” she cut him off, conjuring a snowflake for effect. Seeing his concern, however, she sighed, evaporating the magic. “Obviously, he should still be restrained in some way when he is brought here. And the guards should be posted just outside the room.”

Kai frowned. “It’s not his physical strength that worries me, Queen Elsa. It’s… his way with words,” he explained. “He fooled us all, not just the Princess.”

Her eyes tightened. “I know, Kai. But it won’t be like that this time. I promise.”

His lips pursed. “I hope so, Your Majesty. But what about the Princess? If she finds out he’s here—”

“She won’t,” she said, “because no one is going to tell her.”

They stared at one another, and at length, Kai swallowed. “As you wish, Your Majesty. I will bring him here within the next hour.” He bowed and left the room, his hands clenched behind his back.

She watched those hands until they were out of sight, and then looked down at her own.

They were shaking.

»» —— ««

She paced the floor of her father’s library – her library, now – and tried to steady her breathing.

Ice tendrils had been creeping from her fingers every so often in the last hour as she waited for him, snowfalls starting and stopping around her, her breath coming out in cold puffs. Kai’s words of warning hung in the air like a storm cloud, obscuring her vision, and her crown felt heavier than before.

She clasped her hands behind her in the same way that he had done, hoping that it would calm her. Instead, feeling her skin bare, without gloves – a sensation that was still so new and foreign – unnerved her further, and eventually her hands found their way back to her sides.

A heavy knock on the door jolted her to attention, and she finally stopped, though her heart continued to race. She licked her lips on instinct before speaking, finding her mouth suddenly dry.

“Come in.”

As the thick oak doors opened, she felt and heard every thump in her chest with alarming clarity, though she took care to look unaffected as she caught sight of the prince.

She allowed herself one last, deeper exhale. “Close the doors, please,” she instructed the guards. All four of them – the two who had brought in the prince, and the two stationed outside her door – blinked at her in surprise.

“But, Your Majesty—”

“I’ll be fine, Leif,” she interrupted the oldest guard. “Now please, if you will—return to your posts, and close the doors.”

Leif frowned in disapproval, shooting the prince a threatening look, but did as was commanded of him, maintaining eye contact with his queen until the doors were finally shut.

Her attention turned back to her guest, and the thump returned louder than ever.

“Your Majesty.”

Her stomach turned.

“Hans.”

»» —— ««

“I hope you’ll excuse my poor appearance,” he said, his bare and shackled hands gesturing at his dirtied uniform. “I didn’t have the chance to clean up before this, so I look more or less like I did the last time we met.”

She ignored the jab. “I was told you’re leaving today, on the French ambassador’s ship.”

He rolled his shoulders back, standing upright. “So I was told as well. Though I wasn’t expecting to see you again before I left.” He eyed her hands with wary interest, and then met her hard stare. “May I ask why I have the pleasure of being called upon by Her Majesty for a… private audience?”

She frowned and crossed her arms, and then looked away, gazing out the window at the mountains in the distance. She listened carefully to the jangling of his cuffs, assuring herself that he had not stepped any closer, and breathed.

“Why did you save me?”

She heard the surprise in his voice. “Why did I—I’m not sure what you mean, Your Majesty.”

She glanced at him, and then towards the window, directing his gaze there. “Up on the North Mountain. You brought me back here, alive,” she repeated, “and I want to know why.”

“I told you in that cell that I needed you to stop the winter,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “You were the only one who could.”

She frowned. “Don’t lie, Hans. There’s no need for it anymore.”

He matched her expression. “I don’t know what it is that you want, or expect, me to say.”

Ice crept up her crossed arms from her fingertips until she noticed him staring at it—at which she reddened, disappearing it again. “You could’ve let me kill Weselton’s men, and then killed me, married Anna, ruled Arendelle like you planned to,” she explained. “Or you could’ve just killed all of us, and blamed it on me. Everyone would’ve believed you either way, after seeing what I did at the coronation ball.”

She looked up at her father’s portrait briefly, behind and a ways away from Hans, and felt filled with dread. She pushed past it, asking again: “But you didn’t. You brought me back here, to that cell. Why?”

His gaze narrowed at her. “Because I’m not an idiot like Weselton,” he retorted. “And I’ve spent enough time in libraries reading up on old folklore to know that killing you wouldn’t necessarily have done anything about the eternal winter.” He eyed her meaningfully. “And, as it turns out, I was right. Magic could only be undone with magic,” he said, adding with distaste: “That is, if you consider love to be magic.”

She glowered at him, and then took a few steps closer, stopping just within two feet of him. He regarded the move with suspicion, but did not budge. “Something tells me you’re not satisfied with my answer,” he remarked.

“Because there’s still something missing from it. Because…” Her face flushed suddenly, and she placed a hand over it to calm herself. “You saw what a danger I was to myself, to others. But you still thought you could… what, control it? Convince me to ‘come back to the light’?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. Someone like you should’ve known better, should’ve—”

“Killed you?” he interrupted, earning a dark look from her. “Is that what you wanted?” At her silence, he sighed. “No. I didn’t think so.” His brow rose. “I didn’t see someone who wanted to die, on that mountain. You were fighting for your survival—desperately so.” He added: “I respected that.”

Her cheeks pinked, and she looked away from him. “You don’t respect anything,” she muttered, “especially not me.”

A strange light came into his eyes.

“Is that what this is about, Elsa?”

The informal address, coupled with his predatory look, made her skin crawl and the air grew colder. “What are you talking about?”

He suppressed a half-smile. “I understand, it’s a… difficult question to ask,” he replied, “especially to someone like me.”

She frowned. “Stop being cryptic. It’s not in the least bit interesting.”

He continued to eye her with discomfiting attention. “Then be honest. Ask me what��s really been on your mind, all this time.”

Ice traced the outlines of his cuffs and stung at his already raw and red wrists, making him wince. She scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hans,” she repeated through gritted teeth, “so if you’d like to keep your hands, you’d better come right out and say what you mean.”

She watched as he struggled to answer, frostbite creeping into his skin, his breath coming out in shorter bursts.

Don’t be the monster they fear you are.

Her eyes widened as she stepped back, and she clutched her hands to her chest, the ice retreating from his binds with them. He gasped and shuddered as it did, rubbing his hands together for warmth, glancing at her all the while.

She turned away, unable to face him. “I—I didn’t mean to do that,” she stuttered. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do.”

»» —— ««

The room came back into focus.

“You do,” she repeated in disbelief.

“Yes,” he replied, “because I understand the instinct to lash out when you’re feeling trapped. I’m the same way.”

“Don’t compare yourself to me,” she snapped, her temper alighting anew. “Don’t pretend you understand, or know, anything about me. You’re just trying to get a rise out of me, to catch me off-guard so that you can harm me in some way, like you did to Anna.” She took two steps closer to him, her hands clenching into fists. “But I’m not her.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, staring down at her with unabashed fascination. “In many ways, you’re hardly alike at all. And isn’t that why you brought me in today?” There was an unsettling sort of understanding in his look. “To prove that you’re different; to prove that I chose wrong.”

Her skin boiled under his gaze. “That isn’t true,” she seethed, feeling an odd heat spread throughout her body until she was nearly shaking from it. “I don’t have anything to prove to you.”

“Of course not,” he nodded, “but…” He paused to raise an eyebrow. “It seems to me there’s still a part of you that wants to know.”

Her lips were dry again.

“Know what?”

He took one step forward, leaving only a foot of space between them.

“Why I chose the Princess, and not the Queen.”

»» —— ««

She couldn’t hide the color of her face from him—not when he was that close.

“Anna already told me why,” she said, frowning. “I was ‘preferable,’ but ‘nobody was getting anywhere’ with me—those were your exact words, I believe.”

“She – and you – have a good memory,” he returned, making her frown deepen. “Yes, I did say that. But that explanation wasn’t good enough for you, was it, Elsa?” He craned his head forward a little, his expression dark and knowing. “You thought – no, you knew – that there must be another reason. A better reason.”

Her skin was crawling again, but in a way that felt unfamiliar.

She almost choked on her words. “And what, exactly, would that be?”

He smiled. “Do you want the real answer, or the answer that you want to hear?”

“There’s no difference,” she rejoined, her voice cracking. “I only ever want the truth.”

“Oh, Elsa,” he countered with a sigh, his head falling back, “I really must beg to differ.” When he peered down at her again, there was something akin to pity in his eyes. “What you want, I think, is for me to admit that I was wrong: that I should’ve gone after you, tried to woo you and become King of Arendelle through you, and not Anna.” He paused to take in her enraged, fearsome blue irises. “You want me to tell you that I was a fool.”

Her teeth ground so hard together that her jaw hurt, and she found her mouth too dry to form a response. He studied her appearance closely, and continued: “Well, Elsa, if that’s what you want, then yes: I admit that I was impatient, and was looking for the easiest way in—which, unfortunately for your sister, happened to be her.” At her warning look, he added: “Which was, of course, terrible of me to do. Especially when her older sister happened to be a much better match.”

The crawling sensation reached her stomach, and she nearly gasped at the sensation.

“You disgust me,” she spat.

“I know,” he said. “And that’s perfectly reasonable, given what I’ve done to you and yours. In fact, I’m being shipped back to certain punishment at home for it.” His eyes tightened. “But that doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about it. That you’re not thinking about it, still.”

He smiled at the appalled shock that spread across her features at the comment. “And that’s the real answer, Elsa: that I’ve thought about it, too. More than you can imagine.”

The heat in her stomach was unbearable, but she couldn’t break eye contact with him. “I’m sure you have,” she said, though with less repulsed conviction than she’d wanted to convey. “You’ve had an extra week to think things over, after all.”

“I’ve thought about it for longer than that,” he replied, causing her cheeks to flush anew. “I was just distracted, before, by my poorly-plotted ambitions.” At her eye-roll, he continued: “On that mountain, when I saw what your powers could do… it moved me, Elsa. Like nothing else had in a long, long time. And if I’d been smarter then, if I’d been thinking properly, I—”

He paused for effect, and she couldn’t help but take the bait.

“You’d have done what, Hans? Tried to ‘get somewhere’ with me, while I was weak and vulnerable and out of my right mind? Use my powers to your own ends?” She scoffed. “Yes, I suppose that would’ve been like you to do. But you didn’t. And even if you had,” she went on, “do you really think that I would have fallen at your feet, just like that? Especially after that… inane display you put on with Anna at the ball.” She glared at him. “I knew you were just a stupid pretty boy chasing the crown, and I wasn’t proven wrong.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “So that did bother you,” he remarked. “I thought you might’ve been a little jealous at the time, but I wasn’t sure ‘til now.” He chuckled a little. “I can’t say anything for certain about what might’ve happened, had I acted differently,” he admitted, “but… neither can you.”

She wanted to deny the claim outright, but her mouth was drier than ever.

»» —— ««

The silence in the room was suffocating.

“That’s not true,” she said finally, her lip trembling as she met his stare again. “I know I wouldn’t have. I know it.”

“You don’t sound too convinced, Elsa.”

Her eyes crackled. “What does it matter? You made your choices already, what’s done is done—and now we’re here.”

“Indeed we are,” he concurred, peering at her. “But is this where you want to be?”

“I am where I belong,” she snapped, “and soon you will be, too.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s so,” he said, his lip curling at the reminder. “But that won’t stop me from thinking about it. And I don’t think it’ll stop you, either.”

Her head tilted up until she was sure that he could see her contempt. “I told you, Hans: don’t pretend like you know me, or my thoughts. You don’t know a damn thing.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You’re right: I don’t know you,” he echoed her, “and I can’t know what’s in your mind.” His olive eyes gleamed under the afternoon sun that streamed in through the windows. “But I see you, Elsa.”

Her blood pulsed under her skin, and tears pricked at her eyes. “I don’t believe that,” she murmured, shaking her head. Her gaze traveled up, and stopped.

He glanced at the crown atop her head. “Is it so hard to believe that someone could see you as you really are?” He followed her eyes to where they rested on the portrait of the old king, and sighed. “Oh, Elsa. You know he probably never did.”

Her jaw was tight as she blinked back her tears. “I know,” she replied, turning to him. “I can’t rely on his pity anymore, and I certainly don’t want yours.”

He looked surprised by her hardened expression, and she continued: “I know the stories you told Anna about your brothers, and of how cruel they were to you. If they’re true, I can only imagine how lonely you must have been growing up.” Her stare was probing. “And that’s why you think you understand me: because you think we’re not so different.”

He frowned at the remark. “Elsa, I…”

She drew closer to him again, and glared at his downturned lips. “Perhaps we aren’t, Hans. And that’s the real reason, isn’t it? Why you could never really want me.” The sun retreated behind the clouds, casting her in shadow. “Not if you pity me, as you must pity yourself.”

He flinched under her interrogation, opening his mouth to speak—and then closed it again, chuckling dryly. “I guess you’ve got me all figured out, Elsa,” he muttered. “So there’s nothing left to say.”

She paused to study his face, noticing every bit of dirt caked into his skin and hair, and stepped back. “No,” she agreed, “I suppose not.”

She held his gaze for a few moments longer, and then walked to the window, observing him in the reflection behind her.

“You should go,” she said, her head turning halfway over her shoulder. “The ship will be leaving soon.”

She heard his cuffs clink as he stepped back. “Then I’ll be going. Goodbye, Queen Elsa.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and by the time she was ready to speak – to say anything at all – he had already left the room, the doors closed after him.

Alone, she found her gaze drawn to her father’s portrait once more. He continued to stare into the distance, never looking back at her—never seeing her, just as Hans had said.

She turned away from the painting at the thought, looking back towards the window, and regarded her reflection. It seemed different from before – as if her features had been imbued with a new and strange light – and she wondered if it was real, or just a trick of the sun as it escaped the clouds, illuminating the earth in a warm glow.

Is it so hard to believe that someone could see you as you really are?

Her heart thudded dully at the recollection as she stared, watching as her eyes sparkled like sapphires, a rare smile forming on her reflection’s lips.

“I see you,” she whispered to it, tracing those lips on the glass with her fingers.

Her tears fell even as her smile grew.

“Maybe for the first time.”

#helsa #helsaweek #helsaweek2020 #helsaweek 2020 #frozen #frozen fanfiction

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antichristsxbox · 6 years ago

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Knight in Shining Armor - Part Four

Read part one here!

Read part two here!

Read part three here!

Summary: Michael breaks the spell cast on you, but realizes the consequences of his actions only after it’s too late. Also, warning, this has smut! There’s also a little bit of fluff near the end. :)

From the writer: Hey guys, I love this chapter so much! Please excuse any typos, I proofread it a few times but there’s so much to proofread as this chapter is fairly long; I think I got carried away. Huge shoutout to @jocelynscloset for proofreading this for me as well! All likes and reblogs are appreciated + if you enjoyed this, feel free to check out my masterlist for more fics similar to this one! :) Update— here’s part one, here’s part two, here’s part three + here’s my masterlist with more fics!

Word count: 2,435

Luckily, the officiant was still awake. Even if he wasn’t, he would have gotten up and put himself together quickly at Michael’s request. There would be no extravagant wedding ceremony tonight— a reception later on would have to do. Tonight, you and Michael were to be married in haste as he would like to remedy your possession situation as soon as possible.

A servant lightly knocks on your door. Without giving an answer back, the servant opens up your room and informs you to come to the throne room within fifteen minutes. There was no explanation as to why, but you were excited at the possibility of seeing Michael again. Before leaving your quarters, you brushed your hair, straightened your tiara, and tightened your corset. A little more rouge and lipstick didn’t hurt either. You must look alluring for him, if you were to see him again tonight.

As you make your way down the winding hallways, eventually you find the throne room. All hallways eventually lead there anyway, but sometimes it’s difficult to tell if you’re going in the right direction. There’s Michael, then an older-looking gentleman to his right. You’re welcomed, then Michael explains that this will be your wedding. Not to worry as there will still be a reception and party at a later date. For now, he would simply prefer the ceremony to be held in private. The wedding ceremony was short and sweet— the officiant held a basic ceremony, asking both the bride and groom if they took the other in marriage and then vows were exchanged. Neither one of your vows were particularly fleshed out, so the officiant used the template of ‘in sickness and in health,’ and so on. Michael made a promise to you to properly recite his vows, that he did not expect the ceremony to happen so quickly; he valued you too highly to continue on in a ‘possessed haze,’ as he put it, but you couldn’t recall what he meant by that. Finally, the officiant allowed for a kiss between the bride and groom, now husband and wife. Michael was chaste and soft, but you wanted more than that. Your lashes fluttered, looking up to catch Michael’s blue gaze. He offered a soft smile and squeezed your hand.

“Let’s go, husband,” you say, taking his hand and leading him down the hallway. Finally, you would be with Michael as you have desired for the past few days. Michael quickly follows behind you but initially struggles to keep up with your quickly-paced walking. Dragging your now-husband through the corridor, you eventually make it to his bedroom. The door creaks open slowly and shuts even slower. He slowly removes his jacket and allows it to softly hit the floor. His blonde curls bounce in slow motion as he pushes his hair up and steps towards you, one hand on the side of the wall next to you. In an attempt to speed up his painfully sluggish pace, you pull him towards you by the shirt and lock his lips to yours. Finally, he doesn’t resist and allows his mouth to part slightly, letting his tongue slip past your lips as yours slips past his. It’s easy to tell when a man has gone too long without sex. They are hasty, lax, and heedless. Michael’s sloppy kisses travel towards your neck, and you let out a slight moan before tilting your head to give him more access. Growing impatient, Michael grabs your waist and pauses his kissing to lead you towards his bed.

Soft, plush blankets engulf your body as you lay down on Michael’s bed. Laying down on your back, you spread your legs to allow for Michael to come between them. Both of you are still fully-clothed, but that stops nothing as Michael lunges on the bed, right between your thighs. He grabs you by the waist and pulls you closer before leaning down and locking lips with you yet again. Given the proximity of your skirt to his pants, there was a hard bulge present, capable of being felt through a few layers of clothing. Moving your hips in a small circle, Michael pauses his kissing to let out a soft moan. You reach towards his pants and undo his belt, then the buttons on his trousers. He quickly discards his pants then pulls off his underwear which reveals his long, thick member. Then, he reaches up your skirt to pull down your undergarments but encounters a problem in the form of your corset. He instructs you to turn around, then carefully undoes the buttons to your dress, then the lacing on your corset. He takes more time to undo the buttons to his shirt, so both of you are now fully unclothed.

He is kneeling on the bed, calves under thighs and bottom resting on heels. You shift to sit on his lap, and his cock finds its way near your folds, gently brushing up against is. As this happens, Michael sharply inhales, but you continue to grind down and tease him with your slight movements. It is not your turn to adorn his neck with small kisses, but he pulls away after a minute or so, pleading for you to stop teasing. By now, your cunt is glistening and very ready for him. Although he was afraid to admit it, he was ready for you the moment he saw you in the tower— but, he would never sleep with a princess. Only when she became his queen would he lay with her and hold her close.

Slowly lowering yourself on Michael, he lets out a yelp of pleasure, then slowly thrusts up to meet your hips. He fills you completely, not a space inside untouched by him. After lowering on him completely, you grind your hips back and forth to stretch your inner walls. He loosely moves to match your rhythm but finds himself overstimulated if he continues with this for too long. You continue to move side to side on him until he closes his eyes and throws his head back, leaning down to rest on his arms briefly before laying down completely. It is now easier for you to kneel on the bed, so you have him between your legs and your heels pressed against your bottom, but your thighs move you up and down in Michael. After starting with this rhythm, this is what really gets Michael going. He is only able to manage a series of grunts and moans beneath you. His hands now rest on your hips, gently squeezing them with every up and down motion you make. The feeling of being completely full, then having nothing inside, then slamming down on his thick cock is addicting. With every new movement of being full, your walls clench around him, then release as you bounce back up. His well-groomed area allows for you to move quickly, every surface being smooth where it needs to be. As your pussy becomes wetter, your legs become more tired. Yet, you’re able to ignore your leg muscles aching for your burning desire inside aching much louder. As your pace slows, Michael is able to thrust back up and fill you again, the unexpected sensation of him moving up rather than you moving down in jarring, especially with his quick pace and forceful movement; he bottoms out inside you, then pushes you back on the bed so you can lay down, legs now spread out with him now nuzzled between them, sitting up in missionary. His pace is now frighteningly fast for a few thrusts, balls slapping against your wet heat, providing a sensation you have never felt before. The sound of his skin slapping against yours is audible, but he then slows his pace as his movements become erratic— a slow thrust, then a slam inside you as he grunts and releases inside you. His warmth fills you up so much, you could feel it deep in your belly. A small head rush washes over you, even as Michael begins to pull out. He apologizes, then explains how he wishes you could have come with him. You let him know not to worry as it takes a considerably long lovemaking session for you to reach the point of near-orgasm.

Standing from the bed, you walk towards his vanity and reach for a hairbrush. Surprisingly, you are not met with a cold gust as you stand from the warm bed— the air is warm in Michael’s room. Your silvery, pale eyes meet the mirror and look towards your overall appearance. Flushed skin, messed-up hair, and slightly shiny skin from where Michael planted his wet kisses. As you stand in front of the mirror for longer, continuing to brush your hair, you could feel Michael’s remaining warmth traveling down from inside, a few drops making their way back through your entrance and down your thighs. After you’ve completed brushing your hair, you climb back in bed with Michael. His warm arms wrap around you as you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest, dozing off soon after wrapping yourself in his soft sheets again.

A very warm sensation is engulfing you. You quickly open your eyes to find Michael in bed, next to you— his arms over your chest, his head resting in between your shoulder and neck. You stand up only to find that you’re naked. Searching to find something to cover up with, you reach for Michael’s large shirt, resting on the floor next to the bed. Looking in the vanity, your tired, (y/e/c) eyes meet the large, elaborately-decorated mirror. You reach for a hairbrush to smooth out your flyaways around your face. As you turn around, you realize that Michael is now sitting up, looking your direction. He has a smile on his face as he reaches for his bedside table, pouring a glass of water. You are very confused.

“I thought you don’t like to cuddle?” you say, stepping towards him.

He scrunches his brows and sets down his glass of water.

“Why would I not want to ‘cuddle’ with my beautiful wife?” he asks, looking your direction in befuddlement.

“Wife?” you ask, the tone leaving your mouth more harsh than intended.

“I just got here! You said you didn’t want to come to my room with me just yesterday!” you go on, resting your hands on Michael’s plush bed.

Michael begins to realize what has happened— you must not remember what had happened while under Satan’s spell. A sense of sadness begins to grow inside him. He had shared his special wedding night with his possessed wife in an attempt to break a spell cast on her, only for her to not recall what had happened over the wedding and the events following their union— his now-wife even unable to recall the events over the past couple of days.

“Darling, you were under the influence of my father,” Michael says, looking down at the comforter and reaching for a pillow.

“You wanted to sleep with me, you were relentless. I had asked what I needed to do to break your spell, and my father said I must give you what you want in order for you to return to normal. I quickly had us married to remedy the situation.”

Letting out a sigh, you look towards your feet and cross your arms. It seems accurate, and you were even relentless before the ‘possession,’ yet you never let Michael catch on to your neediness while you were not ‘under the influence'. Perhaps his father was trying to tempt him, as you know his values were important to him. Having your father, the actual Devil, tempt you to give in to something that means so much to you must be harsh.

“You don’t remember, Love?” he asks, looking up. You tilt your head to match his gaze, then slowly shake your head ‘no.’ You wish you could give him the answer he desires, but the truthful answer is it feels like you have only been here a day with him— it seems as if you are still in need of reading over your wedding invitations and figuring out which dress to wear to your wedding.

“Let’s go get some breakfast, you could tell me all about it,” you suggest, climbing on the bed and shifting near his side. You reach for his hand and place a small kiss on his cheek. This brings a smile to his face, but his sad eyes have nowhere to hide. Still, he stands and gets dressed for breakfast. You only wear his shirt under a thick robe he has offered you. Nobody is here, anyway. And, nobody would dare criticize Michael’s now-wife.

After breakfast, you return to Michael’s room with him and begin to draw a bath. As the water runs, you add a few drops of various oils and soaps until a foamy mixture is floating atop the water. Dipping a toe in to test the water, it seems just the right temperature— you slide in the side of the tub, fully sitting down after you pull your hair up in a messy bun.

“May I join?” Michael asks, peeking through the door of the bathroom in apprehension. You eagerly nod ‘yes,’ and he’s in the bath with you quicker than you’re able to stand up and kiss him. His arms wrap around you, adding an extra layer of warmth to your already-steaming bath. It’s nice though— a very secure feeling. Michael leans back and slides down the wall of the tub, and you rest your head on his chest. You shift so you’re sitting in between his legs. His hand meets your thigh under the water, but then stays there at rest. His eyes shut and his breath slows— he begins to unwind as he becomes more and more relaxed, relieved that you are now safe and out of harm's way with his father.

“So, could we have a real wedding? I picked out a dress to wear,” you say, tilting your head back to look up at him.

A small smile makes its way on his face but his eyes do not open. Happy thoughts of you standing at the end of the aisle crosses his mind as he imagines what your wedding celebration will be.

“Of course, whatever you would like will be at your disposal— anything for you, Love,” he says, letting his arm drape over your chest to pull you closer. Truthfully, he is simply grateful to have you back, all to himself.

///

*** I’ve tagged you if you asked to be on my tag list or if I thought you would be interested in this fic based on interactions with my other fics/posts! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. :)

Tag list: @langdonsoceaneyes @ms-mead @daydreamingofcody @psychobitchtess @swampwitchh13 @ahstmblrupdates @forgivemelucifer @ccodyfern @sammy-samm @xavierplymptonsangel @lilithrmorningstar1 @slashersrus @im-the-music-whore

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waterchestnut123 · 6 years ago

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CHAPTER 3 / The Peculiar Perils of Straw Hat Parties

Common commentary throughout the 5 seas held that Straw Hat parties were notoriously wild. This is something that Trafalgar Law, as well as the rest of his crew, are learning first hand. Not that Law particularly feels like partying; after Dressrosa, the Heart Pirates Captain has a little soul-searching he’d like to attend to. But one tends to become… drawn in, to certain things around Luffy—regardless of one’s plans or intentions. This is how Law finds himself developing an unlikely and unexpected friendship with his ally’s navigator��and how that friendship, much like Luffy’s parties, grows far beyond his intentions.

More About This Fic / Read on AO3 Chapter Index | < Prev · Next >

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Chapter 3: The Consequences of Poor Party Planning

Chapter Rating: T Warnings: References to gore, traumatic experiences, mild language.

“Hard to Port! HARD TO PORT!”

Nami clung to the bannister of the top deck as though her life depended on it (and realistically, it probably did) as she shouted instructions to Franky at the helm. Remaining upright was a struggle, the vicious rocking of the ship threatening to dissolve what tenuous equilibrium she had established in her inebriated state. Violent gusts whipped her hair in every direction, cold rain pelted her face, and as a massive wave came crashing down—just shy of where the ship had been moments ago—she debated just how hard she was going to pummel Luffy when all this was over.

The storm had hit fast and hard, but she’d been able to give enough forewarning to the two crews that they were, so far, successfully staying just ahead of the worst of it. How long that would continue to be the case, however, she wasn’t sure. They were in no shape to navigate the Sunny: Usopp was completely passed out after his game of sake-scotch—tucked away in the men’s quarters by Zoro before they set off; the usually unflappable Zoro was unsteady on his feet as the ship rolled violently with the tide—a sure sign of his extreme level of intoxication; Luffy was struggling to keep his meat down, and Brook couldn’t stop laughing at Zoro’s frequent stumbling and subsequent cursing. What little headway they had made was entirely attributable to her early detection. The storm was gaining—and their ability to outrun it was rapidly deteriorating.

“Franky—we need a coup de burst! We can’t keep this up!”

“The cola engine is empty—it needs a new barrel! You’ll have to do it, though, I’ve gotta stay on the wheel!” Franky shouted back, holding tight to the spokes as they pulled violently starboard.

Nami worried her lip. Traversing the ship in her current state and in the present conditions—with every wooden surface slick with rainwater, was firmly in the “bad idea” category; but she didn’t have much choice. She eyed Franky’s wrestling match with the wheel and took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Alright—be ready! We need to head directly east by southeast to outrun the storm!”

“You got it, sis!” He then turned his attention out to the deck. “Oi! Everyone! Raise the sails!”

Wiping sopping hair out of her eyes, she gripped the railing tightly, taking careful steps towards the deck stairs. It felt like an ageless journey to get to the rear of the ship—her progress slowed by the ship’s turbulent thrashing. She was forced onto all fours as she crossed the lawn deck due to a sudden bout of nausea; though she rather hoped at the least that lowering her profile would reduce the likelihood of being blown off the ship by a violent gust. After covering in almost five minutes a distance that should have taken less than thirty seconds to cross, she found her way aft. Sliding down the ladder into the bowels of the ship, she planted her feet carefully on the floor of the cola room, wiping water from her face and taking quick stock of her surroundings.

The cola engine was currently filled with empty barrels as Franky had said, and she quickly set about removing them. She struggled to place the full, fresh barrels in their place—heavy in their own right, made worse by the unsteady ship—but eventually managed to work all three into place with a final, frustrated kick. She breathed a sigh of relief as she heard Franky shouting instructions topside, then the whir of the engine coming to life.

She turned to make for the ladder again, grateful that it would soon all be over—however that was where she made her mistake. Grabbing hold of the rungs, she didn’t get more than four feet up before she heard a particularly strong wave violently crash against the side of the ship, and felt a sudden, sharp lurch. With her weary grip and wet shoes, she lost her footing and tumbled down the ladder, landing harshly on her ankle and feeling a resounding crack followed by a sharp, shooting pain in her ankle.

“AGHHH!”

Her vision went briefly white as she hurriedly pulled the injured leg out from beneath her, cradling it delicately between her palms. Eyes tightly shut and leaking tears, she grit her teeth against the searing ache, feeling her stomach turn in response to the pain. She had barely repositioned herself comfortably at the base of the ladder when she felt the force of the coup de burst push her against the rungs, briefly stealing her breath. The laughter of her crew above followed quickly after, echoing down the chute and signaling their escape from the storm’s clutches. She had that to be thankful for at least.

After a minute, as the ship began to slow, she let out a slow, shaky breath and turned her head up, eyes still leaking pained tears. Now she just needed one of those idiots to carry her to the infirmary.

“Oi! Luffy!” she shouted up the chute, voice pitchy with pain. “Get your rubber ass down here and give me a hand!”

—:—:—:—:—:—:—

“What did you do?”

Law stared down at the swollen mass that was now her ankle with an amused, if dumbfounded, expression, Chopper’s ice pack resting beside her calf atop the infirmary bed. They had managed to find an island nearby with a protected cove at which to make repairs; and it was good, too, as the ship had gotten quite a good trouncing in the storm. Or perhaps it had been their abysmal reaction time. Either way, they had a ship to fix.

And a navigator too, apparently.

Nami grit her teeth as Law gently turned her ankle to examine it, still a bit tender as the local anesthetic had yet to take full effect. A broken tibia was Chopper’s diagnosis—and quite bad, too. No sooner had they had docked than Chopper hailed down Law in his sub who, according to the tiny doctor, was far better equipped to mend such a break with his ope ope no mi than he was with only his hands. Er, hooves.

“I slipped and fell down the ladder in the energy room,” she ground out, attempting not to flinch at the gentle pressure of his fingers.

Law released her ankle, turning to her with a raised brow. “You know you really should have been more careful going up a wet ladder while drunk,” he commented mildly.

She glared at him, eyes narrowed and expression distinctly unamused. “Shut it, Doctor spots. Can you fix it or not?”

He repressed a bemused smirk as he stood, crossing his arms as he eyed her ankle thoughtfully, then turned to Chopper.

“Bring her to my operating room on the sub—I can reset the bone and mend the damage to the surrounding tissue, but it will require surgery. It shouldn’t take too long, but even if I speed up the healing process, the recovery will still be almost a week—and she’ll need to be careful for another month after that. We can go over follow-up care once I’m done.”

“Oh, good!” Chopper breathed a sigh of relief, tense shoulders relaxing. “Thank you so much!”

But Nami’s ears were still ringing with the word ‘surgery’. A wave of anxiety washed over her, momentary visions of an old memory—of bloody scalpels and chunks of flesh littering a concrete floor flashed through her mind; but just as quickly as they came she shut them out, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth until the images ceased their assault. As she opened them she forced the anxiety down, allowing the much more manageable emotion of anger to take its place. Grinding her teeth, she turned towards the open door, shouting with renewed irritation for the closest thing she had to a punching bag.

“Where is that rubber idiot?! I am going to give him such a beating!!”

—:—:—:—:—:—:—

Chopper, in heavy point, carried Nami onto Law’s sub, down an elevator and into the operating theater where he placed her gently onto the operating table. Once she was situated, Chopper wished her a speedy recovery and departed to tend to the rest of the crew’s numerous scrapes and bruises.

Law busied himself preparing additional anesthesia for injection, as well as pulling out the needed equipment. Nami eyed him warily as he worked, placing scalpels, cotton pads, and other supplies upon a metal tray.

Finally ready to begin he turned, activating his room to encompass the bed—only to notice his patient gripping the sheets beneath her in a white knuckled grip, her eyes periodically darting anxiously towards his tray despite the otherwise cool expression of her features. He paused before reaching for his scalpel, eying her thoughtfully. After the roughness of Punk Hazard and Dressrosa, he wouldn’t have thought she’d suffer from something like medical anxiety.

“The surgery shouldn’t take more than an hour,” he said carefully as he pulled the tray towards him, situating himself near the foot of the operating table. “You can stay conscious while I operate, or I can sedate you, if you’d prefer. You won’t feel anything either way.”

“Sedation,” she said without hesitation.

He nodded, reaching for a mask draped atop a metal canister beside the bed. As he approached, he noticed that her posture had not relaxed, and she eyed the mask apprehensively. Drawing upon his patience, he gently pushed her down flat onto the bed.

“It’ll be over before you know it.”

She closed her eyes, fingers clenching and un-clenching as she took a calming breath, and Law seized the opportunity. Quickly raising his arm, he gently pressed the mask against her face and activated the flow of gas. Her eyes flew open and she attempted to sit up again; but his hand on her shoulder was steady, and though he was briefly subjected to her signature glare, her gaze quickly became unfocused and her eyelids fluttered shut.

Finally, he could begin.

The surgery went smoothly. Her fracture was, as he anticipated, quite bad, and the surrounding tissue severely irritated. Thankfully, though, it had suffered little actual damage. Copious evidence of a previous fracture in the same location suggested that to be the reason for the severity of the break; the bone structure was already quite weak.

In total it took no more than an hour, and by the time the sedative was due to wear off, he had finished the surgery and already started a healing acceleration treatment.

The sound of her groggy voice alerted him to her wakefulness, words faintly slurred.

“Mmmm… ’s nice,” she mumbled.

He lifted his head, glowing palm unmoving from its location atop her ankle. He’d been told by his patients before that the treatment felt vaguely like warm water gently flowing through the affected area—it seemed Nami agreed. Slowly, her eyelids struggled open and amber eyes turned to gaze blearily at him. He could tell from the slightly vacant look on her face that, though wakeful, the sedative was keeping her higher faculties from emerging.

She blinked slowly, repeatedly, gazing at him with her head cocked against the pillow in confusion, “Wha… Hi—hi Torao. Hi. Whas… whas’re you doin’?” she glanced from his face to where his hand rested atop her ankle, then back to his face, expression full of childlike curiosity.

“Healing your ankle,” he answered noncommittally.

She blinked at him, then shifted slightly on the operating table before her eyes widened and she attempted to sit up on her elbows

“Where did you put my foot?” She asked urgently.

Law repressed a snort. While the sedative had worn off enough for her to wake, the local anesthetic may not have, and it was likely sensation from the mid-calf down was, at the least, muted.

“Your foot is securely attached to your leg, Nami-ya. As you can see.” He gestured with his free hand towards the ankle he was working on. She followed his hand with her eyes, but didn’t look convinced.

“But I can’t feel it. You must have taken it off.”

“You can’t feel it because I numbed your ankle for the surgery. Your foot is still attached,” he reasserted firmly, if with a hint of annoyance.

She narrowed her eyes as she examined his face closely. “And what’d I need surgery for, hm? HM?”

He glanced up, feeling his eyebrow twitch with growing irritation as he answered, “Because you broke your ankle.”

At his words her eyes widened, and she nodded with sudden clarity. “Oh—OH! I broke my ankle!” Then, more softly, “I broke my ankle…”

He rolled his eyes, adjusting his hand with a quiet sigh. He never was a fan of dealing with sedative-induced delirium. He had hoped he might be done before she woke expressly so that he could avoid this, but luck was not on his side.

For several minutes she seemed content to watch him work, lying back against her pillow silently as she stared down at him. Then, suddenly, she grinned, sitting up on her elbows again as her gaze rose to his face with childlike enthusiasm.

“Hey—hey Torao… ask me if I’m orange.”

Law’s eyes rose to meet hers, and he felt that twitch in his brow return.

“No.”

She immediately frowned, looking thoroughly put out. “Oh, come on! Ask me! Pleeeeease?”

He sighed, drawing on his patience. He was almost done, he reminded himself—almost done.

“Are you orange, Nami-ya?”

She continued to smile at him, biting her lower lip to withhold her glee, before finally blurting out, “No!” and dissolving into giggles.

He stared at her flatly as her chest heaved with her laughter, feeling a distinct desire to put her under again. Thankfully it seemed her poor attempt at humor had, for the moment, satisfied her; for as her laughter died down she simply settled more comfortably on her elbows, eyes curiously watching his glowing hand slowly, carefully tracking over her ankle.

He was rewarded with another few moments of peace, before she broke the silence again.

“What’re you doing?”

He momentarily shut his eyes before forcing out an answer. “I’m healing your ankle. Like I told you.”

She frowned slightly, clarifying her question. “No, I mean… aspif—epsific—specifically.”

“I’m accelerating your body’s natural healing process by increasing blood flow and feeding your cells mitochondrial energy.”

He had hoped the specificity of his answer would disinterest her from further query; but no. Of course not. Instead, she raised her thoughtful gaze up to his face, blinking rapidly as she inquired further.

“How d’you do that?”

“By feeding you some of my life force,” he answered noncommittally, readjusting himself on his stool.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, expression becoming sharp despite the bleariness still coloring her expression. “Is… that doesn’ seem like it would be very good for you.”

He shrugged. “By the time I’m done with your treatments, it will probably have taken a few days off my lifespan.”

With unexpected speed and strength she pulled herself upright and yanked his hand off her ankle, expression horrified.

“No!!”

He eyed her with a furrowed brow, crossing his arms over his chest in distinct irritation. “No?” he echoed incredulously, “You were the one who complained about the recovery time.”

She shifted in the bed, moving her arms to support her weight on her hands as she started to sway. The sudden move had clearly been an effort. “I was… I was just mad ‘cuz I didn’t want to have surgery! Don’t waste your life like that! You can’t!”

Once more Law rolled his eyes, moving his hand back to her ankle and re-activating the acceleration. “It’s just a few days, Nami-ya. I lost years on Doflamingo.”

Again she surprised him with her strength as she leaned forward in an attempt to shove his hand away—but this time he wouldn’t be deterred. He grabbed her with his free hand by the wrist to hold her at bay; but she just reached for him with her other hand to pull him off her ankle—and before he could understand how exactly it had happened, they were engaged in slap fight, with Nami managing to muster a shocking amount of speed and strength.

But that strength didn’t last long. Her precision and speed quickly faded and she began to sway in her upright position. Taking advantage, he grabbed both of her wrists, holding them away and her upright, exasperated and irritated in equal measure.

“Nami-ya!” he commanded sharply, “Would you stop.”

“No!” she asserted stubbornly, weakly struggling against his grip. “You just got your life back, and at a huge cost—I won’t let you be so quick to waste it—especially on me!”

That was… not an answer he was expecting. His surprise caused his grip to slacken and she used the opportunity to slip free of him, settling her arms across her chest with a frown. His eyes moved to meet with hers, and though her gaze was still a bit hazy, they were nonetheless resolute. His brow furrowed and he frowned, thinking. He had not anticipated she would be upset about this, nor that she would seem to carry such… strong opinions, as to how he spent his life force.

“This is the nature of the Ope Ope no Mi, Nami-ya,” he said carefully, “Certain abilities feed on the user—that’s just how it works.”

He allowed a moment for his words to sink in before placing his hand back on her ankle, re-activating the acceleration; and when she weakly reached to try and remove it again he grabbed her wrist with his free hand, eying her sharply.

“It’s a worthwhile use of my abilities, and a relatively small sacrifice I’m willing to make,” he said with finality, the glow under his palm igniting again. “If there is anyone between our two crews we need able-bodied, the navigators are at the top of that list. Stop fighting me or I’ll put you under again.”

She frowned at him, and as he released her wrist she thankfully settled back against the pillow instead of making for his hand again. She let out a frustrated breath, closing her eyes. Her posture seemed weary—the energy expended fighting him off had clearly taken it out of her. She remained still and silent for some time, and Law used that opportunity to examine his progress. The swelling had gone down significantly, and he could now feel the bone beneath her skin, smoother now at the break site as the bone began to knit neatly back together.

“Luffy said you made a room so large on Dressrosa he couldn’t even see it,” she said quietly, breaking the stillness. “Is that what cost years of your life?”

He raised his head, seeing her sitting up on her arms again as she eyed him.

“Mugiwara-ya didn’t regale you with the details?” he commented lightly before returning to his examination. She frowned.

“He’s not a complete idiot, you know. He does know when something’s personal and to keep his mouth shut. When I asked, he only told me the basics, and said I should ask you if I wanted to know the rest.”

Law turned to study her annoyed expression, surprised by her words—and Luffy’s. He had assumed that the whole of the battle would become common knowledge to Straw Hat’s crew, as much as he wouldn’t prefer it.

Luffy’s… unexpected tact—a concept he would never have ever thought could be associated with the lunatic captain, was… appreciated.

He turned his gaze back to her ankle, sliding his hand beneath it to examine the tendons. Given that he doubted she would remember much, if any of this conversation later, he decided to humor her.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

She stared at him wide-eyed, expression dumbfounded.

“Why?”

“…Why?”

“Yeah—why would you just… waste years of your life like that?”

“To maintain situational advantage,” he answered absently, carefully feeling along the achilles tendon. “And the years weren’t wasted—they ended up saving my life.”

She stared up at him with something suspiciously like concern, voice quiet. “What happened?”

He paused, eying her a moment, contemplating. It wasn’t something he particularly liked to dwell on, but…

“I was shot by Doflamingo. Twenty-two times, I believe. By keeping up my room too large to be seen, I was able to remove the bullets and heal myself while Doflamingo was busy with Luffy, thinking I was dead.”

She sat up fully, her eyes widening in alarm and a hand moving to cover her mouth. Silence, and the occasional metal creak of the Polar Tang as it shifted in the waves were the only sounds to fill the space between them. She said nothing for several moments, and he was content to leave it at that—but then she quietly spoke, voice soft and words unexpected.

“But… you were still shot, right? The Ope Ope no Mi can’t stop you from… feeling all those bullets—right?”

He held her gaze briefly before offering a small but clear nod.

Her eyes widened a moment before she let out a breath, turning towards the wall, eyes far away.

“I thought you seemed different when you came back to the Sunny with the others,” she said softly. “Luffy told me that you used to be a member of Doflamingo’s crew until he killed someone you cared about; that you had allied with us only because you wanted help getting revenge, and were willing to do anything to get it.” She lifted her head and her eyes met his—her gaze uncomfortably knowing.

“I get it—I do. An old captain you hated, who took someone you loved away from you…” She closed her eyes, one hand raising to unconsciously rub her tattooed shoulder. “I would understand more than anyone else. I’ve wanted to ask for a while, but… I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk about it.”

She opened her eyes and gazed at him with a small, sad smile.

“And why would you understand?” he asked coolly, though with the unexpected turn in conversation he felt suddenly anything but.

She turned her gaze down at the thin cotton blanket lying across her lap, thumb gently stroking her tattoo—though, in looking more closely, he could see her thumb was actually circling a scar hidden beneath the ink.

“When I was ten, the Arlong pirates invaded my village, taking over my island and demanding everyone pay tribute or be killed. We were poor, and my mother had only enough saved to pay for my sister and I. So… Arlong shot her, right in front of us. And when he found out I could make maps, he kidnapped me and forced me into his crew.”

Her voice had grown small, and Law could tell, recalling these events was difficult for her. He felt uncomfortably voyeuristic; as though he were becoming privy to something too intimate, too… familiar—things not meant for the ears of a rival. He was about to tell her she needn’t continue—he felt fairly confident she wouldn’t have were she not under the influence of a drug; but what she said next halted his words on the tip of his tongue, and curiosity overtook his better judgment.

“I hated him so much,” she said with a venom unbefitting the quiet atmosphere. “I spent eight years as one of his executives—robbing pirates to try and buy back mine and my village’s freedom. That was the deal I made with him. The villagers didn’t know why I joined, and they hated me for it—or at least, thats what they wanted me to think.” Her anger dissipated slightly, and she let out a sigh.

“When I had finally gotten almost all of the money, he sent his marine lackeys after me to confiscate it all. He never had any intention of honoring our agreement—never intended to let me go; just wanted to give me false hope.”

She closed her eyes and took a breath, then turned to him, a self-deprecating smile on her lips.

“I found out later that the villagers knew all along—they’d just been playing a role so that if I ever wanted to run away, I wouldn’t feel guilty for abandoning them and leaving them all to die. When they found out about Arlong’s duplicity, they finally decided to go after him. I gave up and went with them; I thought I had no other way out. I was going to kill him, or die trying.”

She stared at him pointedly, then—eyes both fierce and gentle. Her gaze felt strangely piercing for a woman only on the cusp of cogency; and yet he found himself unable to maintain her gaze. He turned his eyes back down to her ankle.

“What happened?” He asked quietly as he shifted his fingers over her ankle bone. She smiled fondly.

“Luffy.”

Ah. Figures.

Silence pervaded once more, and after a moment she settled back down onto the bed, closing her eyes with a quiet exhale.

He allowed himself a moment for his mind to drift back through her story. She was the one Straw Hat he’d gotten to know the least. Their interactions on Punk Hazard had been rushed and frenzied—as most of the endeavor had been, and they’d been separated throughout the events of Dressrosa. Yet it seemed they had more in common than he ever would have guessed.

“I think I would have missed you, y’know,” she said suddenly, unexpectedly, pulling his mind from his thoughts. He lifted his head to find her smiling softly, eyes still closed.

“If you’d died on Dressrosa,” she clarified. “You’re a good guy and a good captain. You’ve grown on me,” she added, her smile broadening just a bit.

Law’s brow furrowed as he gazed at her sincere smile, unsure how to take, let alone react, to the sentiment. He decided instead to deflect.

“Me, or my bear?” he inquired coolly, thinking back to the night before. Nami laughed.

“Okay,” she said with a yawn, “You and the bear.”

Silence stretched between them once more, and Nami hummed contentedly as he moved his hand back to the top of her ankle. He forced his attention away from her face and back to his work, fingers trailing over the the site of the break one last time.

“Thas’ nice…” she murmured, settling deeper into her pillow, “I take it back… you can spend your life force doing that any time.”

Law felt a small smile pull up the corners of his lips, but he didn’t respond, focusing instead on finishing his examination. It seemed just about where he wanted it to be for now—mended enough to get her through until tomorrow. With a flick of his wrist he stopped the acceleration, looking back up ready to pronounce her treatment finished for the day—but instead he found that she had fallen back asleep.

With a breath, he slumped back on his stool with a weary sigh. The acceleration always left him feeling drained, but her argumentativeness—and the unexpected conversation, had taken more of a toll on him than he’d anticipated.

Had he not spend so many years as a pirate, he might find it difficult to imagine she had ever struggled against such hardships. She certainly didn’t carry herself that way; she was clever and headstrong, at time ferocious and at others, playful. Though he hadn’t seen much of it for himself, he knew from the other members of her crew that she could be… tempestuous and domineering; though they remarked upon it with the utmost fondness.

She was flirtatious and often smiling; yet if her words were to be believed, she had suffered—isolated and alone, most of her life. But still she found a way to be cheerful, and to demonstrate seemingly genuine care about his own hardships, even though there was little reason to. He was a captain of a rival crew, in a temporary alliance with her own—beyond his abilities to fulfill their agreement to take down Kaido, there was nothing to be gained from deeply and truly caring. He was torn between thinking her abundantly kind or outright foolish.

But, then again, when had anyone on Mugiwara’s crew ever made much sense?

And though he was loath to admit it, she had struck a cord. Under the lingering influence of the sedative, she was just so damned sincere in her concern. He couldn’t even remember the last time a relative stranger gave two shits about the things he’d been through—maybe the nuns at the church in Flevance. He’d certainly never met anyone with a story like his before, either.

And though he was even more loath to admit it, he was also left feeling guilty. He shouldn’t have let her carry on the way she had. Even if he couldn’t have stopped her, he should have at least tried; but, perhaps selfishly, he’d found himself wanting to know what made her tick. He knew she wasn’t in her right mind, and if she remembered any of their conversation when she woke up, he suspected she would be cross at best, furious at worst.

Though, he couldn’t help the small smile which curved up his lips as he thought back to her final comment. He’d grown on her, huh?

A quiet, yet firm knock came at the door and he wearily stood from his stool. With a click he turned off the brighter overhead lights and opened the door, finding Penguin on the other side.

“Lunch is ready, captain,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Do you want me to bring something for you and Miss Nami?”

Law glanced over his shoulder at her still and slumbering form. Turning back to Penguin, he shook his head. “No. I’m just about done here, and Nami-ya is asleep. I’ll meet you in the mess hall in a bit.”

“You got it, Captain,” Penguin smiled before turning and heading back down the hall.

Law shut the door quietly, turning back towards the operating table. He’d just have to deal with the consequences of their conversation later, when she woke up again. Hopefully she wouldn’t remember, and he’d have nothing to deal with at all.

He began cleaning up his tools and equipment, pausing briefly as Nami shifted in her sleep. He chanced a glance at her; the arm that had risen to her tattoo now rested loosely atop her waist, her head fallen slightly to the side. Orange curls framed her face like a strange halo, and her dark lashes lay peacefully closed.

His mind cast back to the night before—to Luffy’s party out in the middle of the ocean, and his and Nami’s conversation on the aquarium bar balcony. One moment in particular stood out to him—when she’d taken his hat. He could easily have taken it back using his ability just as he’d done with his wallet; but for some reason, he let himself get drawn into her game, just as he’d let himself get drawn into conversation with her not ten minutes ago. And when he had her cornered against the far wall, blinking up at him from beneath those lashes, he’d felt… drawn to her; caught in the orbit of her gravity and unable to pull out.

He could chalk it up to the alcohol. She was a beautiful woman, after all, and had been looking up at him with those impish eyes, face cast in the silvery light of the half moon. He was only human.

She hummed quietly in her sleep, and the sound jarred Law from his reverie. He forced his attention back to the task at hand, picking up the remains on his operating tray before sliding it back into its proper place. He needed to stay focused. Now that he had been reunited with his crew, taking down Kaido was next and that would be no easy task, requiring every ounce of his attention and focus especially with Luffy in the picture—and she was beginning to take up too much room in his head.

As he headed for the door, he quickly checked her IV and tossed the remaining refuse into the medical waste bin on the wall. Reaching for the handle, though, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. She still lay quietly on the bed, her chest rising slowly but steadily with her breathing.

Yes, she was taking up far too much room in his head.

He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall, shutting it softly behind him—and with it, all wayward thoughts of the navigator asleep within.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

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#One Piece #FanFic #OP Fanfic #FanFiction #Nami #Trafalgar Law #One Piece Nami #T Law #Trafalgar D Water Law #LawNa #LawNami #Law/Nami #Nami/Law #Law x Nami #Nami x Law #Polar Tang #Law's Submarine #Tony Tony Chopper

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rennarenofao3 · 6 years ago

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Psycho-Pass Week 2019

(Belated) Day 3: Turquoise/Communication

For both Ginoza and Masaoka the color turquoise, particularly when embodied by a turquoise colored teacup, would always remind them of a time when they were part of a happy family. And even after those bonds were nearly severed entirely, and communication had become painful and eventually impossible, there was still a message to be found in those same turquoise cups.

This story can also be read on AO3.

When Masaoka stepped into the room after waking up from the short sleep he’d gotten after coming off shift from his work at the Public Safety Bureau the first thing that met his eyes was the sight of his son. Nobuchika was sitting at the table drinking milk from a turquoise cup that must have been brand new, given that Masaoka had never seen it before now. At least not in the size of the cup Nobuchika was currently using.

As Nobuchika caught sight of his father he smiled broadly glancing down at the cup sitting in front of him before picking it up with both hands, making sure that Masaoka was watching before taking another drink.

Masaoka made his way over to the table, taking a seat across from Nobuchika, watching for a few minutes as Nobuchika continued to fidget with the cup, and take slow, deliberate sips of his milk, all while watching intently for signs of Masaoka taking notice.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Nobuchika?” asked Masaoka with a grin, happy to give into his young son’s excitement over the cup that he was drinking from.

Nobuchika straightened in his chair, proudly holding out his cup for Masaoka’s inspection as he explained. “…It’s just like yours and mama’s!”

“It sure is.” said Masaoka smiling as he looked the cup over before reaching out to ruffle Nobuchika’s hair. “…What do you say Nobuchika? I think we ought to make some tea for you, your mom and me, so we can all use our cups together.”

Nobuchika’s inky bangs shifted across his forehead as he nodded vigorously. He carefully set his cup down on the table before scrambling up onto the step stool near the kitchen sink, using it to climb onto the counter to get to the tin where the tea was kept.

“Whoa, careful son.” said Masaoka as he reached out to steady Nobuchika, allowing him to sit on the edge of the kitchen counter to watch and help out under Masaoka’s supervision.

By the time that the tea was nearly ready to be served Sae had joined Masaoka and Nobuchika in the kitchen. As he passed by where Sae stood Masaoka placed a kiss on her cheek, playfully tickling her side as he looped an arm briefly around her waist, before going over to take his and Sae’s matching teacups out of the cabinet carrying them over to the table where Nobuchika’s cup waited. Masaoka remembered he and Sae having picked out the pair of turquoise teacups shortly after they had gotten married as a way to commemorate getting their first house together.

As they settled at the table Masaoka poured tea into each of their cups, watching with a content smile as Sae helped Nobuchika add some honey to his tea to sweeten it after their son had wrinkled his nose after taking a first sip. After she finished Sae looked over to Masaoka a small smile playing across her lips as she threaded the fingers of her free hand through Masaoka’s.

“I ended up having to have the cup made specially, it seems like it was the only way to get them all to match.” She said as they both watched Nobuchika proudly drinking from his turquoise teacup.

Masaoka hummed, nodding a bit as he squeezed Sae’s hand. “I think that’s fine. …Look how much he’s enjoying having a cup of his own to match ours…”

~~~~~~

Only a few weeks had passed since Nobuchika Ginoza had become an inspector at the MWPSB, and so far he had only had one or two encounters with the enforcers of any Division aside from those in Division One. As of that moment Ginoza was still strangely uncertain if he was pleased, or displeased with such an occurrence. However that evening he had ended up on the floor where the enforcers quarters were located, after his senior inspector had ordered him to make sure that their enforcers returned to their quarters promptly as ordered after their shifts, since they were to be put to work in the field early the next day.

As he made his way down the hall toward the elevator a door at Ginoza’s side hissed open, causing the young inspector’s gaze to turn to one side, meeting that of one of Division Three’s enforcers, Tomomi Masaoka.

Both men wore startled expressions for a moment, with Masaoka recovering his composure first. “Ah,… Inspector,… Is there something I can do for you?” asked the older man, one hand moving to rub at the back of his neck.

Ginoza looked quickly away, his shoulders straightening under his suit coat. “No enforcer, there is not.”

To Ginoza’s growing unease the man’s voice spoke a second time, sounding as if he had actually come a bit closer to where Ginoza stood. “…Are you sure about that Inspector? …It’s unusual to see you up here in this part of headquarters. …Especially this late in the day.” persisted Enforcer Masaoka, his words pausing for a few moments before he continued. “…You look like you could use a chance to take a load off. …Why don’t you come in for a few minutes?”

Ginoza scoffed at the suggestion. It was hardly appropriate for an inspector to so casually spend time with an enforcer, even taking in to account the relationship he had with this particular enforcer, which he was in no great hurry to bring up. “That is out of the question Enforcer Masaoka-…” began Ginoza before being interrupted by the man at his side.

“Humor an old man, Nobuchika…” said Masaoka softly, causing Ginoza’s gaze to turn toward him sharply.

After studying Masaoka through narrowed eyes for a several moments Ginoza finally nodded fractionally. His gaze flitted down either side of the hallway, as if making sure that no one was watching before finally following Masaoka into his quarters, mumbling something under his breath about Masaoka addressing him so familiarly.

Once they were inside Masaoka waved a hand toward one of the couches that sat on either side of a coffee table, in a wordless instruction for the inspector to sit down. A faint frown crossed Ginoza’s face for an instant as he moved to the couch, sitting stiffly down on it.

“Can I get you a drink Inspector?” asked Masaoka his expression over all was nearly impassive save for a faint smile that was twisted faintly by the scar that crossed one side of his lips, the warmth in his eyes as he looked to where Ginoza was sitting not included.

“Are you attempting to inebriate an Inspector, Enforcer Masaoka?” asked Ginoza his eyes narrowing as he looked over toward where Masaoka stood looking back at him, though it was clear from Ginoza’s expression that he neither wanted or expected a reply as he continued. “…You can’t possibly be unaware of how inadvisable such an action would be.”

“Ah ha,… Of course Inspector.” responded Masaoka with a dry, humorless chuckle as he turned from looking over his shoulder at where Ginoza sat, making his way into the kitchen area of his quarters. “…Tea, then?”

Folding his arms across his chest Ginoza looked like he would rather be anywhere other than where he currently was. “…Very well.” He said, the reluctance in his tone making it sound as if he were being forced into complying against his will.

Masaoka hummed in reply, and when he returned a few minutes later Masaoka was holding a pair of turquoise teacups set on saucers, one of which he placed in front of Ginoza.

Ginoza’s eyes narrowed for a moment, before widening minutely in surprise as he studied the cup that had been placed in front of him. Closing his eyes briefly Ginoza sighed before slowly lifting his gaze, only managing to meet Masaoka’s eyes for a moment before looking down once more.

“…Just what is this about?” Ginoza asked, his tone suddenly passive after having reacted with nothing but impatience and abrasion until then.

Masaoka’s eyebrows raised for an instant before he restrained his expression back to something more neutral, though a faint trace of a smile teased at one corner of his lips. “…Does a man need a reason to spend time with a son he hasn’t seen in years?”

As Ginoza’s lips thinned a heated spark darkening his eyes at the comment, Masaoka shook his head, his fingers lifting from his knee in a placating gesture. Reaching for the bottle that was sitting near his cup Masaoka splashed a bit of its contents into his teacup, then sipped at the steaming mixture, letting a few minutes of silence pass before he continued. “…It really is good to see you Nobuchika.” Masaoka paused, hesitating for a few moments as he studied Ginoza, judging the wisdom in pushing further by adding. “…How have you been?”

“…Something like that is none of your concern.” said Ginoza a flare of anger unconsciously inserting itself into his voice. He was seriously beginning to wonder what his reasoning had been for going along with Masaoka’s insistence in Ginoza visiting his quarters in the first place. Even so Ginoza couldn’t quite manage to stop some foolishly sentimental part of himself from giving the older man an answer, perhaps only because it had been so long since they had even the opportunity to speak. “…However,… my health has been adequate,… I have no complaints.”

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” murmured Masaoka, fondness softening his features as he nodded.

An expression that was difficult for Masaoka to read in the instant before Ginoza lowered his head to conceal it passed across Ginoza’s face. A moment later he abruptly started to come to his feet, clearly intending to leave. Quickly setting his teacup aside Masaoka put out a hand to stop him, hoping desperately that he would be able to convince Ginoza to stay, if only for a few minutes longer. “…At least finish your tea before you go. You haven’t even touched it.”

Masaoka thought he heard Ginoza mutter something that sounded vaguely like “…will that satisfy you?...” under his breath before the young inspector plopped himself back down on the couch with a huff. As Masaoka watched Ginoza hesitated, biting his lower lip as his fingers reached toward the turquoise teacup in front of him, stroking the handle almost reverently before grasping it.

Releasing his lower lip from his teeth Ginoza drew a breath, his eyes flicking up to Masaoka’s then away again before he spoke. “…Aren’t these- …Just how were you able to get your hands on these?” asked Ginoza in a soft, tight voice as the fingers of the hand not holding his teacup brushed lightly against the cup’s side to clarify the object of his question.

Masaoka paused weighing how he should answer, given the barely withheld tension he could sense boiling under the surface of Ginoza’s words. “…Your grandmother sent them after-… She said that I should have at least something to remember her by.”

“I see…” retorted Ginoza shortly, his forehead knitting as he glared down at the tea inside his cup, his lips now pressed tightly together.

Letting out a breath Masaoka settled back, trying to appear relaxed as he reached for his own cup. In spite of the outwardly calm setting, the silence that stretched out over the next minutes carried a faint tension in it, quickly becoming awkward. Rubbing the back of his neck Masaoka finally broke the silence, making one more attempt at communicating across the all too evident gap that stretched between he and his son.

“…I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to be there for you and your mother back then…” began Masaoka before the ear splitting crash of shattering ceramic interrupted his words.

“How dare you!” shouted Ginoza as he shot to his feet, ignoring the turquoise shards scattered in the puddle of tea at his feet. “Don’t sit there and apologize, and try to make it sound as if it was out of your control. It was your choice back then to leave us! And you made it on your own!” spat Ginoza through gritted teeth, his hands clenched into fists as his sides as he glared at Masaoka for a moment before spinning on his heel and striding out of the elder enforcer’s quarters, leaving both spilled tea and broken cup as well as his estranged father behind him.

Afterwards in the years that followed Masaoka never again pushed so strongly for the distance between them to be closed, and at home that night Ginoza took out a small, child sized turquoise teacup holding it in an almost too tight grip for a time before burying it at the very back of his cabinet where there was no possibility of it ever seeing the light of day again.

~~~~~~

Nearly three months had passed since Ginoza had become an enforcer, in some ways he was beginning to feel as if he were starting to settle into the role. But still there were some things Ginoza was not quite sure he was ready to confront, and in spite of his need to clear out the labeled boxes that were stacked in the bottom of his closet in order to gain needed space for his own things, Ginoza was not sure that he was ready to attempt coming to terms with what he would find inside them.

After hesitating a few moments longer while he scratched behind Dime’s ears to settle the husky who had begun whining worriedly at him, likely having sensed Ginoza’s uncertainty, the raven haired enforcer went over to his closet reaching out with his newly gained prosthetic arm to remove the first of the boxes. It was heavier than he had expected it to be, given that apart from the alcohol that he was already aware of, Ginoza had thought that the majority of his father’s remaining possessions would be mostly clothing or art supplies. Checking the top of the box, Ginoza found that the only explanation of its contents was a cryptic label of ‘Miscellaneous’ which had been scrawled across the lid.

Deciding that it was a good a place to start as any Ginoza lowered the box to the floor, kneeling down in front of it as he took off the lid. Inside the box were varied knickknacks that Masaoka had obviously picked up over the years, one or two of which Ginoza recognized as having found a place on his father’s desk for a time at one point or another. And nestled into the center of them were two objects which had for some reason been carefully wrapped in rags, that while clean, bore evident stains of paint on their surface.

…Evidently whoever had packed the boxes had thought that Masa-..., Dad’s paint rags would make just as good packing supplies as anything else they might use. thought Ginoza as he picked up one of the objects, beginning to carefully unwrap it.

As the stained fabric fell away enough to reveal a patch of turquoise hued pottery inside Ginoza caught his breath, his mind automatically jumping back to the memory of the last time he had seen that particular shade. Carefully unwrapping the cloth the rest of the way revealed both a fully intact teacup and accompanying saucer to Ginoza.

Ginoza’s eyes moved back to the other cloth wrapped shape in the box, his gaze sharpening. …Then that must mean that the other thing wrapped up there is… but I was sure that it broke… thought Ginoza as he gently put the cup and saucer he was holding down, reaching for the remaining part of the pair of objects that was in the box.

In minutes the second cloth was undone and Ginoza held in his hands a second turquoise teacup and saucer, the cup was crisscrossed with thin lines of gold, which weaved across the object in a random pattern of jagged lines. As Ginoza traced the twisting strands of gold with his finger he finally recalled the name of the technique that had been used to repair the cup. Knowing Masaoka’s bent toward artistic pursuits it wasn’t too surprising that his father would have had it repaired in such a way, as kintsugi in the past had also been considered a particular form of art.

Thinking back to what he had heard of the technique Ginoza remembered hearing that it had also carried with it the symbolism of embracing the imperfections and traumas in one’s past as a part of the history that made an individual unique, and also that after having been repaired, what had once been broken was made more beautiful and valuable for damage it had suffered and that its imperfections were a mark of strength that should be honored rather than hidden away.

Ginoza’s gaze moved to his prosthetic hand which cradled the turquoise teacup, letting out a low laugh. After everything that had happened it almost felt as if the cup itself might have been a final message from Masaoka, left for Ginoza to find from beyond the grave. Until quite recently Ginoza would have been unwilling or at best reluctant to pay attention to anything that Masaoka might have said to him, but now…

Closing his eyes Ginoza lowered his head, both hands now holding the cup as he drew it closer to him. “I’m listening now,… Dad.”

Sometime later when Akane was visiting Ginoza’s quarters, to check in on how Ginoza was doing lately, she noticed a trio of turquoise teacups sitting on one of the shelves in the former inspector’s kitchen that she didn’t remember having seen there before. A small turquoise teacup that seemed almost child sized sat between two normally sized teacups, one of which was shot through with irregular strands of gold.

“Those cups look nice sitting on that shelf Ginoza-san. …But I don’t remember having ever seen them there,… Are they new?” asked Akane when Ginoza returned to where she was sitting.

Turning his head Ginoza looked back over his shoulder to where the cups sat, a smile tinged with a hint of sadness crossing his face as he shook his head. “Not exactly,… I just thought that they should be together.”

#psycho-pass week #ginoza nobuchika #masaoka tomomi #psycho pass #psychopassweek #psychopassweek2019 #psychopass #i'm sorry it's late

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warriorsrewrite · 7 years ago

Text

Enter the Wild Chapter 16

( you can either read it under the cut, or here on ao3. it’d be very much appreciated if you interacted with both ! )

“Spottedleaf?” Firepaw called into the darkness of the healer’s den. “Spottedleaf?”

“Coming,” he heard her call back, so he sat and waited as sounds of rustling came from inside.

It had been a long day of repairs, and there was still work to do, but Bluestar had ordered everyone to stop for the day and get some rest. Firepaw knew that this was the best time to go see Spottedleaf about his injury so Yellow wouldn’t be bugging him later, but he also wanted to ask about Graypaw. He hadn’t seen his friend all day, and he was worried about him. He had thought that perhaps he had just been in the healer’s den, but when Spottedleaf finally emerged alone with no sign of anyone else being in the den, his hopes were dashed.

“What can I help you with, Firepaw,” she asked, glancing him over like she could tell what was wrong with just a look.

“I, ah, just wanted you to check an injury I got in the fight yesterday. A ShadowClan molly scratched my belly pretty hard.”

She hummed and nodded. “All right then. Get on your back and I’ll have a look see.”

Obeying her instructions, Firepaw slowly rolled onto his back, paws in the air so they didn’t get in the way of her view. As soon as he was in position, Spottedleaf gently pressed a paw on his belly, then moved onto a different spot and did the same thing.

“Do you feel any sharp pain when I do this?” she asked as she pressed onto another spot.

Firepaw squirmed each time she touched him, but he didn’t feel anything close to sharp pain. “No,” he answered, “it just feels a bit ticklish.”

Spottedleaf chuckled to herself as she removed her paw and gestured for him to sit back up. “Well, it doesn’t seem like there’s any bleeding or infection, but I’ll give you a poppy seed to help you sleep better. Sleep is one of the best ways for our bodies to heal, after all. Just remember to sleep on your side so you don’t agitate it.”

“Okay…” he murmured as he watched her go back into her den to fetch the seed. “So, poppy seeds are for sleeping, too? I thought they were just for pain.”

“They’re good for both,” she said with a slightly muffled voice, emerging again with a head of poppy in her mouth. She then set it down and with expert claws, removed a single seed from it and placed it on a leaf in front of Firepaw. “It relaxes the body, so the pain fades and you feel a bit drowsy. But, have too much and, well, you may never wake up again.”

Firepaw paused as he was about to lick the poppy seed, suddenly unnerved by the tiny black dot.

Seeing his sudden discomfort, Spottedleaf purred out a laugh. “Which is why healers only give cats one at a time, two maximum.” She nodded at the lone seed. “You’ll be fine.”

Embarrassed by his reaction, he sheepishly bent back down and swallowed the little thing. Sitting back up, he thought for a moment. “You said these help with sleep? So… if someone was having trouble sleeping, you’d give them one of these?”

Spottedleaf eyed him briefly before saying gently, “you’re talking about Graypaw, aren’t you?”

Firepaw nodded slowly. “I don’t think he slept at all last night; he kept twitching and muttering in his sleep…”

The healer hummed. “I’ll admit I’m worried for him as well. When he tried to report to me for his duties, I sent him away because it seemed that he was hardly present. I suspect he’s just been cooped up in the apprentice’s den all day, and I doubt he’s had much rest.” She glanced down at the poppy head and nodded. “All right then, why don’t you give him some of these when you head back.” Just as fluidly as the first time, she popped two more poppy seeds out of the head and nudged them onto the leaf.

A slight hint of alarm went through him. “Is… two a good idea? Why not give him one like you did me?”

Instead of getting upset or offended, Spottedleaf simply chuckled. “It’s all right. I already gave him one yesterday after Rosetail’s burial, and that didn’t seem to do the trick, so two should be the perfect amount for him.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” he murmured, ears growing hot as more embarrassment came to him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have doubted you, since you’re the healer and all…”

She looked at him and smiled softly. “It’s perfectly all right,” she assured with a quiet purr. “In fact, it makes me happy that you care for him enough to question a healer.” She paused briefly before continuing, her voice suddenly taking on a more serious tone. “Can you promise me that you’ll always look out for him? I… have a feeling he’ll need a friend now more than ever.”

Firepaw blinked, a little unsettled, but slowly nodded nonetheless. “Of course…” he murmured. “I’d do anything for Graypaw.”

As soon as he answered, Spottedleaf sighed, shoulders slumping like an entire weight had been lifted from them. “Thank you, Firepaw. Have a nice night.” She dipped her head once, then stood and slipped back into her den.

“Yeah…” he said to thin air. After a heartbeat, he shook himself and stood, telling himself that it was probably nothing.

Bending down to gently pick the leaf up while not spilling the two seeds on it, he carefully made his way back to the apprentice’s den, hoping that these would help Graypaw get back to his old self again.

The next day came and went much like the last. When Firepaw awoke, Graypaw was still asleep, though this time, to his relief, it was a deep and peaceful slumber. He had been careful not to disturb him as he left the den, but he figured that even if he had made the loudest caterwaul possible right next to his ear, the big lump would still be mindlessly dreaming.

Firepaw spent the whole day helping with the last of the repairs, since Brindleface was confined in the nursery for good, her kits being due any day now. Occasionally he would take breaks to either have a chat with Yellow, or to quickly check up on how Graypaw was doing, and for the most part, he seemed like he was back on his feet, actually leaving the apprentice’s den sometime after sunhigh to go help Spottedleaf collect herbs.

Overall, it was a productive, calm day.

It was towards the end of the day, when he helped Speckletail and Goldenflower put the finishing touches on the nursery’s brand new, thicker bramble bush wall that he spotted Dustpelt and Sandstorm padding over to join Whitestorm for the last hunting patrol of the day. As he watched them exit through the gorse tunnel, his eyes wandered and eventually landed on Raventhroat, who just finished fixing a small hole in the camp’s outer wall.

Firepaw saw the chance as it arose. He quickly dismissed himself from the two other caretakers and practically dashed across the clearing, so that when Raventhroat turned around, preparing to go back into hiding in the nursery, his way was firmly blocked.

“Oh,” Raventhroat murmured, his previously relaxed state dissolving into a nervous one, “hey, Firepaw. What’s… what’s happening?”

“That’s kind of what I wanted to ask you,” he said. It was then that he decided that he wasn’t going to wait any longer. With Graypaw still not quite himself, Brindleface unable to go out and train him, and the camp’s repairs pretty much complete, he had nothing else to distract him from what happened a few days ago.

Raventhroat visibly swallowed, glancing around to avoid looking at him. “I’m… not quite sure what you mean.”

“I think you do.” Firepaw glared at him for a solid heartbeat before sighing, softening his tone, “listen, if you really don’t want to tell me anything, then I’ll leave you alone. But, Raventhroat, you’re my friend, and seeing Tigerclaw talk about you like that in front of the whole Clan… and how terrified you were when the fight was done… I can’t help feeling that there’s something more happening, and I want to help you, if I can.” He paused to get a good look at his face. “Can I?”

There was a few solid moments of quiet between them as Firepaw let Raventhroat think. Then, the black tom took a calming deep breath, glanced around the clearing, and beckoned Firepaw into a deeper, darker portion of the camp border.

Just before Firepaw followed, he did his own glance around the clearing, and noted that he didn’t see Tigerclaw anywhere.

“Okay…” Raventhroat murmured as they both got settled. “Okay…. Okay…” He finally looked up and met Firepaw’s eye. “Look, whatever I tell you right now… you cannot tell anyone else about, okay? I’m only telling you this because… because I trust you, and I just… really need to talk to someone about it.”

Firepaw frowned. “Okay, I promise.”

Raventhroat nodded, then nodded again. There seemed to be another moment of inner conflict as his claws retracted and sheathed themselves, most likely unconsciously so. Then he sat up straighter and leaned forward, whispering so faintly that Firepaw had to strain his ears in order to hear, “I saw Lionheart’s death, but he wasn't killed by Brokentail. Brokentail wasn’t even there. In fact, no ShadowClan warrior was even near Lionheart.”

“What?” Firepaw whispered back. “Then… who killed Lionheart?”

“It… it was Tigerclaw.”

“...What?!”

“Please, hear me out,” he pleaded.

Firepaw shook his head as the revelation sunk in “Why… why would Tigerclaw kill Lionheart?! They’re Clanmates… that’s against the warrior code!”

“Because he wanted to become deputy,” Raventhroat hissed under his breath. “He’s always had his eye on the position of leader. I… I guess he just got too impatient to wait for it.”

“So…” He looked back up at him. “What exactly happened then?”

Raventhroat shook his head, his bad memories of that night probably coming back to him. “It… it was chaos during that fight, you know? And, I was trying to help chase off cats, but there were just… so many cats, that I didn’t know where to go, or who to help… Eventually, I saw Tigerclaw run up to Lionheart and tell him that he saw Brokentail coming in from the dark corner of camp. And I thought… that it’s ShadowClan’s leader, of course they’ll need some extra help, so I followed them, too, but… when I got there… I saw Tigerclaw pounce on Lionheart, and… and kill him.”

Firepaw listened in silence, imaging the two large cats fighting in the shadows of camp, with Tigerclaw eventually pinning Lionheart down and dealing the killing blow… He shivered at the thought. “But then… what does that have to do with Tigerclaw suggesting you become a caretaker…?”

“Because…” He shook his head even harder, practically caving in on himself. “Because… he saw me, right after he killed Lionheart. He saw me watching him… I guess he figured that with me being a caretaker… he could… keep a better eye on me…” Raventhroat closed his eyes and bent his head. “But… it’s not like anything he said wasn’t true… In the end, I really did do nothing in that fight… and I really was way behind in my battle training… And it was obvious that Tigerclaw’s been embarrassed to have me as an apprentice since the day I turned six moons old…” He sighed, relaxing his muscles in defeat. “Honestly… it’s probably better this way.”

“No,” Firepaw said instantly and firmly.

Raventhroat blinked and looked up. “What…?”

“I said, ‘no’,” he repeated. “Listen, sure, you may not have done anything in this fight, but it’s just one fight! And, yeah, maybe you were behind in some of your training, but that doesn’t mean you would never catch up! And any cat who would be ‘embarrassed’ to be your mentor, honestly doesn’t deserve to have you as their apprentice! None of these things should be reasons to force you into a position you don’t want to be in. I mean… you loved hunting, Raventhroat, and you were probably one of the best hunters in the whole Clan. Are you really okay with giving that up?”

Raventhroat was quiet for a solid moment, then averted his gaze with a shake of his head. “I don’t know… I don’t know.”

Firepaw held firm for a heartbeat longer before relaxing. “Okay… that’s fine. You don’t have to know right now. Besides, it’s for the best that you do what Tigerclaw wants for now until we can deal with him. Stay by the nursery and other caretakers. I’ll tell Bluestar - ”

“No!” Raventhroat nearly shouted before shrinking back and looking around to make sure no one heard him. “No, don’t tell Bluestar.”

“What? Why not?”

“Do you really think she’ll believe you? That she’ll believe me? No one else saw it happen but me. This… this is a serious accusation, and Tigerclaw’s the deputy now.”

“But, Raventhroat - ”

“No. Please, Firepaw, please don’t tell her. Just… leave it alone for now. Maybe he won’t do anything else, and this was a one time thing. He wanted to be deputy, and now he is, so maybe he’s satisfied.”

They both knew as soon as he said it that probably wasn’t the case, but Firepaw also knew that nothing could change his friend’s mind. “All right…” he murmured. “I won’t tell Bluestar. I promise.”

Raventhroat nodded, relaxing significantly. “Thank you, Firepaw. I’ll be sure to be careful.”

They parted soon after that, Raventhroat jogging back to the nursery while Firepaw went over to the freshkill pile to get some dinner for him and Graypaw. As he bent down to grab a chaffinch, he noticed Tigerclaw exiting the warrior’s den, stretching out his muscles with a yawn. Their gazes connected briefly, and Firepaw quickly went back to looking at the different choices in the pile. He felt Tigerclaw’s eyes on him for a moment longer before he saw out of the corner of his eye the warrior walk over to where Darkstripe and Longtail sat at the other end of camp.

An uneasy and unsettling feeling came over Firepaw as he eventually grabbed two pieces of prey and trotted to the apprentice’s den. I can’t let him know that I know about Lionheart, or else he’ll know Raventhroat told me. I have to act normally around him. But he knew that was easier thought than done, as the images of Tigerclaw killing the former deputy kept playing over and over in his mind, almost as if he had actually seen it for himself.

He couldn’t imagine how Raventhroat felt.

Firepaw woke up the next morning a little after dawn to the sound of someone else entering the apprentice’s den. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he lifted his head up and peaked over Graypaw’s fluffy pelt to see Whitestorm poking his head through the ferns.

The silver warrior smiled at Firepaw and said in a whisper, “I just wanted to let you know that Brindleface had her kits last night, and she’s taking visitors right now. I thought that you’d want to know right away. Sorry if I woke you.”

Shaking his head, Firepaw was instantly on his feet. “No, it’s fine!” he whispered back, finding it a bit hard to keep the excitement from his voice. “And, thank you! I’ll go see them right now!”

Whitestorm nodded, chuckling softly before ducking back out into the clearing.

Firepaw turned to Graypaw, who was still sleeping, and nudged him gently at his side. “Graypaw!” he called out softly. “Graypaw, Brindleface has had her kits! Let’s go see them!”

As he kept nudging him, Graypaw began to stir, his brows furrowing as he muttered in his sleep. It was with one last firm nudge that the big apprentice bolted straight up right, his fur fluffed up to make him look twice his usual size while his eyes were wide and frantic looking.

“Woah, Graypaw,” Firepaw murmured, taking a step back just in case he lashed out. “Hey, it’s just me.” He watched quietly as Graypaw recognized where he was and give his chest a few embarrassed licks. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah…” he eventually said, standing to shake out his pelt. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… had a bad dream is all.” He looked up and met Firepaw’s gaze, smiling thinly. “You said Brindleface had her kits?”

“Uh… yeah, I did. I was wondering if - ”

“If I wanted to see them with you?” Graypaw nodded, already making a move towards the clearing. “Yeah, sure, I’d love to. Race you to the nursery!”

And before Firepaw could even think to reply, he was off, dashing out of the ferns almost like his life depended on it.

Firepaw sat in the apprentice’s den for a moment longer, trying to wrap his head around the sudden shifts his friend just went through. Then he shook his head and began to follow him out, going at a much more leisurely pace. If he has this much energy, then that must be a good sign, he thought. Besides, it’s way too early in the morning to get worried.

He emerged from the ferns and was met with the cool morning breeze. Greenleaf was beginning to wind down, the mornings and nights getting colder as leaf-fall was starting to creep in. It didn’t change the fact that the evenings were still hot and sticky, however, though Firepaw knew he would eventually come to miss them when leafbare settled over the territories.

As he scanned the clearing, he saw that a few cats were up and about. Graypaw had just approached Whitestorm sitting outside the nursery, Frostfur was being led around the camp’s edges by Speckletail, Goldenflower, and Raventhroat, Swiftkit following behind, eyes wide like he was on an adventure, and Yellow sat by herself in a small patch of morning sunlight by the gorse tunnel. Firepaw spared a glance towards the old molly, but trotted over to join Graypaw at the nursery first.

“You can see them in a moment,” Whitestorm was saying as he approached, “but currently, Bluestar is inside visiting Brindleface. We don’t want to crowd her, since she didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Graypaw frowned, trying to look inside the bramble bush, but obviously saw nothing as he huffed quietly.

Purring in amusement, Firepaw laid his tail on his friend’s flank. “You can go in first, I’m going to go chat with Yellow for a bit.”

Having expected a bit of protest, he was a bit startled when Graypaw simply nodded at him, his big fluffy tail twitching as he kept his eyes on the nursery entrance. Slowly removing his own tail from Graypaw’s side, he began to pad away after giving Whitestorm a polite dip of the head.

Maybe… he just really wants to see the kits? he thought with a frown as he crossed the clearing. But he wasn’t like this when Frostfur had her kits…

“What’s on your mind, kit?” Yellow’s raspy voice broke into his thoughts. She had just sat up at his arrival and was beginning to groom herself. Firepaw couldn’t help but notice how much better her pelt looked compared to when she first came to ThunderClan. “You look troubled.”

“Uh…” Glancing back, he saw Bluestar emerge from the nursery and Graypaw - without giving the leader so much of a glance - practically raced past her to get inside. “It’s just that… Graypaw’s been acting a bit strange this morning. When he woke up, he was on edge, saying that he had a bad dream or something, and now it’s like if he doesn’t see Brindleface’s kits now, something bad will happen.”

Yellow hummed, also watching Graypaw with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, he does seem… different. But, that could just be because of what’s happened.”

“But yesterday he seemed fine again. He was working with Spottedleaf and being productive. Plus, before that, he was just… sad. He didn’t want to get out of his nest. Now? It seems like his fur might fall off if he stops moving.”

“That is different,” she murmured, pausing just before she licked a paw to bring around her ear. “Truth be told, I’ve been feeling a bit off today, too.”

Firepaw perked up immediately. “Did you… get a vision?”

Instantly, she shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that. If I’d learned one thing from the time I was on my own, it was that as long as this exile mark is on me, I cannot receive StarClan’s visions.” Her tail flicked up to gesture at the four distinct claw marks running across her muzzle.

He cocked his head. “How do you know…?”

“Well, for one, I haven’t gotten a vision since Brokentail gave me this mark. At least, not outside the Moonstone. But even when I went to the Moonstone for guidance, their vision to me seemed dim and faraway…” Her voice trailed off as she became lost in thought. A moment later she shook her head and continued, “but, no, it wasn’t a vision. It’s more like… a bad feeling.” She looked up and stared at the rising sun. “Just in case, I’d be on alert today, kit.”

Firepaw followed her gaze, wondering if she saw something foreboding in the clouds, but only saw the usual fluffy shapes that emitted more of a calm feeling than one of dread. Shrugging it off, he looked back to Yellow. “Are you going to see the new kits?”

“What? Me?” She scoffed. “No, I don’t think so. A queen is very protective of her kits when they’re first born, especially when it’s her first litter. Why do you think Whitestorm is guarding the entrance, making sure only one cat goes in at a time?”

He blinked and glanced back towards the nursery. “I… didn’t really recognize him as guarding it. I thought he was just waiting for Bluestar.” But as he said it, he knew he was wrong because Bluestar had long since retreated into her den and Whitestorm still remained outside the bramble bush entrance.

Yellow chuckled softly. “Well, now you know.” She looked to the nursery herself, so when Graypaw finally emerged from the nursery looking just on edge as he did walking in, they both saw it. “Looks like it’s your turn to see them. Let me know if you find their constant mewing adorable or annoying.”

Snorting, he flicked his tail at her in goodbye as he got to his feet and padded back to the nursery. He nodded at Whitestorm as he arrived, but before he could slip in, the big silver tom gently stopped him with his tail.

“Bluestar asked to see me in her den,” he explained. “Do you think you could make sure not more than one cat goes in while I’m gone?”

Remembering Yellow’s words, he nodded.

“Good,” Whitestorm sighed with a grateful smile. “Come and fetch me once you’re done inside.” And with that, he stood and walked over to the Highrock, disappearing through the lichen covered cave entrance.

Firepaw looked back to the nursery entrance, took a deep breath, and slowly walked inside. “Brindleface…?” he cautiously called out into the dim lighted den.

“Over here, Firepaw,” came the response, and he followed it into the back of the den, spotting all four of Frostfur’s kits napping in their nest less than a tail-length away.

He quickly found Brindleface in her nest, and his eyes immediately landed on the four tiny squirming kits that were at her belly. Two of them were gray with darker flecks, their only major difference being that one was a molly and the other a tom. Beside them was a dark gray tabby molly, and the last one was a tom in the splitting image of Brindleface with her dark gray coat and brown flecks.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” Brindleface whispered, leaning over to tuck them closer to her.

“They really are…” Firepaw breathed. It was a little strange thinking that these kits were his mentor’s, but seeing the pleased look on Brindleface, he knew it was true. “Did you give them names yet?”

Eyes sparkling, she started with the twin molly and went down the line. “This one is Fernkit, and the one who looks just like her is Ashkit, and their sister is Mistlekit.” She paused as her tail passed over the last tom’s pelt. He, out of the rest of his siblings, was clearly the weakest, his tiny paws feebly kneading at Brindleface’s belly. “I’m having a bit of trouble naming this one,” she admitted quietly. “No matter how hard I’ve thought about it, I can’t think of anything that would suit him.”

Firepaw hummed quietly as he gazed down at the small kit, but he, too, couldn’t think of anything. “Well, they were just born, so they don’t have to all have names right now, right? The perfect name will probably come to you later.”

After a brief moment of uncertainty, she finally nodded. “You’re right. And if I can’t think of one, then… then I’ll have to just ask Tornear what he thinks when I next see him.”

A heavy silence fell over the both of them as they thought about Brindleface’s lost WindClan mate. Firepaw knew she was just trying to stay positive, but he could tell she knew it was unlikely that WindClan would return soon, especially with ShadowClan still being a threat. But he nodded anyways, keeping his mouth shut.

It was when one of the kits let out a particularly loud cry that they both snapped back into reality, Brindleface bending down to lick that kit into contentedness. “Graypaw came in before you,” she started. “He seemed… on edge.”

“What did he say to you?” Firepaw asked.

“Usual healer things I suppose, like if I was all right, and if the kits were all right, and if I’d seen Spottedleaf. I told him everything was fine, and that Spottedleaf was out collecting herbs, but she’d be back in a little while to give me and the kits a check up.” She shook her head. “When I answered him, he just thanked me, quickly told me ‘congratulations’, then left again.” She looked up at him. “Do you know what’s going on with him?”

Firepaw sighed. “No… I don’t know what’s happening. He didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, I think, and he also said he had a bad dream, so maybe that’s why.”

Brindleface frowned. “A bad dream…?"

“Yeah, that’s what he said when he woke up looking like he did. Anyway,” he quickly said to change the subject, glancing around the den, “looks like you’ve basically got the den to yourself for the day, until Frostfur’s kits wake up, that is.”

She was quick to quietly laugh. “Yeah, Speckletail and the other’s finally got Frostfur to go out and get some fresh air. She’s been holed up inside here since… well, since Lionheart died, so Speckletail used the excuse of giving me some breathing room to get her to leave. Swiftkit joined them, since he didn’t want to sleep.” She shook her head with a fond smile. “He’s getting to be apprentice age already. Soon he’ll join you in the apprentice’s den.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be glad for it,” he purred, “considering how many denmates you’ll have once they all come back. Plus you’re four tiny kits… you’ll be drowning in cats in here.”

They shared a nice chuckle together, but Firepaw’s mirth died quickly as a thought entered his mind.

“Brindleface, now that your kits are here, does this mean I have to get a new mentor?”

Her laughter died along with his as she heard his question. “Well, yes, you’ll get a temporary mentor while I’m nursing these four, but that’ll be for only about a moon. I plan to get back out there and training you as soon as these little ones wean off my milk, especially because of all the other cats that’ll be living here, too.”

Firepaw nodded. I can handle having a different mentor for one moon, he thought, forcing himself to cheer up for Brindleface and her kits’ sake. I bet it’ll pass by in a flash anyway. “Well,” he said, getting to his feet. “I should leave you and your kits to rest.”

Brindleface smiled up at him, looking pleasantly sleepy. “Remember, it’ll just be for a moon. Be sure to train extra hard with your new mentor, so the next time we’re out there together, you’ll be that much closer to becoming a warrior.” She leaned forward to gently touch her nose with his forehead, and he purred quietly.

“I promise,” he murmured, determination flooding his veins. “Next time we train together, I’ll be so strong, I’ll be able to beat you when we spar.”

She chuckled softly as she nodded. “I’d hope so.”

Giving her a quick lick on the ear, he turned and squeezed back through the exit and into the clearing.

The sun was rising higher in the sky, but as Firepaw looked up, he saw the distant threat of storm clouds heading towards them. Frowning at the thought of soaking fur and muddy ground, he sighed and glanced around the clearing for Whitestorm.

It was clear within a heartbeat of looking that the silver warrior was still talking with Bluestar, seeing that Firepaw couldn’t spot him in the clearing. He also couldn’t seem to find Yellow anywhere from where he stood, her usual spot empty. Concern began to grow within him the longer it took for him to spot her thick dark ginger pelt.

I don’t remember her being anywhere but in her spot outside of Clan meetings… he thought with a deepening frown. Eventually, he shook his head. You don’t have time to just stand around looking for her, you’ve got to go fetch Whitestorm like you promised. She’s probably just in the dirtplace anyway.

Pushing his worries away, he began padding over to the Highrock, planning to wait outside until Whitestorm was done. Upon arriving, he took a seat and relaxed, watching as the sky grew darker and darker.

As he waited, he spotted Frostfur, Swiftkit, and the caretakers lounging in under a thick bush, obviously preparing for the incoming rain. While looking at them, he caught Raventhroat’s eye, and then saw him murmur something to Speckletail before getting up and coming towards him.

Firepaw sat up as Raventhroat reached him, exchanging pleasant, but high strung greetings. Their previous conversation weighed heavily on his mind, but he was determined to not let it sour their friendship.

“Hey,” Raventhroat murmured with a nervous smile. He glanced at the Highrock before continuing, “what are you doing?”

With a bit of a jolt, he realized that Raventhroat probably thought he was waiting to talk with Bluestar about what Raventhroat had told him. “Oh!” he quickly said, “I’m just waiting for Whitestorm so I can tell him that I finished my visit with Brindleface and her new kits. He’s talking with Bluestar right now, which is why I’m waiting here.”

Relief came to his friend’s face as he nodded. “So, you saw the new kits? They’re cute, aren’t they?”

“Oh, yeah,” he purred, remembering their folded ears and closed eyes, “they’re - ”

“Firepaw! Raventhroat!” The two of them turned around to see Graypaw bounding up to them from the healer’s den. “Have either of you two seen Spottedleaf today?”

They exchanged a confused glance before Raventhroat answered, “ah, yeah, I saw her come back from the forest a little while ago. I think she went towards the nursery, probably to check on the kits.” A slightly troubled look came across his face as he murmured almost to himself, “it was strange, though. She didn’t bring back any herbs with her, even though she was gone for long enough to walk the whole territory’s perimeter.”

Graypaw’s eyes grew to the size of the sun as he listened, and the fur along his back straightened. Without a word to either of them, he spun around and raced to the nursery.

“Wait!” Firepaw tried to stop him. “Only one cat is allowed inside at a time…” His voice started out strong, but faded as he realized Graypaw was already out of earshot. “Whitestorm is going to get mad at me…”

“I’m sure he’ll under - ”

A sharp, sudden cry came from the direction of the nursery, cutting off the rest of Raventhroat’s sentence. Immediately, Bluestar and Whitestorm exited from behind the lichen, their claws out and teeth bared. “What’s happening?” Bluestar demanded.

“There was a shout from nearby the nursery,” Firepaw quickly explained, wincing when Whitestorm turned his questioning gaze on him.

Not waiting to ask any more questions, the leader and warrior dashed towards the bramble bush, Firepaw and Raventhroat following close behind. The sight they came upon when they reached the backside of the nursery made them all freeze in their tracks.

There, laying on the ground in a growing puddle of blood, was Spottedleaf.

Graypaw stood less than a tail-length from her, gaze locked onto her matted dark tortoiseshell fur. It didn’t seem like he was actually registering what he was seeing, going by his vacant expression.

Bluestar was the first to move. “Graypaw… what happened?”

Slowly, he opened his mouth, tail moving to point towards a gaping hole in the camp’s wall that Firepaw hadn’t noticed until then. “The… the kits…” he whispered, voice faraway.

Horror seized Firepaw as he realized what he meant. Before anyone else could react, he turned on his heel and ran into the nursery.

The first thing he noticed was Frostfur’s nest, where her kits had been sleeping that morning, torn up and empty.

Then the scent of blood hit his nose.

Slowly, he turned his gaze, scanning the nursery’s mossy ground, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t what he thought it was.

His heart sank deep into grief as his gaze finally landed on a nest in the back, where five unmoving bodies lay in a pool of blood.

#warriors #warrior cats #wc #warriors rewrite #enter the wild #chapter 16 #long post

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galfridus1 · 7 years ago

Note

CONGRATULATION for your 500 followers and taking all the time for all the requests (I love your writing style)^-^ Can you please write about Zeldris/Gelda in the modern au with number 6

Thank you so much! Really appreciate the ask and I hope you like this. Sorry it’s been a long time coming.

This is an attempt to recreate the river scene from Dorothy Sayers’ ‘Gaudy Night’. It doesn’t do it justice, but hopefully it’s an enjoyable read anyway. @maybeishouldwait has written a follow-on fic so do give that read too. Thanks Beth :)

***

Exams were over. Gelda knew she should be happy about this but she just felt deflated. All that effort, all the build up and for what? An uncertain future, oppressive summer heat and too much time to do nothing.

“Enjoy yourself!” her friend Ren had said. “Just relax!” But how could she? Results would not be out for several weeks and it was impossible until then to think of anything else. So she had taken to sitting in her room, back pressed to the sun shining through the window, playing endless rounds of Tetris and watching Netflix on a loop in a bid to forget as she counted down the days until her impending doom.

That is until he had knocked on the door.

“You’ll turn into a vampire at this rate! You need the sun. Come on, let’s go on the river!”

“Why?” Gelda asked, one eyebrow raised as she looked closely at Zeldris. Did the man never give up? It had been nearly three years since they had first met, and a similar amount of time since she had first declined his romantic advances, and yet here he was, eyes bright and expectant as ever. Obviously rejection did not dampen his spirits.

“This is Oxford! It’s tradition,” he insisted, a slight smile curving his lips. “Everyone has to do this at least once before they graduate. You are about to graduate. Ergo, you should give this a try.”

“If we’re talking tradition, I don’t see you wearing a boater,” Gelda complained, reluctantly allowing her own smile to show.

“Perish the thought!” Zeldris replied in mock horror. “A straw hat really wouldn’t suit the aesthetic. Anyway, say you’ll come. You can’t stay in here until results are out. Whether or not you get you a first has been decided and nothing will change it. So you might as well forget your degree for a bit.”

“Easy for you to say,” Gelda muttered. There was no way Zeldris would walk away with anything other than a first class degree, and the cocky bastard knew it. In their second year they had been tutorial partners and Gelda had got to experience how brilliant a scholar he was for herself. It had been good for her really; refusing to let him and his all-knowing smirk get the upper hand she had worked her socks off, eventually becoming as impressive as he, at least in the field of Cold War politics and culture.

“Oh alright!” she relented, “but I’m not punting or we’ll end up stuck in the bank.”

“Of course not!” He looked shocked. “I would never have expected you to. The idea is for you to look decorous while I do the work.”

“And of course that’s not the slightest bit sexist…” Gelda said smoothly, enjoying the look of discomfort that crossed his face in response. “Fine, but if you fall in I warn you now I will laugh out loud.”

“Understood. Shall we?” With a slight sigh, Gelda followed Zeldris out of the house she shared with Ren, down the few crumbling stone stairs which led to the road and so towards the river. It was scorching hot, the air fetid and still with no sign of breeze, the sweet smell of the roses from the neighbouring college gardens almost overpowering. People were lounging around or eating melting ice creams, practically wilting in the heat of the sun but Zeldris didn’t seem to care. He strode on at a determined pace, eyes fixed forwards.

At last they reached the boathouse. Gelda had expected the place to be bustling, but to her surprise there were plenty of the narrow wooden punts ready for hire and not too many people in the queue ahead of them. Too hot, she supposed; the river was on the exposed side and Gelda wished she had brought some sunscreen. She watched a few beginners slowly edging their way downstream, bumping into the banks and giggling like crazy as they grappled with the pole used to steer and push the boats forwards. She didn’t even notice as Zeldris made the necessary arrangements, negotiating their own vehicle to the bank and then helping her in.

Lying back against the soft, red cushions, Gelda trailed her hand in the water as she watched Zeldris steer, the angle as he stood at the prow of the boat more than sufficient to show off his lithe form. With a shock she realised how adept at it he was at punting; he made it look effortless as he carefully moved the pole along the riverbed, easily navigating the boat downstream.

“Have you been practicing this?” she asked as she looked up at him, noting the line of his chest though the thin cotton shirt he wore. She smiled as his eyes flicked away from hers in obvious embarrassment. “But of course you have. Why would you do that, you idiot?”

“Only a bit,” Zeldris protested, his dark eyes cast on the shining surface of the water. He always did look adorable when he was flustered.

If we had met under different circumstances maybe we would be here now as a couple. Gelda nearly gasped out loud as the unbidden thought washed over her, and she quickly turned her head as if to observe the Botanical Gardens as they glided past, hoping sincerely that Zeldris had not caught her expression. It was maddening in a way, to find someone with whom she was so obviously compatible and for them to be off limits.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked softly and Gelda’s eyes snapped back towards him, the quizzical look on his face reminded her forcefully of just why they could not be. How could she? She still had her pride and she was not going to relinquish it now.

She paused before answering. “The first time we met actually,” she finally admitted.

“I was a cad,” he said quickly, almost too quickly, as if it were rehearsed and Gelda smiled inwardly knowing that it probably was. “I should never have asked you… I should never have presumed…”

“It’s fine. I’ll give you a pass. I probably wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for you.”

“I hope that’s not true. If the college had done its job properly your innocence would have been clear from the start.” He sounded angry now, more like his usual self as he allowed his temper to show.

Gelda felt her heart beating faster and her hands clench involuntarily as she remembered the stares and the accusations. It was over an essay of all things. She had submitted her paper, hand-written as per the archaic professor’s instructions, only to be told that she was being investigated for cheating. Mael had handed it in first, a version that was practically the same as hers, almost word for word. And Mael was the college pet, his celebrated brother having completed his degree there some years before. So naturally the assumption was that she had committed the heinous sin of plagiarism.

“How did you know it wasn’t me?” she asked quietly, “before you started investigating I mean.”

Zeldris looked uncomfortable. “You… I just didn’t think you were,” he muttered his eyes staring ahead as he steered the boat around some water weeds. “And I never liked Mael. I was at school with him remember, I know he’s a sneaky…”

“But it could have been me, and yet you were so certain,” Gelda said softly. She had never asked him this before, forcing herself not to show her curiosity. But now, somehow, something felt like it had come undone, like her tongue was unlocked. She was determined at any rate to get her answer.

“Just… you don’t look like a cheater,” he spluttered and Gelda laughed out loud.

“You mean you fancied me,” she said bluntly, enjoying the blush that crept over his cheeks.

“Yes, if you like,” he replied, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he fixed them back on the river. “I indicated as much at the time and I think you said something along the lines of me being a crass idiot for trying to leverage a good turn in that way. And you were right - I should have left you alone.

“It’s taken me a while to accept that I blew it,” he added more softly, “and that you will never care for me. But I’ve got there now. I won’t bother you with any of that again.” Gelda felt suddenly cold at this, the sun’s warmth bouncing off her skin rather than penetrating it as her heart squeezed unexpectedly in her chest. Now that the prospect was not on the table she perversely found she wanted it, a little bit. Breath held, she waited for him to continue, but he did not. He did not even look at her, though she could see the tension in the line of his jaw.

“Well, thank you,” she murmured, her own eyes now on the river. The bright sunlight shone on the surface, forming shifting white patterns as the boat sent slight waves forwards from the bow. “If you hadn’t thought to do that text analysis to prove I wrote the damn thing, I don’t think anyone would have believed me.”

“I’m sure it would have got sorted out eventually. I just sped things up I hope.” This was said with finality and Gelda reluctantly let the subject drop. Having avoided the subject for years, she now wanted to keep talking, wanted to hammer it home to him and herself just how cross he had made her.

After she had received an apology from the college, he had asked her out and she had obviously declined. How anyone could think that was the moment to spring that kind of proposal on someone still made her clench her teeth with frustration. She had been deeply upset by the whole experience, feeling vulnerable and exposed, her instinct to hide away from the world. The last thing she had wanted at the time was a relationship, especially with someone to whom she felt indebted and who seemed to have given no thought to the strain such an imbalance of position would have on her sanity.

They travelled in silence, through the verdant green of Christ Church Meadows, the low-hanging branches of oak near brushing their boat bringing a welcome cover of shade. It was hotter now if anything, the sun having risen in the clear blue sky and the air smelled of damp grass, the usual tang of petrol from the city streets completely absent. Much as Gelda hated to admit it he had been right; this was better than being indoors.

“This is a good place to stop for a bit,” Zeldris said cheerfully, guiding their vessel to the side of the bank before fishing about in the bag he had stowed. He handed her a bottle of water, condensation beading the dimpled plastic and Gelda drank the cool liquid gratefully, watching a few fluttering butterflies as they danced over the meadow.

“You always think of everything,” she murmured and Zeldris chuckled as he carefully lowered himself into the boat.

“I’d be a pretty poor host if I hadn’t. I brought sandwiches too,” he added passing Gelda a silver-wrapped parcel. “Watch out for the ducks though, they get a bit enthusiastic.” As if on cue, a small raft of ducks swam up to the boat, glaring up at Gelda expectantly with beady eyes. She laughed, tossing them a few bits of crust which they set to in an instant, the quacks and splashes as they fought each other for the spoils punctuating the peace.

She looked up to see Zeldris settling down with a book, noting for the first time the way his dark lashes curled slightly as his eyes scanned the page. She let her eyes follow the sharp line of his cheekbones towards the snub nose and, with a start, she realised she had needed to suppress the urge to reach out for him. Cursing herself for her stupidity, she tried to ignore the way her heart raced in her chest and her face flushed with heat. But it was no use. Gelda had always been honest, with herself at least, and there was no way she could deny how she was feeling.

Really, had this not been coming on for some time? It was he she had gone to when her application to continue her studies had been successful, conditional on this damn first class degree of course. He was the one who shared her sorrow and anger when her father had, without warning, cut off her allowance all because she had told him she wished to pursue an academic career instead of joining the family business. Terrible parents was something they had in common.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered and Zeldris looked up in surprise, the book he was holding falling into lap. “I was too harsh with you. I have been for years. Can we… can we maybe start over?” It felt as if time had frozen as they stared at one another, and Gelda was just beginning to curse her impetuousness (how could she possibly think he would still want something more after all this time) when to her absolute relief she saw the grin that spread over his face. Tentatively, he reached out a hand towards her and Gelda took it gratefully, feeling the warmth of his fingers as they laced through her own.

#nnt #prompt collab #fanfiction #gelda #zeldris #geldris

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hopeishappinessff · 8 years ago

Text

Chapter 15

I stood stock still now, right in front of Chris as he clutched onto my waist and rested his head against my stomach. Miraculously after the showdown over what happened at the movies, he’d calmed down tremendously and now here he was, relying on me to console him. He strategically positioned me to stand between his legs as he sat at the edge of the bed once I’d moved close enough to him. As usual, I was more than willing to set our differences aside and ignore all the harsh words he’d thrown at me just to be right there in his corner when I knew he needed me most.

“Charlie, I’m so sorry.” I whispered, caressing his back as he leaned against me. With a sigh, he turned his head to the side to speak and pressed himself even closer to me “I can’t do this anymore Hope.” “What do you mean?” I was concerned by the tone of his voice and I peered down at him as he spoke softly. “This… all of this… everything. There’s only so much I can take, you know. I’m only human and I can only deal with so much. I feel like ever since I was a kid, God has constantly been punishing me for some reason and I have no clue why."

“Hey,” I started, reaching down to pull his hat from his head and running my hands gently over his freshly cut hair, “God would never put more on your plate than you can bear. You’re a strong man Charlie… and I admire that so much about you. You’re absolutely right, you are only human and you can only deal with so much. But don’t you dare give up that will to fight… that’s not the Charlie I know.”

With his head now angled up and his chin pressed comfortably into my stomach, he stared at me long and hard then closed his eyes briefly as he reached up and gripped my wrists. “Will you promise me something Hope.” He mumbled. I kept quiet as I stared at him, waiting patiently for him tell me whatever it was he wanted me to promise “Please promise you’ll never leave me.” There was some awkward lump in my throat that I slowly swallowed down as my eyes tingled and I knew the waterworks were well on their way. I could only nod in response as I continued to lightly brush my fingers over his hair.

Shifting my gaze toward the large bay window on the opposite side of the room, I gasped at the sudden sensation of cool air wafting over my stomach. Glancing down, I quietly watched as Chris lifted the hem of my shirt. He leaned forward in my grasp and placed the gentlest kiss against my bare flesh. The feeling of his lips pressed there against my stomach roused the dormant butterflies within and it didn’t take long for me to feel them dancing about wildly. He pecked my midsection over and over again, gradually moving closer to the top of my pants.

Gripping his shoulders tight, I weakly pushed against them as I bit down into my bottom lip “Chris, wait…” My words fell on deaf ears as he continued to strategically place his sweet kisses all over my lower abdomen. I watched in awe as he dropped his hands to the top of my pants and pushed them down only a few inches. He quickly eased back into place and hovered his parted lips just over the newly exposed skin. I could feel the warmth of his breath there and I trembled from the tickling sensation.

Without warning, he pulled me forward and effortlessly adjusted me in a straddling position on his lap. He swiftly dipped his face into the crook of my neck and wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me firmly against his chest. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but I secretly enjoyed the feeling of his breath rushing out against my neck… it gave me a calming sense of security. He held me there in that position for quite some time, then stood suddenly, leaving me gasping yet again in shock. Unexpectedly he turned and lowered me down onto my back in the center of the bed. My legs were spread and he took full advantage of the position by snuggling himself between my thighs.

Through his actions alone, he spoke volumes. He never uttered a single word, but I understood that the only thing he needed was to be held. It almost felt like he was using me as a frame to support the collapsing structure that was he. I knew that his actions weren’t intended to be sexual, so I allowed him to lie there gently caressing the side of my leg until his breathing became shallow and his motions slowed. Moments later I glanced down at him, making sure to keep my trembling hands tight at my sides, as he allowed the beat of my heart to lull him into a peaceful slumber against my chest.

My eyes fluttered open and immediately dimmed into a squint as they adjusted to the light beaming through the closed blinds. I sat up and meshed myself back against my pillows, gazing around the room in my typical morning confusion. Reaching down to push the comforter away from my body, I stared down at the tank top and boyshorts that covered me and frowned. Quickly raising my gaze in search of Chris, who I distinctly recalled falling asleep right on top of me the night before, I realized he was nowhere to be found. So I instantly took that as my cue to climb out of bed and bolt into the restroom.

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I threw my hair up into a messy bun and walked back out into my room. I retrieved a pair of PINK Victoria’s Secret pajama pants then turned to exit my room. As I stepped out into the hall, I could hear the distinct sound of voices coming from the lower level of the house. Straining to listen closely, I could make out masculine tone of Chris, but I couldn’t quite figure out who the additional voices belonged to. Creeping carefully and quietly down the stairs, I made sure to keep myself hidden behind the wall leading into the den and it didn’t take me long to recognize the voice of my aunt… and Ms. Joyce.

“Where have you been for the past two weeks Christopher?” I heard Ms. Joyce ask. Her question was followed by silence and I wondered if Chris had bothered to respond at all as she continued to interrogate him. “Don’t shrug your shoulders at me boy. I asked you a question… now you answer me!” She bellowed. “I was dealin with some shit ma, damn.” He replied. Again, the room grew silent but that was short lived because eventually I flinched at the sound of a loud slap followed by the scolding tone of Ms. Joyce.

Leaning against the wall just outside the den, I peeped in discreetly to find Chris sitting on the love seat, my aunt sitting on the longer couch across from him, and Ms. Joyce slowly making her way back to that same couch all while she glared menacingly at her son. “How long have you been here Chris?” My aunt asked in a significantly calmer tone.

With a quick glance in her direction, he lowered his gaze back to his twiddling thumbs and sighed “Since yesterday.” He said. “Since yesterday… son, why didn’t you just come home? You were just a few feet away from the house… you could have at least called and told me you were here.” Ms. Joyce asked him sympathetically.

“I didn’t think about that.” He mumbled. “Where’s Sy’Diyah?” My aunt asked. My heart dropped at the sound of my name dropping into their hated conversation and if I would have blinked, I would have missed the discreet way Chris cut his eyes in my direction as if he knew I’d been hiding out there all along. Hesitantly, I took a step into the den and my aunt and Ms. Joyce both raised their gazes to me as I stood there like a deer in headlights.

“Sit down Sy.” My aunt said softly. Following her instruction without question, I moved quickly toward the couch and timidly took a seat beside Chris. It almost felt like we were sitting right in the middle of a police interrogation as they both stared relentlessly at the two of us. “Sy’Diyah,” Ms. Joyce started, pausing briefly to clear her throat, “How long has Chris been here with you sweetheart?”

“Ma, I just told you…” Chris started as he glared at her, but she abruptly whipped her head around to face him. “You know what you need to do right now young man… you need to shut your lil grown ass mouth because I’m about two seconds away from coming over there and poppin you in it,” She snapped then turned back to me, somehow managing to soften her expression in one second flat, “How long Sy?” She repeated.

“Uh… since yesterday.” I replied. She nodded but remained quiet after my response. “Well where have you been all this week Chris?” My aunt asked. “At a friend’s house.” He said. “What friend Christopher?” Ms. Joyce asked. “… a close friend.” He murmured, staring daggers into her. “I will ask you one more damn time child… where have you been all week?” She repeated, challenging his glare through squinted orbs.

With a clenched jaw, he sighed deeply and rolled his eyes then turned to stare out of the front window. “Gabby’s...” “Excuse me.” Ms. Joyce nearly whispered. “I’ve been at Gabby’s house.” He said, a bit louder... and with a bit more attitude. The room suddenly became eerily silent and I kept my eyes glued to my lap, fearing his mother’s reaction.

“Let me see your phone Chris.” Ms. Joyce muttered after several awkward seconds of silence. “Ma what…” “Let me see your phone Christopher… do not make me come over there and get it my damn self.” She stated calmly. Releasing what sounded like an annoyed sigh, he reluctantly pulled his phone from his side and stood to hand it off to his mom.

He plopped down on the couch after she'd snatched it from his grasp and watched as she maneuvered her way through the device. Locating whatever it was she’d been searching for, she tapped the call button and pressed the phone against her ear.

“Uh yes this is Joyce Hawkins, I’m the mother of Christopher Brown. Is this Gabriela? Hi sweetheart… do you think I could chat with your mother for just a second? Thank you hun,” She said with an annoyed roll of her eyes while she waited several seconds, “Hello, I’m the mother of your daughter’s boyfriend. Yes, my name is Joyce Hawkins. Mmhm, listen… I just received news from Christopher that he’s been staying at your house for the past two weeks and I just wanted to confirm that with you. Alright, well I'd also like to inform you that I really appreciate you looking out for my son, but he won’t be needing to stay there any longer... he’s back at home now.”

A moment of silence washed over the phone conversation and her eyes suddenly bulged as her lips trembled and fell open. “Excuse me… ma’am I don’t… WHAT? Not my son,” Pausing, she raised her gaze to Chris and glared at him without bothering to blink, “I see. Well I really appreciate your time Mrs. Jimenez and thank you so much for sharing that information.”

Ending the call, she straightened her posture in the manner only an angry mother would, then slowly leaned back against the cushions of the coach and stared across the way at him. “Is there something you would like to share with me Christopher?” She asked in an unnervingly calm tone. They seemed to engage in an ongoing staring contest before Chris slowly shook his head no.

“Don’t lie to me son…” “I’m not lying mama…” “Yes you are boy! This woman just told me that there was a specific reason you been hiding out at her got damn house! Why do you think she told me that huh, why?” She hollered, with a face morphing into a familiar shade of crimson as she dropped his phone and jumped from her seat to bolt across the room at him.

He stared up at her, seemingly unfazed by her sudden blow up and shrugged his shoulders. She slapped him directly across his head and thrust a trembling finger into his face “Because her daughter is pregnant!” Yet another awkward wave washed over the room as I stared down at the floor and Ms. Joyce continued to stand in front of Chris huffing like a mad woman. My aunt stared at her through stunned eyes as she slapped one hand over her mouth and the other against her chest.

“What the hell is wrong with you Christopher? Have you lost your damn mind?” She screamed. Her frustrations with him were on full display as she slapped her petite hands repeatedly across his face and chest. He attempted to raise his arms in defense, but she ignored them completely and continued to rain her slaps down on any exposed portion of his body she could reach. My aunt swiftly rose from her seat and practically ran over to an enraged Ms. Joyce, firmly gripping an arm and pulling her back from her distressed son.

“Joyce stop it!” She yelled as she pulled her further back and Chris remained in his stance against the couch cushions with his arms still raised defensively over his face. “Joyce, listen to me. You need to calm down okay. Now you know acting like that is not gonna be good for your blood pressure.” My aunt fussed once she’d gotten Ms. Joyce under control and back on the couch across from us. “Oh my blood pressure already flew through the roof Maddie. Ever since this lil wanna be grown ass man decided to just run away from home to get some lil whore knocked up!” She exclaimed, pointing an incriminating finger at Chris, “Lord, what did I do… where did I go wrong with this boy?”

Chris stared desperately at her, the most sorrowful expression covering his otherwise handsome features “Ma… I’m sorry…” “Don’t you dare say that to me child. You aren’t sorry. Christopher if you were sorry, you would have never ran off from home the way you did. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t have been having unprotected sex with that girl in the first place. If you were sorry, I wouldn’t be so disappointed as your mother right now,” She fumed. There was no doubting the blush tone in his cheeks, but I was sure I was only seeing things because surely his eyes weren’t glossing over too, “Now I’ll tell you what… I’ll give you half an hour to go next door, get your shit, and get the hell out of my house.”

He clamped his mouth shut and stared at her, long and hard, then nearly a full minute later he stood from his seat and briskly made his way to the front door. My aunt and I remained quiet as Ms. Joyce wept with her face buried in her hands. My aunt eased closer to her, reaching over to run a consoling hand against her back. “I don’t understand Maddie, why my baby boy,” She sobbed quietly into the palms of her hands, “Why him? I feel like I failed him as a mother... his life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.”

Leaning forward, my aunt gently captured one of Ms. Joyce’s wrists, forcing her to face her “Don’t you say that Joyce, you did not fail him in any way. You are a wonderful mother, you know that. You raised two very beautiful and intelligent children and if it weren’t for you, they most certainly would not have become the brilliant young adults they are today. No, Chris’s situation may not be ideal in your eyes, but he’s eighteen years old Joyce… he’s a man and it’s time that you let him go and allow him to start making his own decisions, whether you agree with them or not.”

With a defeated sigh, Ms. Joyce wiped the tears from her face as she shook her head “That’s the most difficult part for me Maddie… I don’t want to let him go. He’s my only son and he’s mama’s baby. I just want him to make the right choices...” She turned to my aunt with a fresh batch of tears brewing in the corners of her eyes, “Madison, my son is about to be a father… my baby is gonna have a baby!”

“Oh Joyce… it’s okay. It’ll be alright.” My aunt wore a sympathetic expression as she pulled Ms. Joyce into a side hug and soothingly caressed the side of her arm. Deciding to finally make myself useful, I stood from the couch and exited the den, rushing down the hall to the powder room to grab a box of Kleenex for her.

Once I’d reentered the den, I made my way over to Ms. Joyce with the box tilted and she slipped a few sheets from it. She peered up at me and within the blink of an eye, she was standing and wrapping me up in a tight bear hug. “Thank you honey. Why couldn’t it at least have been you… why her Lord?” She wailed onto my shoulder. My eyes bulged and I looked down at my aunt who had a hand pressed over her mouth to suppress her laughter.

A short while, I could hear the distinct sound of a car door shutting outside and moments later the screen door opened and shut softly. Chris eventually emerged around the corner in the doorway of the den leading out to the foyer. “Um… I’m about to uh… I’m about to go now.” He mumbled. My aunt glanced at Ms. Joyce as kept her head down, whimpering quietly into a handful of Kleenex. With a sigh, she stood and I quickly followed suit and trailed behind them as they headed for the porch.

“Listen Chris, I know that right now you probably feel like you have no one on your side and you’re alone in this, but believe me when I tell you… you are not alone,” She explained, pressing a hand lovingly against his back, “The choices that you make are just that… yours. You’re a very bright and intelligent young man and you’re at a point in your life where whatever decisions that you make for yourself, they will create the path of your life. I’m here to support you, Sy is here to support you, and I know you have several friends to support you as well. This is not the end of the world… your mother will come around eventually, trust me.”

With a nod, he released a deep sigh and stared down at the surface of the porch. “I really appreciate that Ms. Maddie.” With a thoughtful look on her face, she tilted her head curiously and stared up at him “Can I ask you something Chris? Are you completely positive this girl is going to have your child?” He raised his gaze to her and stared with brows furrowed and the corner of his bottom lip tucked into his mouth. Several seconds of silence passed before he sighed and dropped his gaze “Ms. Maddie... all I know is that I’m gonna do my job as a father, no matter what.”

For the first time since he’d told me about Gabby’s pregnancy, he showed a sign of uncertainty. At that moment, I couldn’t understand the motive behind his persistent desire to be active in a child’s life that he wasn’t even sure was his own. With a smile, my aunt extended her arms to him and pulled him into a hug “You’ll be fine sweetie… you’ll be absolutely fine. And you call me if you ever need anything okay. And remember that I love you as if you were my own.”

“Thank you Ms. Maddie. I love you too.” He said with a smirk. Once she released him, he turned to face me with his lips twisted into a half smirk. He stepped forward to me, pausing to study my face for a moment before reaching to embrace me in a hug. I shut my eyes tight and rested the side of my head against his chest as his incredible scent wafted into my nose. He leaned down and allowed his lips to linger just above my ear “Thank you for everything Hope.”

My heart fluttered at the sound of those delicate words and I fought back the urge to cry as I nodded my head against his chest. He pressed his lips gently against my temple then unraveled me from his warm embrace and turned to exit the porch and head to his truck. “Remember what I said Chris… if you need anything, anything at all, you let me know.” My aunt reminded him. He nodded sharply as he propped the driver’s side door open and stepped onto the supporting ladder beneath “Thanks Ms. Maddie, I will.”

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